The body of Mr. Dimgba Igwe was committed to earth last Saturday at his Igbere home town under clear skies in a location surrounded by hills. It was witnessed by a huge congrega­tion that could still not make sense of a death like Dimgba’s.

As was said of John Brown, the white American abolitionist, it must also be said by all who knew Dimgba that though he lay there in that grave, his soul goes marching on. He was simple in life. He was exalted in death.
In Dimgba’s death, words failed everyone. I read almost every word, and listened wherever I was privi­leged to hear the heartfelt tributes. It was always inadequate. Even the most eloquent ones from Femi Ade­sina, Shola Oshunkeye, even the most emotional from his ‘twin’ brother Mike Awoyinfa, the soul stirring el­egy by Funke Egbemode. There was something about Dimgba Igwe that is hard to capture in words.
The country has mourned and buried many journalists of repute. Yet I do not quite recall one to match the outpourings for Dimgba Igwe.
As we ascended the steps to view his body for the last time last Satur­day, over and above the quiet sobs was a thirty-something year old woman whose loud wailing created some disturbance as she had to be helped and held from hurting herself. It was not just the wailing that moved many, it was what she said and kept saying: Who now will take care of the poor, the despised, the forgotten? Who now will listen to the needy, the down and out? Who now? That’s what she kept saying.
You could tell Dimgba Igwe had made a difference in that lady’s life as he did in numerous others including his barber who narrated how Dimgba Igwe paid him N5,000 for a N500 haircut. He did not pay the barber because he could. He paid him that much because he cared.
The story of his death did put the Lagos State Government to shame. Indeed, it is not just the Lagos State Government. Any state government in Nigeria which cannot guarantee an ambulance, fire and emergency ser­vice capable of reaching a distressed citizen in a city in 15 minutes should be ashamed of itself. Indeed, it is a political and social malpractice. It is inconceivable in a civilized society.
It is actually astonishing that a huge megalopolis like Lagos has no 911 emergency service. It is not a luxury, it is a necessity. And it must be functional, not a window dressing. What’s the use of an ambulance when there is no ready driver to drive it, or fuel in its tank or a hundred and one reasons why our facilities fail at cru­cial times.
An emergency service must be budgeted for and paid for by the city’s residents. No one knows whose turn it will be to need the service and that’s why it is usually the last item to be touched when a city is in financial distress. And it must be composite – fire, police, health – all working to­gether as a team to keep the city safe and provide a sense of security.
The emergency personnel are not amateurs but well trained profession­als who know a great deal about first aid and healthcare, about the hospi­tals in the area and their capacities, and the quickest route to get there. They then alert the emergency ward in advance to prepare to receive the patient, giving the hospital a descrip­tion of what they think is the problem with the patient.
This writer was once in need of help in 1987 when assassins ambushed me and shot and left me for dead. The first hospital I was rushed to, a private hospital in Ikeja, had a professor of medicine to attend to me. Seeing my state, he was so worried and felt so much for me he lost his nerves, and asked us to rush to LUTH. Could we use the ambulance in the hospital to get to LUTH? No, because the ambu­lance was unserviceable.
Sympathizers gathered me up into Kiddy Dare’s Beetle car to LUTH where Dr. Mrs. Esther Ajuluchukwu, now a professor in the University of Maiduguri Teaching Hospital, one of the best surgeons in the world, spent hours putting me back and needing nine pints of blood to do so.
The mysteries of life are beyond the wisdom of man. Dimgba Igwe could still have died even if an ambu­lance arrived in five minutes and took him to see the best consultant sur­geon in the Lagos University Teach­ing Hospital (LUTH). But it would have freed his wife and many rela­tives and friends from the pervasive sense of guilt, recriminations and the mournful helplessness which are evi­dent. Those who thought they could have helped him would sleep better at night, not re-living his travails as they do now.
I have tried in vain to put my fin­ger on why Dimgba Igwe was such an extraordinary man. He was extraor­dinarily smart. Yes, but I have met many people I consider rather smart. He was an epitome of humility. And I know quite a few humble people. He was a workaholic. I have met a lot of unrelenting, tireless, hardwork­ing people. So, what made Dimgba Igwe tick?
The one subtle but inescapable trait I can vouch for is that as a person, as a human being, he radiated good­ness in its purest form. He was quick to see goodness in other people. He seemed a perfect student of Basho­run M.K.O.Abiola’s aphorism that life is like a mirror, if you smile at it, it smiles back. He was not just a down-to-earth person, you could see he was not feigning it. His honesty was permeating and transparent. He was a n i nspirer. H e g lorified g ood­ness, kindness and industry and talent and he looked for these in everyone he met.
In his last regular Tuesday column the ‘Sideview’ published four days before his death, he reported his hon­est impressions of the Nigerian Guild of Editors Conference in Katsina and the inspiring story of how the Katsina State Governor Ibrahim Shema was able to give free education at all levels by creatively putting away a tiny por­tion of the state’s monthly allocation.
He was absolutely inspired by “the story of an orphan boy from Funtua,” who “was able to make straight A’s in all his subjects. But then, he se­cured a job in the farm of a rich man where his singular duty was carrying fertilizers on a donkey. When Shema heard of his pathetic story, he offered him scholarship to the University of California to study Environmental Engineering. This year the orphan graduated with First Class honors and won a prize as the overall best gradu­ating student.” This is the Dimgba Igwe kind of story – a story of love, enterprise, success and goodness.
I remember when as young fea­tures writers in the early1980s he and Mike Awoyinfa, always a team, came to interview me for their book on Fea­tures Writing.
A few people thought I could write features but no one ever asked me how to do it. And here came the duo ask­ing me countless questions for hours on strategy and techniques. When they finished, I knew the sky was their limit. I have been an instructor in newsrooms and journalism schools but till date the book they interviewed me for is the only Nigerian textbook used in all institutions of learning on the subject.
Dimgba Igwe has joined the im­mortals. He is for the ages. Fare thee well, my friend.

Dimgba Igwe, the Immortal