We are all going to die. That is a truth we know. But no one ever wants to be the one writing about the death of a parent, a sibling, or a friend.

The first time I met Tonex Chukwu was in 2001, when I was cutting my journalism teeth as a reporter with South South Express Newspapers. Tonex was a correspondent in the South East. I remember the late Mazi Njoku handing over his reports to me for editing, and then I finally met Tonex, a loud, happy, full of life personality. He always had something to say and, as far as I could tell, he kept no grudges.

The next thing I remember, he was named Media Officer of Enyimba FC. A year later, I became Media Officer of Dolphins FC. And from that moment, Tonex and I fought many battles.

Tonex would invite me to Aba to interview club chairman Felix Anyansi-Agwu ahead of CAF Champions League games. That became our routine, especially after our mutual friend, Henry Kalio, passed in early 2004.

I remember 2004 vividly. When Dolphins won the league and FA Cup double, it felt like our neighbours from Aba were bitter that we had taken their shine. There were op-eds sponsored against us in the media, and many of them were championed by Tonex. On paper, we were supposed to be mortal enemies. In reality, we were friends.

In 2005, Tonex once suggested in an interview that Dolphins had bought the league in 2004, by bribing our way to five away wins and three draws. I remember my response. I granted an interview saying I would admit that Dolphins bribed their way to the title on one condition: Tonex should first tell the world how much we paid Enyimba to beat them in Aba on Matchday 7 of that 2004 season. We had won that very heated match 1-0.

That was the rivalry. The heat. The bitterness. And we both knew exactly how to use our friends in the media to our advantage.

A few weeks after that media war, Tonex invited me to Aba again to interview chief Anyansi ahead of another Champions League match. I went. As I was about to leave the office at Rhythm FM in Port Harcourt, our news editor, Clem Ofokwu, asked me, “You sure say you wan go this Aba? Make dem no beat you o.”

I told him I would be safe.

After the interview, instead of driving straight back to Port Harcourt, Tonex suggested we walk from Anyansi’s office to the stadium to grab something to eat. On our way, I noticed people pointing at us and whispering. That was when I understood what Tonex was doing.

Two men actually walked up to him and angrily asked, in Igbo, what he was doing with a Dolphins man at their stadium. Later, he told me he wanted people to see us together, to know that we were not enemies in real life. That our fights were media wars, fuelled by the clubs we represented- Enyimba and Dolphins, and not personal hatred.

That was Tonex.

He may have offended many people in his lifetime, as we all do, but to me, he was a good man.

I was in Benin for the second edition of the Niger Delta Games when consultant Itiako Ikpokpo addressed the press and mentioned an accident involving one of the officials travelling to Benin. He said lives were lost and that this particular official was feared dead, even being taken to the mortuary before he suddenly opened his eyes. It sounded like a miracle. The official was receiving treatment and had been advised to return home to recover fully. Then he mentioned the name: Tonex Chukwu.

I was shocked. But I was happy. He was alive.

Tonex had been part of the scouting team for the Niger Delta Games. So imagine my shock, my heartbreak to hear barely a week later that he had passed.

The last time I saw Tonex was a year ago in Uyo during the first edition of the Niger Delta Games. We sat in the stadium together. He and Kola Oredipe teased me about my beard and joked about forcefully cutting it. I believe Hanaleel Jackson and Priye Roberts were there too. We laughed. We gisted. It felt normal. It felt like there would always be another game, another tournament, another argument, another reunion.

Chai, Tonex.

My friend.

I am in tears.

To Tonex’s family, please know that beyond the headlines, the controversies, the rivalry and the noise, he was a man who loved deeply and lived boldly. He was passionate about the game, loyal to his colours, and fearless with his words. But he was also warm, intentional, and capable of separating battle from brotherhood. That is rare.

To the Nigerian football and sports community, we have not just lost a media officer. We have lost a character. A voice. A spark. The kind of man who understood that football is theatre, rivalry is performance, and friendship is sacred.

Tonex, thank you for the battles. Thank you for the laughter. Thank you for showing me that we could fight on the pages of newspapers and still break bread after the final whistle.

Rest well, my friend. The rivalry is over. The friendship remains