How was he sure that his nine year old son, Oluebube, would be spared? Of the bullets of the AK 47 rifle of that straggler of Nigerian federal soldier who sauntered towards them that fateful day? The day he once again verbalized his oft-repeated will as himself and son trudged that lonely bush path between Eluama Nkporo and the farm land of Apanu Item bounded by wild bushes. To have met the soldier at the lonely road at the time was like a death sentence. More so at the time the Nigerian civil war had gone out of control that anybody, no matter the age could be killed. After all, a number of children were so killed at Agbo mini, Amaeke early in 1968 by a long range shell bomb supposedly fired by the federal troops. This time of the Nigerian civil war, 1969 – when anything went just anyhow, anything could happen. The civil war was nearing its end, at the time greater part of Igbo heartland, the main theatre of the war, had been overrun by the Nigerian federal troops. Though the troops encamped around most of the communities, they didn’t quite have full control of them. The people thought themselves more to be Biafrans. In their innermost being, the federal soldiers were the vandals and enemies so well described and scandalized by Radio Biafra before they arrived. In the day, they were “Nigerians,” in the night and beyond the sight of the invading federal soldiers, they were Biafrans. A chameleonic way of surviving the ever mystifying undercurrents of the civil war, you may say. Mazi Amadu Okocha, “we had to find a way of surviving not only the federal troops but the Biafrans who were not happy with us; any time they came around, it was to accuse us of acquiescing to soldiers of ndi igaba, the Nigerian federal troops (derogatory tag) and would not appreciate what we are passing through.”
Mazi Okocha aged about 52 years was returning to his Amaeke village with his son, Oluebube from his yam trading business in Nkporo, a neighbouring town. The nine year old boy had become his permanent escort, rather a partner, as the older ones could not afford to show up for the risk of being conscripted into the Biafran army or be killed by the federal soldiers on the suspicion of being disguised members of Biafran BOF, the guerilla fighters. Okocha had left his thriving textile manufacturing and trading business in Aba in 1968 trekking the whole of about 70 kilometers along with his nephews, Agbai and Owoh to Amaike, his home town to escape from the rampaging federal troops who took the city from the Biafrans. Like other Biafrans, he had run to his village, Amaike Item with the hope of escaping the ravages even if it was temporary. Amaike, one of the nine villages making up Item community is in the northern part of what is now Abia state. The federal troops as the Biafrans charitably typified them, during the civil war, invaded and took over Aba, prideful Enyimba city, one of the commercial heartbeats of the then Eastern Nigeria where he had migrated for better in 1936. Back in the village, he now survived farming cassava and other local staples, selling off his rich collection of clothes and other belongings as well as doing petty trading on yam. Of all the places in the part of Bende, Nkporo had the most fertile arable land and was renowned for growing very large yam tubers. For the large productions, the yams sold cheap. It was the Mecca for those looking for lowly priced farm produce especially yam.
Mazi could not do the alternative afia attack, the lucrative but dangerous night trading across military posts of both the federal and the Biafran soldiers. The distance from Item to Ohaozara and Okposi, (both towns now in Ebonyi state) the main markets location was farther – some 35 kilometers or more following bush paths. You needed heart and youthfulness to do the afia. The Nkporo market was a pleasant alternative being much calmer and safer than Amaike by all assumptions and was the home town of some his former business associates like Ete Nkuma who are all natives of Etiti Ama, Nkporo. It was also nearer. The rural town of Nkporo provided the escapist nostalgia, get-away succor, pleasantries with old folks and relaxation away from the heat of the unpredictable occurrences in his village, either from the Biafran or Nigerian federal troops. Amaike and its people have had the misfortune of being attacked more than other communities in Item much earlier and during the war. Local historians of the people told how “in 1914 the British colonial masters had invaded the community on the case of resisting and killing Nwa Bekee that is the white man. They had at an instance demanded that our Eze Ogo, king of the community should answer summons in Bende before Nwa Bekee (long time traditional capital of a collection of communities) in the area. A demand we considered a sacrilege. In the course of the resistance and ensuing scuffle when they visited to make good their order, our people overpowered nwa bekee and team, dragged them into our local lake, Odoro Gburugburu and buried them there.” Odoro gburugburu, a dying lake in the valley of hilly Amauzu section of Amaeke, is a revered shrine and deified pool of water. Some of the indigenes make bold to liken it to the biblical pool of Bethsaida. And credited it with healing powers such that worked more for the indigenes except you are nwa nwa, an offspring of one their daughters. Nobody has told how the healing powers are derived or worked, whether it is a move of Angels like that of Bethsaida or by ancestral spirits. You dire not argue with fanatical indigenes about this as they jealously guard the “secrets” and by so doing increase the curiosity about and mystification of the dead pool of water.
