Journalism is not an easy career.It’s more like drudgery. Sacrifice for humanity, service to public without expecting much in return.
While you know what day the month ends and look forward to salary, the journalist hardly expects one and as days roll into months and months roll into years, he couldn’t be bothered for what drives him, is passion.
A journalist only cares about his byline and getting that excellent copy. He has no holiday, no Christmas, no Sallah. Everyday, everywhere he goes, all he sees is work…he asks himself, where is the news in everything he sees.?
Everyday without a good copy is a bad day for a journalist. He never retires, he sleeps lightly because his phone may beep at 2am and he must be awake and be ready to write and or jump in his car for a journey unknown. Just follow the scent.
By and large, he does this all his life, if he is ill, he may die because he cannot afford good health care.
He knows the high and mighty but do they really want to know him, someone who puts them on their toes day and night? Whose only loyalty is to duty?
Life of a journalist is endangered every minute by enemies unknown and unseen. He knows this, but passion pushes him and one day, the letter bearing a bomb may arrive at his breakfast table.
That friendly phone call for a lunch meet may be a poisoned chalice; the innocent handshake might be a kiss of death.
His shoes are tattered from trekking, his spouse works over time to ensure family does not starve. There’s always tension at home…yet he trudges on.
The miserable men of the pen don’t tire out.
Yes, misery is working all your life and having nothing to show for it but stories archived, to keep generations unborn safe and secured.