The death of Imam Imam hit me like a tornado—it shattered my defenses and left me near berserk. How do you reconcile with the reality that a man so full of life just yesterday now lies still and motionless, buried beneath the weight of the earth? He was all zest and energy, and with a single pause of breath, he slipped into eternal sleep—never to wake again, forever held in the embrace of the soil. Like every mortal, Imam answered the call of nature’s decree. Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un. Imam Imam—five years after, the tears still drop.
Our paths first crossed in 2014 at the National Blood Service Agency, where he accompanied his boss, Right Hon. Aminu Tambuwal, to donate blood for victims of the UN bomb blast. Possessing a telegraphic memory, he recognized me instantly. We hugged, and that moment marked the beginning of a friendship that grew into a brotherhood. He practically adopted me as his younger brother, mentoring me in media practice, public relations, and reputation management. A dependable friend, Imam sacrificed both time and resources for me.
Imam Imam was a soul of deep emotion; he could break down with the slightest discomfort. Beneath his macho build lay a man burdened with emotional scars. He faced fierce antagonism from certain individuals in Sokoto—not because he wasn’t doing his job, but simply because he wasn’t from Sokoto. He was maligned and scorned—a deep pain he carried to his grave. I’m sure those detractors are now satisfied with ‘their own’ spokesperson, now that the ‘stranger’ is no more.
His emotional fragility became most evident when one of his daughters overdosed on a prescription drug. Imam wept through the night as doctors fought to save her. By morning, he had lost noticeable weight. A devoted family man, he would go to great lengths to ensure the comfort of his loved ones. But today, the man who was inseparable from his children is nowhere near them—such is the cruelty of death. It snatches away the light that once lit the path, leaving only dimness and gloom. Imam Imam left without a wave goodbye. Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un.
This tribute is tragically worded for a life fatally cut short. The pain is deep and excruciating. But should we mourn? We submit instead—for God is always right in His will. We are mere instruments of His divine plan.
Imam left behind radiant memories, etched in elegance and depth. Infectiously detribalized and openly affectionate, his beautiful soul has left an indelible mark on the sands of time. His generosity often meant sacrificing more for others than for himself. He remains a powerful reference—a gentleman who lived, loved, and left too soon.
As a media professional, Imam carved an enviable niche. He set a benchmark for true journalism—detailed, modest, and never flamboyant. As a spokesperson, he exemplified the ethics of journalism. Not once did he throw tantrums or act unprofessionally. He was the embodiment of effective communication strategy, the kind of media manager Mass Communication students learn about in theory. Imam practised journalism with grace, humility, and civility. The Nigerian media has lost a towering figure in modern journalism.
Dear Imam Dalhatu Imam, the curtain fell far too quickly. The earth embraced you too soon—but it could not erase your legacy. Though you are no more, the echoes of your life remain all around us. The media world stood still the day you drew your last breath. The skies themselves seemed confused—caught between rain and sunlight, each vying to honour your passing. The Alnur Mosque overflowed with mourners during your final rites. The crowd, desperate for a last glimpse of you, overwhelmed those trying to maintain order. Even in death, you commanded attention. Such is the signature of greatness—the rich and poor came together to honour you. They returned without your body but carried your memory in their hearts. You came, you lived, and you left—in fierce haste.
I recall our last moment vividly—at the entrance of the Sokoto State Government House. Like the giant you were, you enveloped me in an embrace and handed me a parcel. You held my hand, opened the car door for me, and gently closed it. With deliberate steps, you walked backward and waved with a shy smile. That was the last time I saw you. Our phone conversations never quite filled the void—your physical presence, your grace, was incomparable. You were a humble soul far greater than your status. And as ordained by the Almighty, your chapter closed and the earth cloaked you forever.
Imam Imam, may the heavens be kind to your soul. May your grave be spacious, your abode forever illuminated, and may Allah’s Rahmah cover you abundantly.
Until we meet again—it is goodnight, my friend, my brother, my teacher.
—Abdullahi O. Haruna Haruspice
