Friday, January 25, 2013
Renewed Plateau attack, 9 feared dead.
At least nine persons were feared dead on Wednesday night when gunmen attacked Wadata, a border community in Wase Local Government Area of Plateau State.
A resident of the area, who craved anonymity, said in Wase on Thursday that the members of the community only woke up to discover the dead bodies of the victims.
“We were taken by surprise this morning when we woke up to discover that some of our people were silently attacked and killed by unknown gunmen,” the resident said. “What frightened us the most is the quiet manner the attackers carried out their act. The attackers also did not take anything from the houses of the victims.”
A security source said that Mohammed Zakari, Chairman, Wase Local Government, had visited the scene of the attack along with the Special Task Force, STF, Sector Commander in charge of Plateau South, Benjamin Olalo.
Also on the chairman’s entourage was Naomi Isah, the Divisional Police Officer in Wase.
When contacted, STF spokesman, Salisu Mustapha, confirmed the Wase attack, but said that he was yet to get details.
“We got the report of the Wase attack, but details have not reached my office.
“I have also learnt that the Sector Commander in charge of the area has gone to the scene along with the council chairman and other officials. As soon as I get the details, I will furnish you with them,” he said.
The Police Public Relations Officer in Plateau State, Abraham Ayomanor, also confirmed the incident.
“We are aware of the attack, but we have yet to get the full details and cannot be sure of the number of casualties,’’ he said.
Meanwhile, following the ugly development in Wase, residents of the affected areas were said to be relocating from the troubled areas for safety of their lives and property; to avoid being victims of reprisal attacks from any quarters.
Other parts of Plateau too
Meanwhile, the STF has reported another attack at Aladura, a settlement in the Jos South Local Government.
According to Mr. Mustapha, the incident happened around 9 p.m. on Wednesday when some persons attacked three people and inflicted machete cuts on them.
The STF officer said that the attackers, suspected to be thieves, made away with a ram and N20, 000.
“The victims have been admitted into a hospital in Jos, where they are receiving treatment,’’ he said.
Mr. Mustapha said that three persons had been arrested in connection with the Aladura incident.
Sokoto as poorest State, NBS denies report.
In a surprise
reversal of its earlier publication, the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) has denied the report that it rated Sokoto State as the poorest state in Nigeria in the 2012 National Poverty Index.
The Statistician-General of the Federation, Dr. Yemi Kale, stated this in a response letter signed on his behalf by Mrs. Yvonne Odu-Thomas, and addressed to the chambers of Dr. Alex Iziyon (SAN), the lawyer to the Sokoto State Government.
In the letter entitled: ‘RE: Bogus, Fictitious, Baseless and Inciting Publication on Sokoto State as the Poorest State in Nigeria’, the Bureau dissociated itself from the report credited to it.
“First to be noted is that, the Bureau conducts its National Poverty Index every five to six years. The last survey conducted was in the year 2009/10, whilst the previous one was conducted in the year 2003/04. It can be said therefore, based on this explanation given by the Bureau that the publications on poverty for 2012, so mentioned are out of context and false.
“It is important to mention here that the Bureau uses and will continue to use global best practice in conducting all of its Surveys and that no such information as alleged by your client is on the Bureau’s website”, Mrs. Odu-Thomas stated.
In another letter to the Special Adviser, Sokoto State Poverty Reduction Agency, the NBS said: “Its next assessment is scheduled for 2014/15. There has been no new survey or analysis on poverty by NBS since 2009/10, therefore all reports claiming NBS released poverty results for 2012 are false.
“Accordingly, any statistics recorded without the authority of the NBS, as is the case with the one in question, is not to be regarded as official. The NBS surveys which cut across states are done in collaboration with state statistical offices and before any such survey is conducted you would be informed via the Governor’s Forum,” it added.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
NCC pegs cost for SMS at N4
Henceforth, all GSM networks are to charge a uniform cost of N4 for short message services (SMS) across all networks. The NCC announced the directive on Thursday.
Any person subscribed to any of the Nigerian GSM networks must not be charged more than N4 for short message service, sms, sent to other networks, the Nigerian Communications Commission, NCC, said.
This will take effect from February 5.
Josephine Amuwa, the Director, Legal and Regulatory Services of the Commission made this known in a statement made available in Lagos.
