𝐎𝐠𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐌𝐬𝐡e𝐥𝐢𝐚: 𝐀 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞

BY: ABDULKAREEM HARUNA

Death is a universal experience, yet no one ever truly gets used to it, especially when it strikes close to home. The passing of Stanley Mshelia, a respected journalist, media administrator, and mentor, came as a rude shock to me. He died in his sleep, a peaceful end to a life fully dedicated to his profession.

I first admired Stanley long before I ever met him. As a teenager, I watched him report on the 1993 presidential campaign of M.K.O. Abiola for the Nigerian Television Authority (NTA). I was captivated by his reporting style, his voice, and the way he tirelessly followed the campaign across Nigeria. 

Many years later, my career in journalism brought me to Borno, and I found myself in the same city as my childhood idol. I was initially intimidated to approach him, but at an event at Government House, I saw him joking and laughing with other colleagues. Taking a chance, I introduced myself and told him how much I had admired his work as a child. He simply smiled, patted me on the back, and said, “Now you've come on board, too. Make sure you do your job well and stay away from trouble.”

In 2003, when Stanley was appointed Senior Special Assistant to Governor Ali Modu Sheriff, our professional relationship grew. As the Secretary of the Borno Correspondents' Chapel of the NUJ, I worked closely with him. Stanley was a larger-than-life figure with a loud, baritone voice and a great sense of humor. He would greet you with a warm smile and a playful joke, often teasing us with a "military regimentality" that made him seem like a commander and us his “junior soldiers.”

Despite the playful banter, he was a dedicated mentor. As a broadcast journalist, he offered invaluable advice to a print reporter like me. He would guide us on our stories, always concluding with, “Well, you guys are the print media experts; I hope this can help.” Even after his retirement, we maintained our cordial relationship and would often run into each other at various events.

One of our last, longest conversations happened after a terrible tragedy: Stanley had lost his only child, a daughter and a fresh law school graduate, to kidnappers in Abuja. The grief was immense, but he faced it with remarkable strength. Though the pain was palpable, he carried on and urged us to help report on his daughter's death so that the family could get justice. Despite our best efforts, her killers were never found.

The last time I saw Stanley was about three weeks before he died, at the funeral of his friend and colleague, Usman Chiroma. Stanley and Usman had shared an office when Usman was the Director of Press and Stanley was the SSA Media at Government House. They were both kind and simple men, and their office was a welcoming space for all journalists. At Usman's funeral, Stanley spotted me and called me over. We exchanged condolences, and he said to me, “There is nothing one can do when the time is up.” I never could have imagined that his time was also almost up.

Rest in peace, Oga Stanley, our indefatigable mentor and journalistic general. Your smiling face and easygoing nature will be forever missed.