“One of a kind” would be an apt and befitting tribute to Alhaji—if it were not so inadequate.
There is much to say about a man who enjoys rare consensus among his students, colleagues, and community as a defining pillar. Yet words struggle to capture the sentiments I wish to express in tribute to one whose endearment to others is matched only by his legacy. In his professional life—which is what carried his name far beyond those who personally knew him—Alhaji embodied the proverbial space one needs in order to become. Individual experiences may differ, but what students, volunteers, and patrons of Radio Univers share is that sense of space. It is something very few managers possess, and even fewer carry with such grace.
Who was this modest man at a small radio station on the University of Ghana campus, with such outsized influence on his community and nation? Who was Alhaji?
He was modest to a fault, kind beyond measure, and altruistic beyond what even his faith demanded of him. To go further with adjectives risks pretension—and perhaps a blushing embarrassment for Alhaji himself, who would have preferred we kept it short and simple.
Alhaji ran a tiny, under-resourced, university-based radio station—small in size, but immense in consequence and impact. What appeared to be an extracurricular student outlet became, in practice, the university’s foremost incubator of professional media craft.
The operational structure of Radio Univers has always been its strength: a near-autonomous, peer-to-peer newsroom operating twenty-four hours a day. Students—volunteers, as we fondly called ourselves—ran programming, made editorial decisions, corrected one another, failed publicly, improved through dedication, and learned responsibility by being trusted with it. The monthly honorarium was a pittance, yet it created tension. A student always needs money, so it was helpful, but sometimes one wondered whether it existed to ease the discomfort of relying on unpaid labour.
But there was always Alhaji, who knew just enough to keep things afloat. In a sense, he was a unionist too.
He practiced what might pass as gracious paternalism: protective but not suffocating, attentive but rarely intrusive. He did not hover over scripts or vet every broadcast before it aired. Instead, he watched—and because he watched, everyone worked as though someone cared. We worked knowing at least one person was always tuned in, listening, and that it was him.
There are many stories from those who encountered Alhaji’s Radio Univers as student leaders, analysts, guests, contributors, callers, and more. For all of them, and for us, what Alhaji provided—what he represented—was space. Alhaji was the metaphorical “room.” The diversity of paths bears this out. The journalists are simply the most visible—and even among them, you would find Giovanni, DJ Black, and Anas side by side doing their trade. Beyond broadcasting, the network of influence is far wider.
We looked forward to June 4, his birthday, with excitement and expectation. We would organise a modest surprise—often crowdfunding a cake and gathering testimonies from mentees and colleagues. Among them was a long list of former volunteers in media practice, academia, and beyond. When we ambushed him in his office with a celebratory song, we sometimes left with a few dollars to share among ourselves. He was the quintessential obaatanpa: one who gives from what little he has, even from what is in his mouth.
Mr Avle says of Alhaji:
“You discovered, mentored, and trained me and many others in a generation. May your legacy endure.”
Celebrated investigative journalist Anas Aremeyaw Anas—himself almost mythical in our encounters with Alhaji, as one often arrived only to be told Anas had just left—said:
“I count myself among those he shaped: a relay runner carrying the baton he placed in my hands.”
More than the glowing tributes from those he trained, older professionals—who might themselves qualify as his mentors—tell even more consequential stories about his fidelity to democracy and media freedom in Ghana. Since the 1990s, Alhaji’s Radio Univers stood at the birth of media freedom in the Fourth Republic, hosting generations of revolutionaries, reporters, broadcasters, and thinkers long before they knew they would become any of those things.
Professor Kwesi Yankah—who was there with Alhaji when it all started in the early 1990s—noted in his tribute:
“Over a period of twenty-five years, life moved on; various streams of students passed through our experimental Univers; changing scenes of management and staff passed with fond memories.
One thing, however, remained constant: Alhaji Sidick Ahmed—the cornerstone: humble, diligent, affable, loyal, principled. Sidick declined several offers to leave Univers for greener radio, but prosperity would not move him.”
Professor Ivan Addae-Mensah—with whom I have spoken extensively about Radio Univers and Alhaji—and others are best placed to tell the rest of the legacy. But the question of the future of Radio Univers, and the responsibility of the University of Ghana, is mine to address.
Now that he is gone—for not even retirement ever took him completely out of the affairs of Univers—there is a real risk the station’s influence could wane, if not drift into obsolescence. Alhaji has been replaced by two former volunteers whose commitment to the legacy cannot be doubted, but who should not be expected to endure the same patience he had for the rhetoric of university management.
A decade ago, I fought these battles with colleagues: Maxwell Agbagba, Caleb Kudah, Ernest Manu, Jonas Nyabor, Joseph Ackah-Blay, and others. The Public Affairs Directorate, under which Radio Univers then operated, enjoyed a glowing reputation from the excellence of alumni-volunteers. Today, it is under the University Media Management Committee. The University always celebrated the success of Radio Univers publicly and treated it, sometimes, rather contemptuously within. Ironically, it was Alhaji who urged us to exercise restraint in our fiery commentary against the University about the affairs of the station.
Today, Radio Univers’s budget has reportedly been cut to a third. Faulty transmitters cause momentary shutdowns, the newsroom is without internet, and operations are in grave jeopardy. Alhaji, whose character compensated for structural neglect, will be sorely missed. The current managers can only do so much if the University Media Management Committee does not act the part.
In the end, we who had the privilege of proximity to Alhaji sometimes assumed everyone else did—or should. If they knew us, or knew enough about the last thirty years of media practice in Ghana, we believed they would know Alhaji too. The ubiquity of the name “Alhaji” in Ghana never warned us that there might be others elsewhere. To us, there was only ours.
As we bid farewell and reflect on his legacy, we take comfort in knowing that the many people for whom he laboured—often at the expense of a more lucrative private or international career—had opportunities to express appreciation to him. On the occasion of his birthday in 2023, I echoed the sentiments of my friends when I wrote:
“Happy birthday, Alhaji, and may Allah bless you abundantly as you go into retirement. We are all incredibly grateful for everything and hope that you have no regrets—only contentment for what you have done for everyone in your service. Thank you very much.”
This is not how we roll out here, yunno—but that had to be done. There had to be no doubts.
The University of Ghana, with much insistence from the station and its community, also offered due honours, culminating in a befitting send-off at the Great Hall on June 6, 2025. One thing is clear, however: the University now stands exposed. If it will continue to benefit from the successes of Radio Univers, it must meet its responsibilities more seriously. It cannot reasonably expect the same level of sacrifice from the new, younger management of the station—nor can we, the alumni.
May the words of R. M. Ballantyne offer some comfort:
“To part is the lot of all mankind. The world is a scene of constant leave-taking, and the hands that grasp in cordial greeting today are doomed ere long to unite for the last time, when the quivering lips pronounce the word—Farewell.”
Farewell, Alhaji. And thank you for everything.
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Authored by Abdul Karim (Former Radio Univers volunteer; Host of Campus Exclusive, Behind The Headlines (with Alhaji), and Head of Sports at Radio Univers, 2013–2017.)
