By Onyekachi Sobechi

As one of the purveyors of information and popular culture, yours sincerely wakes and breathes with the news. But, last Saturday, October 3, 2026, turned out to be a day that breaking news became so abhorrent. Breaking news: The Guardian loses its General Manager, Abuja and Northern Operations!

That was one breaking news that one found so hard to process. Early that sad Saturday, in less than three hours, a surfeit of calls had hit my GSM line. As if a conspiracy was afoot, nearly all the callers were vending the hurtful breaking news. And, as if to ensure that the calls achieved deepest hurt, the callers rounded off their message with, “May his soul rest in peace!”

Those six words aggravated my pain. How can Chuks Nwanne rest in peace at barely 46, 20 years short of retirement? How can the young and ebullient General Manager, who transited from the pressure-filled office as Editor on Saturday to the converse of administration, rest in peace?

How can he rest in peace with a lot of memoranda on his in-tray? What becomes of the many ambitious ideas he nursed? How can the plan to introduce story-telling in political campaign messaging be turned into a mission or even his resolve to amplify niche marketing in a very competitive media industry?

As many puzzles pulsated in my brain, my mind ran to the young family he was leaving behind. For the greater part of that sad Saturday, I was disconsolate, wishing that the entire thing ended up as fake news. But, instead of receiving any call with contrary information, the news of Nwanne’s demise continued to trend on the various social media.

The pain ran so deep, reminding of similar sudden exit from the land of the living by Femi Adebesin Kuti, the affable ace photojournalist. Nwanne’s goodnight is heart-wrenching still, and I wish Chucks had looked back and seen reasons to stay back. Oh, how agonising!

What is in this life after all? How can a green tree wither and dry up in a rainy season? Even a flood of tears fail to wash away the laceration of the mind caused by this one death at spring time: Here was a young man, who paved his path to the future with focus and friendliness, only for death to deal its false hand.

Nwanne had a unique interpersonal relationship style. He dressed hard decisions with quiet diplomacy that ends up in a win-win situation. I recall my first meeting with the warm young man that fateful September 1, 2015. Journeying from the East to resume at the Rutam House, The Guardian on Sunday team, headed by Abraham Ogbodo and Alabi Williams, was receiving a latest addition.

From Ogbodo came the question, Where do we station the fresh hand? Nwanne was ready with an easy answer in his usual problem-solving quick wit. The chatter that followed inside what was formerly the Life Magazine office space, revolved around the evolution and growth of newsmagazines and challenges facing Nigeria’s newspaper industry.

Opportunity to put some of the suggested ideas into action came around 2021, when Nwanne became the Editor of Saturday edition of The Guardian. With his creative dexterity in graphics, the first step was to reconfigure the cover page design, simulating a medley of the Bristol Post and the Sunday Mail.

Fast forward to 2023, we found ourselves together once again in Abuja to revisit the conversations that were paused in Lagos. But, apart from the change of municipality, there was also a variation of job description. Nwanne has crossed over to administration, yet he found time to craft designs intended as guide for the novel idea of niche marketing, especially at a time of political contestation.

The last time I saw Nwanne was on July 15, when the executives of Abuja Electricity Distribution Company (AEDC) paid a courtesy visit on his office. But, quite unlike he was usually wont, he did not peep into our office before leaving. What would be the next and last meeting was at his hospital bed, when I visited in the company of Jenniepher and Kingsley.

We looked forward to a quick recovery. But, now, the images from that last meet have become mental reminders of the torment that trailed that hospital visit. Could it be that the sight of his sister bringing in Chucks’ travelling box was a metaphor of his eventual flight to the land of see him no more?

I never anticipated that that bye-bye was to be a final wave. There was no real conversation; it was more of a pantomime. Now, I have to close my misty eyes trying to see the young man who came for me at a period of great social distress. So, it is true after all?

Chuks, why go away this way? Why leave me questioning what life is all about? You took your quiet laughter to embark on this long journey like a vapour. But, like Dido sang, life is a rent, nothing we own is truly ours. How can I tell you to rest in peace, when there are much to do and talk about?

Odogwu n’oyi, you may have changed location, but wherever you are, and knowing that you are not indolent, my prayer is that you occupy yourself with joyful activities in the land of luminescence.
Sobechi wrote from Abuja.