Birthing TheClue

Behind the intriguing walls of a press centre, a digital media company blossoms.

TheClue logo

It was the end of my 200 level, and as a requirement for the award of a Bachelor of Science degree from the Mass Communication Department of Benue State University, I had to undergo a three-month internship at a media house.

Mr. Ise-Oluwa Ige, then Abuja Bureau Chief of the defunct National Mirror Newspaper, had attached me to Omeiza Ajayi, a senior reporter who covered events within Nigeria’s capital city.

As I made my way out of the Press Centre of the Federal Capital Territory Administration (FCTA) Secretariat in Area 11 on a sunny Thursday afternoon in December 2012, giddy with excitement, a male journalist whom I had met earlier called out to me, “Goodness, are you going home?” he asked.

I respond in the affirmative. “Wait, I will drop you off where you can get a cab to your house,” he added before proceeding to get his black laptop bag.

We drove in awkward silence from Area 11 to the NNPC Towers located in the Central Business District; for a weird reason, I felt uneasy, and I remember wishing he'd at least turn on the radio... Anything to lift the dead weight of the silence off me. 

But none of my wishes prepared me for what he asked next, and the uncomfortable conversation that ensued afterward...

“Have you had sex before?” he asked as a skin-crawling smile lit up his face. It took me a while to recover from the shock, so I replied in the negative, visibly irritated. Undeterred, he went on to assure me that I could tell him anything as whatever information I share would remain confidential.

Speaking at the WSCIJ ReportWomen Fellowship event. Photo: WSCIJ

While I found the exchange intrusive and very upsetting, I thought of this particular male journalist mostly as strange or at worst, the black sheep in the herd. However, as time went by, I soon discovered that as a new female intern, being propositioned for sex by some older male journalists was like a coming-of-age ritual of some sort. Stories about their inappropriate sexual escapades with these young girls made headlines when they meet with friends at the many beer parlours littered in gardens around the city.

At the time, I couldn’t name what it was— workplace sexual harassment—but I knew something about older men chasing starry-eyed university students, who were mostly in their late teens or early twenties felt wrong. But by the time I was returning to school, I knew more needed to be done by media practitioners to protect the rights of women, particularly female interns and undergraduates in newsrooms.

This experience also birthed in me a passion to amplify women’s voices in every newsroom I worked in and tell women-centered stories. From working as a content editor for Naij.com (now Legit News) to being the Abuja Correspondent for Pulse Nigeria, the desire to tell stories and support advocacy efforts promoting the rights of women played out freely and easily.

So in 2018 when I made it to the Wole Soyinka Centre for Investigative Journalism (WSCIJ), as a fellow, I used the opportunity to run a feature on Ochanya Elizabeth Ogbanje, the young girl who had allegedly died as a result of complications resulting from continuous sexual abuse at the hands of her uncle and cousin. For me, it was important for people to see Ochanya, even in death as a full human being with dreams and aspirations, and not just a victim to be defined solely by the tragic circumstances of her death.

All 2018 fellows of WSCIJ’s Female Reporters Leadership Programme. Spot me wearing a white shirt at the front row.

Another defining moment during my internship was when Omeiza assigned me a feature story idea on the activities of scavengers (popularly called baba-bola in Hausa) in Nigeria’s capital city.

The commonly held notion among residents was that these young northern boys were all thieves. Working on this feature, I would realize that they, like most vulnerable groups, were victims of systemic rot and corruption, an archaic sociocultural practice, and hostile coverage by mainstream media. 

Some of the scavengers I spoke with at the time shared unpleasant experiences of not being paid the agreed sum by some residents for their services.

“People only see our reactions. Nobody questions why we act the way we do,” Aliyu, a 17-year-old boy from Bauchi state in Nigeria’s north-east, told me in Hausa.

Others opened up about their desire to go to school and the lack of funds to do so coupled with the rising insecurity situation upcountry.

This experience made me realize the danger of the single story and the importance of all-encompassing media representation, especially for disadvantaged or minority groups.

When the story got published, I couldn’t be any happier. Omeiza, in his usual style, had edited the story to standard and stamped it as newsworthy.

Working with Omeiza was not a walk in the park, you had to come correct or go home. In those three months, I quickly learned how to make sense of lengthy press statements and speeches delivered at events. He pushed me as hard as he figuratively held my hand. He would say, “Goodness, the reward for great work is more work, so keep it moving! Keep it getting better!”  

Omeiza also watched me like a hawk, he asked the necessary questions without crossing the lines of proprietary. He listened as much as he barked out orders, even more, I would argue. I went to work each day knowing I could trust him, knowing I was safe and could learn, and had the opportunity to make honest, rookie mistakes, a luxury not many of the other interns working at the Press Centre enjoyed. 

I remember one of the few times I made a mess of a task, after the much-deserved reprimand, Omeiza asked, “What has this experience taught you? Learn your lessons and move on, there’s work to be done.” 

And soon I learned that my mistakes didn’t define me, and because they do not, they should never hold me back. At the end of my internship, I returned to school with five bylines, the confidence of a war-tried soldier, and a will made of steel, tried and tested by the fires of Omeiza.

Posed for a photo after reporting on the activities of lawmakers at the Nigerian parliament.

Ten years later, all of these experiences have birthed TheClue. For me, it goes beyond creating a media product as it would be expected of any journalist who’s worth a dime in this age and time. I have always wanted to tell deeply moving stories, stories that beam a wider searchlight on the whole spectrum of our lived experiences as human beings.

A friend of mine likes to say that people are full of ripe stories begging to be told, and TheClue is ready to tell all these stories, as complex, as sad, and as inspiring as they may come. This publication will provide insights on topical issues; soon, we hope to shape and drive conversations around politics, governance, health, environment, climate change, gender, and much more, leveraging research, data, audiovisual resources, as well as solutions and investigative journalism to drive impact.

Workplace safety and job satisfaction are also important to me, so over the next couple of months, we will launch a platform to equip journalism students and interns, especially women with the necessary skills to help them thrive in this profession. We will mentor. We will push. We will uphold their voices. It is important to me for young people to experience working systems, a basic standard to hold workspaces to. 

If you've read up to this point, then you know that TheClue will be a voice for promoting and centering the achievements of women, from the woman running an akara business down the street to the CEO who's conquering the corporate world, we are telling and amplifying women’s stories.