Barely days after I grandly declared this website the nation's only proper news site, the elements decided to put my words to the test.
I come into the office on a Friday afternoon (August 14) and there is a determined buzz. Apparently, that morning, the CBN governor had decided that at least four demi-gods (also known as bank CEOs) were, to put it simply, frauds.
Evidently, NEXT has the scoop. Cue newsroom drama.
The first story, sketching out the details, is already up on the website. Admittedly, the headline is sensational, we don't quote any known sources, there is no by-line - but our sources are solid. We ignore doubting Thomases wondering how come we are the only ones to get the news, those ones unaware that news around the world has changed and we refuse to be left behind. We knew what we knew, and we are in the business of telling what we know.
Following the sack of the chief executives, the CBN governor is also having a meeting with all 23 bank chief executives that same day; so the story is developing.
The newsroom is agog: more than three desks tear into the developing story, dogs with a bone, harassing industry insiders (that code word for people who work inside the affected industry and really shouldn't be talking), CBN officials, frenzied shareholders, panicked customers.
Slowly, other media houses play catch up, but as they are mostly unequipped for the new media, they can only do the basics. As word begins to spread that NEXT's website has all the details, traffic to the site begins to build. The hits multiply; the comments reach 50 within minutes, soon sweeping past a hundred. And as traffic builds, the newsroom feels the pressure to feed the hunger.
There is a continuous stream of shouts across desks as supervising editors and reporters become one in the pursuit of a story. "Who is with X story?" The managing editor charges up the stairs, face flush with excitement. "You are? Well you are too slow. It is the latest update - it has to be up right now!"
I watch, mesmerised. I had, the week before, also waxed poetic over ‘State of play', the newsroom drama with Helen Mirren and Russell Crowe, and here was life imitating art... I was at the scene of an ongoing drama.
"Where is the scanned copy of the central bank governor's speech?" The publisher bellows from downstairs. "It's three hours after and it's still not up! People are interested in this story, and they are coming to us!"
It occurs to me that we are not just reporting a story; we have become a part of the story. For the story to be a story, we have to break it. Without us, there is no story. Without the story, the public cannot see; cannot hear.
There is a basic understanding across the newsroom that our new, groundbreaking media enterprise is building a trust relationship with the public. Indeed, the contract the news media has with the public is a simple one - win their trust and they will come back. We just hit a rich vein, one that goes right to our ethos and pathos as a media enterprise, and everyone involved in this venture was going right at it.
The stories roll in one after the other, excitement building with each. There is ‘CBN sacks CEOs and management of', then there is ‘CEO dismissals: CBN now acting in its full capacity', then there is ‘CBN appoints replacements for sacked bank chiefs', then there is ‘We have know the truth all along - Peterside', ‘Sacked CEO guilty of ‘poor corporate governance practices', ‘Sanusi Lamido speaks on CEOs dismissal', ‘We will not allow any bank to fail - Sanusi', ‘Those who will take over the banks'... it is dizzying.
Our Twitter updates are coming in like rapid fire; meetings are being called almost on the hour. I catch the head of the online team guy, at some point, motionless by the entrance to the office, staring into space. Who can blame him? Our hits had surpassed any other newspaper website. Ours had become a newsroom on crack.
In the July edition of Vanify Fair (which I swear by), its editor, Graydon Carter, had a word of advice for the many newspaper across the world struggling with decreased readership and advertising. "My suggestion to newspapers everywhere is to give the public a reason to read them again. So here's an idea: get on a big story with widespread public appeal, devote your best resources to it, say a quiet prayer, and swing for the fences."
This was such a moment. For a country whose people have become cynical towards the media, here was an opportunity to restore trust. We devote all of our resources to it, and the public gratefully responds with phone calls, emails and website comments.
Carter had reminded his readers in the same editor's letter that the health and vigor of a nation's dailies are vital to the intellectual health and vigor of the nation, and that newspapers remain the most essential force in keeping a watchful eye on corrupt politicians and venal corporate overlords - here I am, living that dream.
As the day rolls into evening, the pace expectedly slows. Slows enough for the paper's publisher to come upstairs and manage some banter. "You guys have been catching the mistakes?" He asks the standards team. "Yes, when there's this kind of pressure, the mistakes multiply. But everyone has done a great job today." He smiles. We smile back.
It is almost 9pm. That's the time when, tired from 8 hours of re-writing sometimes frustrating pieces, those on the afternoon shift can begin to leave one after the other. But today, all of us on the standards team stay put on our chairs, not wanting to drop the ball. What if one of the bank CEOs did something newsworthy? Someone has to edit that story.
My colleague on the night shift soon arrives, and she notices that something is different. "Didn't you hear the news?" One of us asks. She draws a blank. "5 bank MDs were today sacked by the CBN governor." Her eyes light up, and she hurries me up from the chair.
Perhaps on another day, I would have been a teeny bit offended by the wordless nudge; but today I understood what it is about.
It was the same reason I came back from boarding school after my fourth year, and told my shocked mother I no longer wanted to be an accountant. Clutching proudly my ‘Journalist of the Year' award from the press club, I declared grandly that being an accountant had no meaning; it couldn't change the world. "I am going to be a journalist," I said, smiling.