By Muyiwa Adetiba
Many moons ago, there was a security man at the Punch who was very fond of me. He affectionately called me ‘nwamu’—meaning ‘my son’ in Igbo. (I hope I got it right). I often called him ‘papa’ in return. Our conversations were usually brief, punctuated in the main by jokes and banters. They were light hearted and warm: like between friends and family. I can’t recollect his asking for anything from me and I can’t recollect my giving him anything—we didn’t have that kind of relationship. Yet, he was deeply protective of me, almost like a mother hen sometimes. If he felt a particular regular visitor, usually of the female specie, wasn’t good for me, he took care of it often without my say so or even knowledge. He once pointedly told a young lady to leave me alone because I would soon be married! There was no doubt in my mind that he would shield or at least alert me if he knew State Security was coming after me or if any danger was coming my…