Ms. Amuwa said that this had been communicated to the operators since January 3, adding that it would, however, not place a price cap on international SMS.
“There was a general recognition that the cost of SMS is too high, especially in view of the interconnection rate of N1.02 for SMS as determined by the Commission in 2009.
“In accordance with the powers conferred on the Commission under Sections 4 and Chapter V11 of the Nigerian Communications Act (NCA), 2003, the Commission hereby sets a price cap of N4 for Off-net SMS.
“The new rate shall be implemented within 30 days from the date of the directive,” Ms. Amuwa said.
She said the operators had proposed a price cap ranging between N5 to N10 per message for Off-Net SMS.
The Director said that the Commission would not set a cap for international SMS for now, since interconnect rates for international SMS were outside its control.
According to her, international SMS are terminated through international carrier service providers in various jurisdictions.
She said that the considerations were based on the interest of striking a balance between sustaining operators’ profitability and ensuring consumer satisfaction.
Ms. Amuwa said that the Commission would monitor compliance by operators, adding that failure would result to sanctions provided by Section 111 of the NCA 2003.
NAN
EFCC arrests Sokoto State Permanent Secretary.
The Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) has arrested Mohammed Bello Abukakar,
a Permanent Secretary at the Ministry of Education in Sokoto State.
Mr. Abaubakar is currently undergoing interrogation regarding allegations of criminal enrichment and abuse of office at the agency.
Mr. Abubakar was picked up on Tuesday January 22 2013 by operatives of the commission following intelligence reports suggesting that he was living above his means.
Abubakar who was appointed permanent secretary at the ministry of education in June 2012 had served in the same role for five years in the ministry of local government in the state.
EFCC agents said their initial investigations led them to a range properties including the grand mansion (where Mr. Abubakar currently resides) and a shopping complex.
Abubakar was also found to have purchased brand new 2012 models of a Mercedes Benz E-200, an Audi A-7 Sportback and GMC Sport Utility Vehicle all in 2012.
The Nigerian National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) recently named Sokoto state as the poorest state in Nigeria and some students granted overseas scholarship claimed the state government had not released their entitlements despite several claims to the contrary by the governor.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Badagry: A Walk Through The Slave Route
These were the startling words from Anago, one of the curators at the Seriki Faremi William Abass Slave Museum in Badagry, Lagos State in Nigeria at the commencement of the tour of the popular Badagry Slave Route that existed some hundreds of years ago.
I had left that morning to the tourist site to have an experience, an imaginary journey that happened on the same soil I was standing with the other tourists. Having read a lot about the slave trade and watched movies like Alex Haley’s Roots and Stephen Spielberg’s Amistad starring Morgan Freeman and Djimon Honsou, I did not know what to expect.
Anago was our guide and his introductory remarks about Seriki Wlliam Abbass, the renowned slave merchant whose Brazilian Baracoon slave port was among the only ones still standing, tilted towards making the man appear somehow vanquished.
“This tour may change your perception about the infamous era in the history of slave trade,” he continued, I was eager to get into the ancient facility which was a great tourist attraction in Nigeria.
The Brazilian Baracoon was derived from a Portuguese word which meant a slave prison and we were about to get into it. The wall cast of a female and male slave hung at different torture positions was the first image that captures one’s attention; the chains around the legs and arms of the twisted artwork looked eerie and pathetic.
At the entrance of the prison was an inscription, Seriki Faremi William Abass Baracoon of 40 Slave Cells. Some young people were making foot wears; flip flops that looked attractive. They greeted us cheerfully while continuing with their craft. An elderly man dressed on white Danshiki was introduced as a descendant of Seriki Abbass whose business flourished in selling slaves in those days. I wondered if they would be concerned about how the thousands of tourists that flocked there each year saw them, but they were welcoming.
Inside the building, Anago took us to where he called the waiting and inspection room.
“This room serves as the checking room for the white men when they came to buy slaves,” he explained, “ they checked them out to know if they were healthy or not just like you inspect any commodity you want to buy.” The room measured nine feet by nine with an adjoining room of the same dimension but with a small window that could slightly have the dimension of a computer monitor and served as the only source of ventilation. The ceiling was made of long raffia palms.