“I know Nkporo trading was only less risky. It is also nearer. One can still be killed either by the federal or Biafran soldiers as both sides held my town Item, Igbere, Nkporo, Alayi, Ugweke etc in perpetual suspicion of sabotage. Nigerian federal troops think the people of Item Okpi were cohorting with Biafran soldiers who often launched guerilla attacks at their base at the former Umunna-Ato Central hospital while the Biafran soldiers accuse the people of welcoming the “enemies and vandals with open arms”, Okocha rationalized. Leaving the people with a dangerous dilemma that held them constantly between life and death. Mazi Okocha had at first cheated death when he escaped the arrest by the federal soldiers who were working on the information squealed by one of the leaders of the community regarding a leadership group known as 29 Member Committee. A group believed also to have had links with Biafran armed forces. He constantly feared there could be a second time as the war unraveled. The committee was the community’s wartime leadership council – in a sense they were the legislature and executive with the Eze Ogo in council, the traditional ruler.
On the tip off, the commander of the federal soldiers believed especially that the people of Amaeke were not loyal to them and were working with the Biafrans secretly. In the month of December, 1968 they swooped on the community and arrested ten members of the committee. Mazi Okocha was one of those who escaped into the bush where he lived for another three months and only visited his family in the night leaving early morning. Of the ten, only two so arrested returned alive to the community. One did one month after the civil war ended in January, 1970.
Between March and April, 1968, Okocha had also escaped being conscripted into the Biafran Armed Forces. At his age of 50 plus, he looked very much younger than his age because of his fitness and smart dressing. He liked to look good and made good efforts about it. What gave him recognition before women and a few men almost got him into the “trouble” of becoming a reluctant Biafran soldier. “We just ended the meeting of ndi ezi ayi, our kindred meeting and saw some young men running frightfully into our compound; traditionally no Police or Security man can arrest and take anybody out of our compound, Ama Agbala because it is traditionally forbidden. My compound is well revered for being the seat of the oracle and custodian of the shrine that determined dates of celebration of new yam festival and others in Item. It was the seat of Eze Otosi, spiritual prime minister. It is generally regarded as a refuge and shelter for anybody running from danger”, Mazi Okocha narrating how the conscripting Biafran soldiers stormed Ama Agbala. They came totting their Madison rifles and were hurling young men into waiting open body vehicles. “I escaped them by the whiskers as I meandered through azu oka, meaning half-done raffia fence and into Okpukwu, the river bordering our compound.” He was not just a coward but was mindful that his parents of blessed memory had only him as a male child of the five surviving children they had; joining the army increased the uncertainty of his survival to sustain the family name.
The third time he escaped life endangering situation was in January, 1969 when he also escaped being shot dead by the federal troops who had come on a sting operation. One of the members of the 29 Member Committee had turned sabo, the Biafran lingo for a saboteur or any Biafran who had taken sides with the Nigerian Federal troops. Merely calling one sabo was a death sentence to be executed by mob action of the Biafrans in the absence of soldiers. Sam Anyansi had become the second person to leak the information on the inner workings of the Committee to the federal troops and surreptitious moves of the Biafran BOF in his community. Some argue he gave the information under duress while others felt he had always been jealous of one of the prominent members of the war committee, a younger rich man popularly known as Mascot. It was on the strength of Anyansi’s piece of information, however it was made available, prompted this raid on the community that day.
Luckily, some of the key members escaped including Mazi Amadu thereafter operated under cover. Meanwhile, Sam Anyansi was still held by the soldiers and was later executed. A member of the committee had indicated that “they killed him with their bayonets because they said they needn’t waste their bullets because of him; one of the killer soldiers supposedly had told a friend in a palm wine bar in Okoko Item that ‘we killed him, anybody who could betray his brothers can kill anybody’. Okoko was the nearest Item village to the camp of the Nigerian federal troops in Umunna-ato Central Hospital.
