By Amos Barnabas Kadanga

Very unusual of me, I got emotional few moments after the news of the demise of the erudite professor credited to Mr Joshua James got to me. I thank God for the grace not to have written this tribute emotionally.

I quickly thought about the conference that was to hold in your honour the day after. I marvelled at why you could not be spared for just a few hours more. Now that I have come to terms with the reality of your demise, I know it was just normal.

Moreover, I discovered later that you could not have attended the conference because your strength had failed. You were ill for a while, yet I never knew. But even if I did, you were already on board the flight to the land yonder and the only possibility was to wait for my time and join you there.

The few moments after your demise got me really thinking deep -so this is it; This is how all of your knowledge and peculiar abilities are gone. The end of my thought landed at the words of King Solomon – “all is vanity”. But again, I must confess, you had the kind of vanity I strongly admire and pursue.

You lived a real life; you impacted the world and you died at your post (in Christ).

My encounter with Prof. James

I was a very young boy coming into the university. Nigerian home videos had given me an impression of who a traditional university professor looked like. I came in and met a few within the faculty but none met that mental imagery I had.

I waited until after a year when you came to the university. I noticed a tall, broad-shouldered and agile old man; the grey hairs turned blonde-brown; that’s Professor Ibrahim James.

I peeped with keen amusement whenever I passed by a class where you thought our seniors. At 200 level, we were still in junior class and so did not have the privilege of being taught by the most senior academic of the department.

You were confined to the higher classes and so we had to wait until a year to have a taste of what our seniors said about you. Soon, the time came and boom! the renowned Professor James was in class and I was there.

It was an electric experience. You went straight into business and we had to catch up else you move with the speed of light. As it was your custom, you quickly hung your Atlas World Map which accompanied you to every lecture room. You wrote on the board the course title, looked at us and quickly got started.

Your pattern was unique as you said everyone would be assigned a topic/question to research and present individually. Hitherto, that was unthinkable to us especially because we numbered slightly above a hundred.

We wanted to see the wonder of how each one would get a topic within the same course to make a presentation. After all-said-and-done, it happened and kept repeating itself in all the two courses you handled per semester for the remainder of our university days.

You were a wonder and your technique also fanned many flames in us. Thank you Mwalimu. You immediately became my favourite lecturer and your classes were my best. I kept learning and observing you. The best effect you had on me was when you gave me a global outlook and posture of scholarship.

 I began to see the world at my fingertips. I got familiar with using the map in explaining international studies. I developed an interest in the field that I had to take my first Masters degree in it. Needless I say, I am more of you than any of my teachers. Thank you Mwalimu.

It didn’t take you too long to notice me in your class. I am gracefully an eloquent presenter. And I was smart enough to quickly discover how you wanted your presentations. I got so much of your appraisals via nods and remarks in ‘big’ vocabularies and I got the marks as well.

I never had an A grade in a History course until you came to KASU and I kept banging only A’s and B’s. Thank you Mwalimu. I would not forget in a hurry how I earned your handshake after the benediction at T.B. Gora’s burial, when I spoke on behalf of the students. I am here now, speaking of you but cannot get your handshake afterwards. Such is life.

I equally remember how we got talking later and you asked about the name ‘Kadanga’. You were amazed to discover I am Jaba and even from the village next to where you picked your wife. I, however, never got the chance to explain to you how I am related to your wife. It would have been a long bugging explanation. I am m happy I got to meet her last December at the village.

Now you are gone. I will miss you; the Department of History will miss you; Jaba land will miss you; the academia will miss you; and the world beyond my estimation will miss you.

I remember our conversation on your James Science Academy; the vision you had of making it world-class; that Corps member who you would not allow to leave the school; and much more.

You were one of a kind, a lecturer that gives a reading list that is impossible to access nor cover; a lecturer that has a borrower’s book to lend you his scarce and valuable literatures. I would not fail to tell how a guarantor is needed for you to lend out a book.

You are a globally intelligent lecturer, but out of touch with modern technologies. I had the rare privilege of helping you dial recharge pins on your phone. You are a lecturer that will either bounce incoming call while lecturing or pick up only to say “there’s a lecture going on” not minding who was on the other end.

Kai Baba! Rest in Peace with your maker till we meet again.

Kadanga writes from Zaria, Kaduna State, North West Nigeria.