Early morning fog envelopes the beginning of another day. Distance, still fogged in mystery from the hot evaporating earth steam. It was 3.05am and Lagos was waiting sunrise on that October day, seven years ago. Few hours, the cock would crow at dawn waking residents to another day of hopelessness, anguish and daily pain in this devil may-care-city. Along one of its expressways, rode a great believer and long time dweller of Lagos, Jerry Eyituoyo Agbeyegbe. Four decades and counting, he lived, adored and loved her.Their love and respect for each other was mutual; even in worse moments, Groovy Jay pulled along, coming up with a unique signature epithet for Lagos; Eko ijo reoooo.(Lagos, this is dance). He kept faith with Lagos until he met a morbid fate that early foggy morning of October 12, 2004. The police said he died in an auto crash. No. He was sprayed to death by an overzealous brood of hoodlums, after hours, along the expressways. The circumstances and sad police stories remain what they are; mere tales by moonlight. Well, not now, please.The relationship between Jerry and Lagos was what I was privileged to witness. We both lived Lagos. It was first class romance between a boisterous ageless city and an ideal, powerful tower of happiness and intelligence. He was enthusiastic about Lagos, her multicultural and tolerant peoples. Lagos was Nigeria. She was a universal university where all Nigerians equally shared the intensity of daily living and existing; where dreams would come true and hopes were shattered, a socio-economic war zone; only the strong survived and the weak was encouraged to fight another day. This was in the eighties and Eyituoyo found a way to celebrate everyday people. He partnered with Radio Lagos and on every Saturday night, Groovy Jay would rally night owls to come have Saturday Night Out with him. His sensuous sassy baritone gave us a reason to be hopeful, and to live another day. He became a weekend voice for Radio Lagos, attracting the young and the not so young at heart to the virtual temple of pleasure.We would tune in and listen to Groovy Jay belt out the best of our pop culture in our worst times. Eko akete, Eko wengele and on behalf of our dearest Lagos, we took a recess from our daily palaver to gyrate to the music being played on the radio by DJ Mr. Jay. He restored our hopes in these moments. His demeanour was our heart foundation. His voice was a virus, so contagious that it infected famous world music stars of our era. Musicians such as Fela Kuti, Sonny Okosuns, Trinidad and Tobagos reggae hot star, Arrow; Jamaicas Eric Donaldson; Kool and The Gang; Onyeka Onwenu; Tony Okoroji; King Sunny Ade, Christie Essien Igbokwe, young Femi Anikulapokuti and Charly Boy. These music greats endorsed this great kaleidoscope of life.Since our lives collided at the intersection of life, weve never abandoned one another. I was a young entertainment reporter with THE PUNCH newspaper, Jerry an aviation correspondent, pilot and a radio Disc Jockey. We instantly became a hit tag-team. At every roadblock I reached in the entertainment industry; Jerry was always there to provide a detour and a back-up support. Musicians asked bodyguards to hurt us; club owners banned us from their clubs because of objective critique. Record industry executives would have us escorted and subsequently banned from their press conferences and premises. Our crime: we dared to be different. Onyejebose, we don put the heat on these suckers. We must finish this. May be these fools would appreciate our music industry more and also appreciate the poor musicians. He would say. Eyituoyo and I extended our beloved love to our families. Years later when I left for the United States, he assumed the responsibility of an older brother towards my parents. My father and Onicha-Ugbo became fond of this exceptional Nigerian.Wherever you found him and however you felt him, you could not resist his enthusiasm, his Nigerian pride. He was always an elixir to our constipated lives. He would not leave a Nigerian behind. Summer 1993, Jerry visited me at North Carolina. On his bus ride back to New Jersey, he met a pregnant Nigerian woman named Adesuwa. Jerrys affable presence attracted the lady to him.She approached him with a tear jerking and agonising story; She had travelled three days from Los Angeles to Raleigh to visit and stay with her brother. When the bus pulled into the station she got off, called her brother from a pay phone booth. He told her that there was no place for her in his house. Her brother told her to get back on the bus to wherever she was coming from. She slept at the bus station for two days hoping the brother would reconsider his decision. Refused, rejected, with no food, no money and hungry, Adesuwa held onto her last hope until she found an American willing to pay her fare to the next city, Durham. During this trip, she met Jerry. Jerry got off the bus with this lady and called me from Durham. Onyejebose, I know say na only you fit do this. A pregnant lady come visit her brother and the yam head tell her to make a U-turn, Jerry pleaded in pidgin English that I assist Adesuwa. I immediately travelled to Durham and brought her to my house. Adesuwas thanks to Mr. Jay stayed with me for about three months before her fiance came and took her back to L.A.Two years later, Adesuwa called from a pay phone in L.A to specially thank Jerry. I told her that Jerry would be visiting me within a few weeks to see my one year-old baby girl, Nneka. This was the Jerry I was privileged to know and love. This was the Groovy Jay that Lagos sheltered and adored.A cheerful and charming life silenced in a most gruesome and heartless manner. That morning, he fought on for his life, and his right to live another day, in the back of a rusted police patrol van; pleading with the cops for a chance at a last chat with his wife, Mrs. Mary Jay, on his cellular phone. The police ignored his pleas. Instead, police rode my best friends helpless body searching for the nearest hospital. By the time they found a hospital, Jerry had chocked in his own blood. Drenched and smeared in his blood, the man died. The man died in the still of Lagos morning dew. Murder was the honour this nation bestowed him in appreciation of his selfless service and patriotism. Only the good die young in a horrible nation. How many funerals of the young generation would it take for this nation to live in collective security and safety'Our dear nation takes pride in killing its future. Nigerias future is endangered species. Our government remained nonchalant about preserving and protecting the future of this once great country. Jerry Agbeyegbe always wanted the best for our nation. He refused to participate in the corrupt partitioning of our natural and human resources. Vexed by his lonely voice in the aviation industry, I once foolishly advised him that maybe it was time he compromised with the system and be a part of the government: Onyejebose, de last thing wey I go do na to follow these jokers play with our lives. He believed in Nigeria more than Nigeria believed in him.Five days before he was murdered, I called him:Brother Idowu, I yelled from across the Atlantic. Hmm, Onyejebose, na you bi dis' Na wa o! Wey you now'I dey o. Na wetin dey happen', I further asked him. Onyejebose, man is still holding on as these jokers dey sell us to the highest bidders. Now, dem don sell Nigeria Airways. Can you imagine' Dem don sell everything for this country. Tomorrow dem go turn around and sell us to ourselves because nothing remain for these jokers to sell. He punctuated his indictment of our government with his signature laughter, reassuring me that despite our sad situation, there was still hope and pride in being a Nigerian. I felt the disappointment in his voice. Our great national pride, The Flying Elephant, The Nigeria Airways, our national airline sold by our government, to western shrewd businesses: Our airways, our national security, our daily air travels out of our control.Molokwu lives in Raleigh, North Carolina, USA. He can be reached on waternogetenemy@yahoo.com
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