So, death constantly stalked Mazi Okocha, the reason why he was often verbalizing his will. He wanted to live like all others but aware that death could come any time. When he sighted that soldier on their way to Amaeke and close to Apuanu, it didn’t matter whether he was Biafran or Nigerian; he thought this was the closet encounter and that he might not be spared. He couldn’t run leaving his poor son or couldn’t valiantly confront the soldier – the federal soldier invariably coming from one of the palm wine and local gin, kai kai joint in Apuanu was beside himself as his displayed his drunken steps some 100 meters away though fully kitted like one ready for battle or any eventuality. It looked very much like he sneaked away from an operation with his kitting. Mazi turned to his boy, Oluebube, “tell them what happened to me; may God keep you and siblings. It is over, God knows I have tried. Meta obu gi ike, inula. Take heart ehn, take heart.” As they got closer, about 30 meters, Amadu’s fear became hysterical betrayed by way he greeted the soldier – Good afternoon sir, good afternoon sir, afternoon sir in hurried sequence. But the soldier who was apparently oblivious of the greetings bumped into them. It could have been induced by influence of alcohol or sheer disdain for bloody civilians. Nobody is sure. Before the soldier could respond, Oluebube, Mazi’s son had fallen into the bordering fallow farm land on the side of the bush path. Whether, it was fear or the soldier that pushed the small boy, nobody could tell. “Thank you sir, thank you sir, don’t mind the stupid boy; I have been warning him, Mazi responded to the federal soldier who kept moving away from him and son. The soldier continued on his way, stumbling and falling as it were, until he went beyond the sight of the two journey persons. He never had time to look at Okocha or ask their normal question – “wetin da reason?” which is to say “what is it?” Mazi Okocha’s breath was still rising and falling as the soldier kept walking towards Nkporo, himself and son towards Apuanu to home. As they got to the centre of Apuanu village, far away from the scene of the incident, Mazi became a bit normally and breathed down. He turned to his son, Oluebube, “thank God o o o, thank God, ekele duru Obasi d’relu. Hmmm, thank God, he sighed. Let’s move faster, faster…” as if the soldier was going to return for them. The boy struggled to match the increased pace of his father as they headed home less than two kilometers away. With the increased pace, they got home earlier than usual. It was Mazi Okocha who told the surprised family what happened to him. Oluebube didn’t have to.
After taking few days to reflect on the incident, he was caught in between – to continue the yam trading business in Nkporo or to do otherwise. He couldn’t still make up his mind but family pressure, 12 children and three wives, wouldn’t allow him any luxury. It was logical he continued the business though his fears had heightened. Meeting a straggler soldier on that road was least expected. In few occasions, he tried to get back but only by increased circumspection – asking other travelers about the road with every 500 meters done resulting in doing a day journey in two days. Any day he felt a premonition, the journey was cancelled. In no time, he and a few others found a new path inside the thicker bush as an alternative route to the Nkporo market. But he would not take regular trips as he used to, for the fear caused by the earlier incident.
What A Day!
Since Abu, the emir heard the story of Leeke and his bank boss, he has not ceased to hallucinate about the circumstances that brought about the exclamation – “What a day?” Momentarily, he would burst into laughter and soliloquize, “what a day, what a day”! He now prefers to end his conversations jocularly with “what a day!” Emir is Leeke’s colleague and for his pretensions to royalty his colleagues gave him the nickname of emir.
Yeah, ‘what a day’ to have a “hot” argument with your boss, a bank chief executive officer? A self- imposed test of one’s competence, you will say. The audacity to have the argument was equal to a bet with your job, a plum one in the 1990s Nigeria or any other time. And then to win the bet only to be paid with a bottle of red wine!
“Please come over and see the MD,” Mrs. Ali had called to inform via the bank’s internal communication system that uses a red-colour telephone box powered by PABX technology. It is distributed to the desk of every staff irrespective of rank; the only benefit that was equally shared in the Point Investment bank, Lagos. On arrival at the office that accommodated four secretaries, one Personal Assistant, ante-room, meeting section and the main office that has 8 by 6 feet cedar wood desk used by the Managing Director, walled with life-size mirrors and other aesthetics, “please sit down and wait a minute; the MD is with the GM, Capital Markets, she pleaded. Then the MD emerges with the GM from his main office and hollered, “Oh Mr. Leeke, you are here, come, come …”
The build up to that day has started. The MD’s brief to plan a trip to Abio University, Uturu in Abia state to show solidarity with the Governor of Central Bank of Nigeria, Chief Poli Uma who was to be awarded the degree of Doctor of Business Administration,(DBA) honoris causa. “Mr. Leeke, please work it out in a way that we will spend a day or two in my home town, Kwelezu, Anambra state; talk to the drivers, they should know the route through Awka, Arondizuogu and Isuochi.” Kwelezu is about 15 minutes drive from Onitsha on your way to Aguleri.
In few minutes, Leeke got to work. As Head of Corporate Services, he had on his finger tips Nigeria’s airline routes, fares, services and cities of coverage and managed the fleet of the bank’s 85 cars. After all the reviews of the flight schedules, permutations and telephone conversations with the Airlines officials (major plank of the trip would be by air) a tentative travel plan was made and would be discussed with the boss for approval and execution.
