BY KUNLE BAKARE He entered with a flurry—neither noiselessly nor unobtrusively. You could always tell who was behind the door and making an entrance. The doorknob turned loudly, and the door pushed with a jerk. He marched in, with a shoulder bag – which reporters in the late 80s couldn’t do without – in one hand. His well starched, white two-piece buba and sokoto brocade tailored by either Vivid Imagination or Dakova would still be a bit unrumpled as he made his way to his seat in the newsroom late…
Read MoreA TOAST TO LORD MAYOR AT 60: OLOWO EKO, OMO ERIN J’OGUN OLA!
