KOMLA DUMOR
by Rolake Akinkugbe
In honour of and tribute to my
dear friend Komla Afeke Dumor
(3 October 1972 — 18 January
2014)
I first met KD, as I fondly called him, in June 2012, at the BBC, after I had gone to do a small piece of commentary for his TV programme, Focus on Africa, on BBC World News for the very first time. When we met, he was so professional; a towering, authoritative and charismatic presence and figure. I remember his well-tailored and finely put together suit. Little did I know that the friendship and close bond that would develop after then would literally be life-changing. Only days later, he sent me a text message saying some producers and had seen the clip of me on his programme and wanted me to become a regular reviewer of the global newspaper headlines on the BBC. My very first response to KD was, no! “No way I am doing that” I said. But from the word go, KD was adamant that I could do it. He encouraged me and told me that opportunities like this came round once in a blue moon and that I had to seize the moment, quell my fears and anxiety about putting myself out there. He told me “Rolake, You’ll be just fine, just go and represent Africa Chalé, how many African women have you seen do the papers review?”. That push was all I needed.
Our friendship was an education in life for me. His love for people and his beloved Ghana and Africa were unparalleled. Proud of his African and Ghanaian roots, Komla came from the Ewe people of Ghana’s Volta region. He had this way of connecting to people no matter their background. At once grounded and connected to his roots, and at once global in his outlook, KD was never mediocre. His motto was self-improvement. When I would ask him for feedback on my media appearances, he was always like “Ro (as he fondly called me), do you want to hear the truth?” I would say yes, and he’d say, “Well, stop touching your nose all the time, it’s a sign of nerves and ‘abeg’ get rid of that slouch Ro”. KD was always frank. It was because of KD that I embarked on a training course late last year to improve my media skills. He never gave compliments lightly. As far he was concerned, doing okay was never enough, you had to do your best. Despite this, KD always said we all had all we would ever need in life to be what God wanted us to be. When I toyed with the idea of doing an MBA, KD told me countless number of times, “Chalé, Ro there’s nothing an MBA is going to give you that you don’t already have”. He almost always preceded everything he said to me with ‘Chalé’, the way Ghanaians do.
KD saw every big event or major encounter with a renowned figure as a humbling experience, rather than one to boast about. You have to have understood where he was coming from. KD started his journalism career all those many years ago far from the concrete walls of BBC Television centre. He started with Joy FM radio in Ghana, and always told me the story of how during one reporting round, he fell in the gutter in the streets and was laughed at by some girls. He came from humble beginnings, and his journey wasn’t easy. But his hard work, boundless energy, and people skills were just some of the ingredients that propelled him so far in his career. KD had a Masters from Harvard university, but what many people don’t know is that after he applied for the program, and while waiting for a response from Harvard, he flew to Massachusetts without an invitation or an offer, and literally camped outside the admissions office to make himself known. That level of determination and sheer gusto is rarely seen. It paid off because in addition to his obvious and natural intelligence and talent which got him admitted, he also made a stellar impression on Havard admissions.
Many people looked up to him. Last September, he was taken to A&E at
University College Hospital (UCH) in London after complaining of severe
chest pains on set; a few of us went to visit him. Earlier , I received
a text message from him tell me that he had chest pains, and that he
was being given morphine in an ambulance, he ended that message saying “By the time you read this I may be gone” .
I had been in a meeting at work when that text came. As soon as I came
out and read the message I dropped everything and went to UCH. I
remember, how, when he was being wheeled into a CT scan room, many of
the staff in the corridors of UCH recognised him, and greeted him so
warmly. I remember this one African chap, who came and shook his hand,
in that reverential African manner when you meet some celebrity or
personality you admire. KD however, didn’t let that man’s formality last
long. He quickly broke through any barriers and made the chap feel like
they were old time buddies who were just catching up over a few drinks.
KD’s sense of humour was unrivalled - he even cracked a joke with those of
us standing outside as he disappeared behind the CT scan
doors, exclaiming humorously, “You can keep the house” (as
though he was going in for an operation and wouldn’t make it out
alive), sending out a roaring burst of laughter from the doctors and
nurses around. That was the KD I knew. He always saw the upside in every
bad situation, and never let the down times overwhelm him.
KD was an accomplished man, who had so much talent, and so much more to
give. He loved his kids; Elinam, Elorm and ‘Araba’, the little one, the
pride and joy of her dad. He was proud of all of them actually. Elinam
is his eldest. He was trying to get her into a fantastic secondary
school, and was guiding her in her preparations for 11+ and other school
entrance exams. I pray the work he started with her, will eventually
have a happy ending. If her father was anything to go by, she is set for
tons of success too. He would take her to piano lessons and sit through
the entire 40 minuntes or so with her during lessons, and knowing that I
was a pianist, and would thus appreciate the rigour of developing
musical talent, he’d send me ‘live commentary’ from Elinam’s lessons. On
one such occasion, he sent me a text saying “Chalé, this Belarusian piano teacher is expensive o!” and
I joked with him that in time he would see the fruits of his labour for
his children! He also always always found time to take his son Elorm to
football, almost every weekend, and I know that he was an exemplary
model of a father for that young boy, who I no doubt know will make his
father proud. Then, there's his little one, Emefa (or “Araba” as
he lovingly called her), who just loved her dad to bits (she is barely
two years old). Those memorable and heart-melting facebook posts and
pictures of father and daughter playing and laughing together will
forever be etched in my mind. I always wondered how KD ever managed to
build the quality relationships he had, given that he was always busy
and travelling.
Yes it’s true, there was so much more to come. KD, I know you and Dapo Oyewole, (our mutual friend) joked and talked about how you would plan for your presidential campaign in Ghana sometime in the future. Ghana never got that privilege, but in the time you were here, you put your country on the map, and you made Ghana and Africa so proud. So proud that we all wanted to claim you for ourselves. Nobody knew Africa like you did. You cherished every opportunity to tell the African story in a clear, undiluted and thoughtful way. Your contribution to global media’s coverage of Africa is unparalleled. You loved Africa, and always wanted it to shine, but never tried to sweep our challenges as a continent and people under the carpet. In our many long and passionate debates about African politics and development, you were always so riled about the state of African leadership. Your 2012 TEDxEuston talk in London, was just a small reflection of your heart and passion for Africa and media. You commanded the stage, and were so funny and sincere that we all knew we had a very special gift of a brother here. You made us love Africa more. Your appearance, in New African magazine’s Top 100 most influential Africans of 2013 was so well deserved as you were recognised for your achievements in helping to shape and redefine perceptions of Africa on the world stage. You had your cheeky moments, and even fooled some Nigerians in the TEDxEuston audience into thinking you were Nigerian, after you sang the entire first verse of the country's national anthem!
The BBC has truly lost one of its finest. Watching you present and anchor in that seamless and charismatic manner on air always made me so proud. I will forever be grateful to you, for your mentorship, guidance, and unconditional love as a friend and brother. I will miss our banter, always spoken part-English and part-Pigeon! Thank you for helping me chart through some of the difficult moments in my career and professional endeavours. Thank you for being honest and frank when I needed it, and teaching me so much about TV and the media. Boss player (as many of us also fondly called you), all of us hurt deeply from having you leave us so soon, when in fact life was just beginning for you in many ways. I hope the transition to the other side wasn’t too hard or difficult for you, and I know that you’ve now found your peace. I now take some small comfort in hearing that you died in your sleep.