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“Mrs. Ali, how are you today? I will like to come over to brief the MD on the travel plan; if we can have it early, it will be appreciated as we have to follow it up. The trip is planned to happen this weekend ,”Mr. Leeke requested. “Come and see the MD”, Mrs. Ali called after about 45 minutes. “We will take first flight Okada airline to Enugu on Friday, 10th May, 1994, head to your home town via Onitsha – Enugu express way, take the by-pass road before 5th mile into Onitsha onto your home town. On Saturday, we will leave Kwelezu as early as 7am to be able to get to Abio University, Uturu early –a three and half hours journey because you have to drive slowly on the roads constructed in 1964, 1965 before the Nigeria-Biafra civil war. The best maintenance was normally carried out by the host communities engaging their young men of various categories. The maintenance is typically done by the young men pouring broken pieces of excavated rock, lateritic soil and sprinkling cement on the road surface to firm it up. “It is important Sir that you will be in the band of captains of industry who will usher in the Governor of Central Bank to the decorated podium and walk him back to his seat after the conferment of the honorary degree. We will return to Kwelezu same day via same route as there are no flights from Enugu or Port-Harcourt to go back to Lagos after 3 pm.” “Perfect, get to work it,” the MD responded.
By Thursday, the drivers and bodyguard had left for the East by road in the two official cars and pieces of luggage as advance party. They will receive the MD and Mr. Leeke at the Enugu airport at about 8.30am on Friday and take them to Uturu the following day for the special convocation in honour of the Central Bank Governor and other recipients of honorary degrees. The Journey first to Kwelezu was smooth, a distance of about 56kilometers from the airport. A bit of rest and meals, we were set for Abio University, Uturu in Abia state Saturday the following day, Lekee said. There, we went for a journey of about 116 kilometers, meandering, falling in and out of potholes through about eight villages and a few towns until we were at the Okigwe junction on Enugu-Umuahia-Aba- PortHarcourt express way constructed in part during Gowon’s regime in 1974 and finished up Murtala- Obasanjo administration in the period of 1976 -9. Finally, we arrived, some minutes behind schedule time but early enough for the MD, Mr. O D. Ifedi to join other bank Chief executives to do the ceremonial escort of the awardee to the platform for his citation and conferment. In 45 minutes the ceremony was done. The CBN Governor, apparently the most prominent of the awardees had the honour of giving a speech on behalf of others. “We are immensely grateful that this university, the council and the senate found us worthy to receive this honour. It will further motivate us to work for the betterment of our society and mankind. In appreciation, all the awardees have agreed to fund the expansion of the Senate building, the construction of two blocks of hostel and a new lecture hall in the faculty of business administration.”
The loud applause by students, guests, lecturers, Professors didn’t die down until he walked back, counting his steps as it were, to his reserved seat. At a point, the applause gave rhythm to the gaiety steps of the guests until they took their seats. A guest who sat beside me who appeared unfazed, couldn’t hold back – “we know, these honorary degrees are never for nothing. Hahahaha”, we laughed it off.
Done with the ceremonies, we set out for the return journey to Kwelezu as earlier planned – another three and half journey criss-crossing rural settlements, rain forest with large tall trees, so thick that visibility wasn’t beyond 30 meters when the sky got cloudy. You need all the expertise in driving to maneuver the culverts. We had hit the expressway when the MD signaled that we were no longer heading to Kwelezu. Why? “We should go to Port-Harcourt; I remember those late evening flights to Lagos usually operate there. You know, it is normally scheduled for the expatriates, those oil workers – Shell, Chevron etc who would prefer to spend their weekend in Lagos,” the MD enthused. Mr. Leeke sharply cut in, “Sir, there are no such flights this weekend. I have checked and re-checked with all the airlines.” “You can’t be sure”, the Boss countered. “I used to attend the board meetings of Golden breweries in Umuahia and flew back to Lagos weekends even at 6 -6.30 in the evening. I am sure we will get a flight.” “Sir, I can bet this, there are no such flights today. As the argument raged, the journey to Port Harcourt continued, the drivers had his instructions. As we got close to Abia Towers on the expressway, it started raining – not so heavy. But as we left Umuahia vicinity, the rain increased in intensity – you could hear the pounding on the Toyota land Cruiser SUV conveying us, the road getting covered by flood and visibility reducing every second. We continued to move quite slowly and that because of the advantage of the ground clearance of the SUV. Time check: 5.20 pm and we have lost sight of the Administration 504 Peugeot Station Wagon following us and which had more of the pieces of luggage. The convoy stopped to wait for the driver and the other Corporate Services staff in the Onitsha branch of the bank. In about 15 minutes, the bumper of the vehicle was noticed with full headlamps on. “Okoro what’s the problem?” Shivering, “Oga, I wasn’t seeing road again…the car is shaking, water is covering us.” The convoy took off again, now slower to allow the pool car match the pace. Can a Peugeot match the speed of an eight cylinder land cruiser SUV?
