The Pacesetters series was a phenomenon in the 1980s. It was a competition to have read the latest from the series.
When we, my school mates and friends in secondary school, looked at the list of titles in the series, we took pride in the many we had read.
Agbo Areo was one of the writers. I learnt he, in fact, birthed the series that dominated the bookshelves of the 80s and 90s in Nigeria, in Africa, actually.
Helen Obiageli was another with the all-time classic, Evbu, My Love.
The thrill, the excitement, the sharing between us, of the stories in the books, the titles. Ours was a reading generation.
My first read in the series was For Mbatha and Rabeka. I remember Sisi, Felicia and a host of others. I certainly didn’t read all the one hundred and thirty titles in the series but I read no less than fifty.
It was a race.
It was affordable and accessible. What’s not to take advantage of there?
We gushed over the titles like the generation ahead of us did over Agatha Christy’s detective themed books, which I didn’t quite connect with.
I was pleasantly surprised to hear that the creator of the series, published by Macmillan, passed recently at the ripe age of 83. I am amazed that he was alive all along and he got few honours.
How do those who live with legends do it? I cannot pass by them without drawing attention to their exploits.
Save for the interview done recently by lawyer, writer and publisher, Chuma Nwokolo, on a hunch, there is no exclusive interview about Agbo Areo’s literary exploits. No Order of the Niger; not anything near.
Well, farewell to one of the literary icons of Nigeria. One of Nigeria’s best, unsung.
