Deandrea Hamilton | Editor
The Bahamas, August 3, 2025 – It had to be early 1995 that our Journalism Department hosted a media day in the auditorium of what was then, COB—the College of The Bahamas.
She was our premier speaker.
Still a wide-eyed 20-year-old with lofty aspirations of becoming an impactful journalist and marketing mogul one day, I had no idea the full weight of what I was about to receive. Back then, cell phones were clunky, AI was sci-fi, and the unceasing stream of news over social media didn’t exist. But her name—I knew that. Or at least, one of them: Kelly. I’d seen it etched above the entrance of department stores, and I’d dreamed of packing those designer housewares into my own place one day.
But on that day, out stepped a dainty little lady—classy, composed, and clad in a skirt suit that shimmered just enough to say “I’m a boss,” without outshining her message. She commanded the room. Her voice—firm, deliberate, relentless—poured wisdom across the rows of aspiring media minds. She had lived it. She had fought for it. She had made journalism mean something in this country.
Her philosophy has never left me: “You can never be out of news. When you feel like you are, look outward—see what’s happening in the world. Find the ripple effect. The tidal wave. The echo at home. Then go after it.”
That was Nicki Kelly.
And now she is gone.
On August 2, 2025, the legendary journalist—who shaped public discourse in The Bahamas for more than half a century—slipped away quietly at her home. She was 93 years old.
Nicki Kelly was more than a columnist. She was a cultural critic, a social historian, and a fearless advocate. Her writing in The Tribune, and later The Punch, chronicled corruption, challenged the powerful, and gave voice to national frustration. She was not afraid to be unpopular—only to be silent.
A teacher turned newswoman, she mentored from the page and from the podium. In 2002, she challenged her fellow journalists to rise above mediocrity. In 2016, she was immortalized as a cultural icon in the Bahamas National Portrait Gallery.
To say her work was fearless is an understatement. She was steady when others were shaken, and she spoke when many dared not.
And yet, Nicki Kelly’s exit was just like her entrance—understated but unforgettable.
“That little lady way back then knew how to make an entrance, and all these years on, she again proves she knows how to exit.”
We owe her more than accolades. We owe her courage, curiosity, and commitment.
Rest well, Nicki Kelly. Your voice shaped ours.