Gradually the journey continued. The MD contemplated to ask the pool car to go back but for the sudden willingness of the Driver Okoro to continue the journey. Eventually, we entered precincts of the Port-Harcourt International airport. Lo and behold, there were three aircrafts on the ground and the MD exclaimed, “yeah, I told you …there are planes on ground; we will get flight.” Confidently we marched into the ticketing lobby but there was nobody to sell anything. At a corner gathered were three prominent Nigerians, a former Minister of Foreign Affairs, General I. E. Chucks, his former adviser, a Professor and a few others. While, Mr. Leeke was looking to get the tickets, the MD chatted them. In few minutes, the enthusiasm, efforts to buy tickets and the coarse big man chit chat fizzled when the retired General told the MD that there was no such flights and that they had been at the airport in the past one and half hours. “We are planning to spend the night at the Airport Hotel and fly tomorrow morning.” He advised Mr. Ifedi to do same. “Nooo”, the bank MD retorted, “I am going back home.” “Where is home, Mr. Ifedi? “Onitsha,” he answered. “You want to go to back to Onitsha at this time, on that bad road”? He nodded in affirmation.
There we went hitting the exit route out of the Port-Harcourt airport – Owerri first and then onto Owerri – Onitsha road, some 96 kilometers or thereabout. The rains had resumed, the same type that beat us on the way to the airport and had eroded the road, burrowing ditches, gullies and potholes on the sides and centre. The fact that the road was “face me I face you” made it worse – it could only take two vehicles at a time going in opposite direction. The sudden ditches and expanded potholes made the road more difficult to navigate – a good number of vehicles were falling into them and impeding movement of the luckier ones or whose turn hadn’t come. Trust the drivers of transport buses and cabs as they became our reluctant pilot vehicles; in a short while they had found alternative routes which ran deep into the bushes on both sides of the road. At 10.15pm, we were yet to get to Okija. We assailed steepy hills looking like those of the milking way in Enugu or the hills leading to Gereguru waterfalls near Jos; our hearts were steadily in our mouths. Mr. Ifedi was moving from one side of the vehicle to the other in apparent anxiety. He has had threats to his life and escaped assassination attempt on the road after which he employed a bodyguard with the assistance of the Police Force. He prefers to move very fast on the road and in big cars as part of security advice he had received. From his demeanor you could guess his “feelings” that anything could happen on this journey. Mr. Leeke, though in sympathy with the boss was rather feeling vindicated but again, as he later shared with friends, he feared that if anything happened it won’t be easy for him giving the way Police handle such matters in the name of investigation. He could also be suspected by the family for anything. He said that he began praying silently for safety and for them to at least get into Onitsha. At about 12 midnight they were near Upper Iweka and would now navigate to the GRA through to the adjoining road to Kwelezu.
After about seven minutes drive on top speed, close to Nsugbe junction, some men dressed in a seeming Police uniform were flashing big torch lights into the car, commanding the driver to stop. Mr. Ifedi screamed at the driver, “don’t stop, don’t stop, keep moving; I say keeping moving…” As soon as we moved past the point veering into the local road leading to Kwelezu, “don’t you know those are thieves”, he queried? If we had stopped, hmmm!. That’s what they do to rob people; they are armed robbers.” In another three minutes, we were at the gate of Mr. Ifedi’s palatial home but the security guards couldn’t respond to blasting vehicles horns to open the gates. Time, it was 1.05am. At 1.15am, all the vehicles were still outside the compound waiting for the gates to flap open. Every body was now praying that the loud horns would wake the security guards from sleep if they were asleep. When they opened the gates, no reprimand and except that the MD kept barking, “lock up, lock up” as if the robbers were in pursuit.
“Waooo! What a long day? What a day! Thank you everybody. Akpan, where are you? Please serve them, make them comfortable, and bring us bottles of the red wine. Can you believe it? What a journey? Mr. Lekee, you said it. Never mind, please make yourself comfortable. You must have your red wine. Thank God ooo. Thank you, gentlemen. Good night, sorry, good morning. Do get some rest, please” the Managing Director blurted as he climbed upstairs