“The Baracoon consists of 40 rooms and each room was used as a cell to hold 40 slaves,” Anago went on, “at times when there were plenty slaves, some are kept in this room,” he added.
“Forty people?” One of the foreign tourists, a lady, exclaimed; she was visibly shaken and trying to imagine how the small cubicle could hold 40 men or women with their children at times. I tried to imagine it but gave up on the ordeal.
There were close to 10 pictures hanging on the glass shelf showcasing different moments in that era; there was one of of Seriki Abass turbaned as a chief hanging on the glass display stand; another illustrated portrait showed him with some Brazilian slave buyers. Another, hanging below the illustrated version, was a still picture which was weather beaten but visible enough to show the Seriki with his council of chiefs obviously posing for a group photograph. The Seriki was distinct as he had an umbrella above him making him appear outstanding among the lot.
“This picture shows when Chief Abbass was made the paramount ruler or Seriki of Badagry in 1895 and he was handed a staff of office by Lord Lugard in 1902,” the curator continued, “this umbrella he is being sheltered with was exchanged for 40 slaves,” he announced as he got the umbrella from a corner. “Unbelievable!” Another Caucasian tourist exclaimed. I reached for the umbrella and touched it; the item was heavy and must have been made from brocade material of top quality. The thought of 40 human beings being exchanged for the commodity was heavier a burden on my mind.
Anago went to the other items on display, wrought iron chains of various sizes and shapes, hardened by time no doubt but used to shackle the slaves in those days. He got out one of the samples and told us it was used to chain the children of the slaves to prevent them from disturbing their parents when they worked on the plantation.
“These chains has the sweat and blood of slaves on it and are over a century old,” he explained. At this point, I thought I saw a tear drop from the eyes of one of us; I swallowed hard to hold mine.
Among the rusted iron artifacts an iron drilling bit used to brand the slaves for recognition and ownership.
“How is this used?” I managed to ask. Anago smiled as if expecting the question.
“It is put into the fire and allowed to get red hot and then used on the bodies of the slaves belonging to whoever owned them,” he responded. There were more cries in the room and I did not want to continue.
Other items on the display were Chinese wares, cups and gramophone records, each of the items cost 10 slaves.
The next room beside the waiting room was another cell used for female slaves and also held 40 slaves and at times with their children.
They were chained inside here to prevent them from escaping we were informed. I wondered how they fit into the small room; did they sit, squat or lie on themselves? It was unfathomable.
After being shown the robes worn by the Seriki, his documents of transactions and the staff of office presented to him by the colonial masters, we were ushered outside the rooms and shown the grave and mausoleum of Seriki Abass constructed for him by his Brazilian business partners.
Our next port of call was Chief Mobee’s Royal Family Slave Relics Museum a yelling distance from the Brazilian Baracoon. There we were shown more chains used on the slaves; bits used to lock their mouths to prevent them from eating the sugar canes on the plantation on which they were made to work on as well as a big oval iron water pot from which the slaves drank water.
On the walls hung artistic expressions of slaves been tortured for attempting to escape and the painting that attracted more emotion was that of two slaves, a man and a woman being attacked by wild dogs.
“The slaves fell in love and the consequence attracted having wild dogs unleashed on the errant couple,” Anago explained. The romantic depiction drew tears to my eyes.
A miniature cannon gun was on display but outside the Relic lay two real ones; we were told they were worth 100 slaves exchanged by barter. It was painfully interesting to know that the horrible slave trade lasted a while in Badagry even when it was abolished in all the countries that were involved in it; the British West Indies stopped slave trading in 1863; Brazil followed suit in 1888 while in Africa, the trend got to an end in 1870. But slave trading activities continued in Badagry till 1886.
As we were taken out to see the jetty where the slaves began their journey to unknown lands; the only sound audible was the breeze and the sounds of our footsteps on the sand that was once walked upon by slaves.
Our guide explained that the Lagos State government was upgrading the site as there were visible construction work but he explained that due to the coming elections, work had been suspended.
We stood on the very jetty the slaves were taken away every day by 4 a.m to cross the river to the island to either work on the plantation or be shipped on their final journeys abroad.
I looked further and saw rows of coconut trees adoring the shore which were planted by the slaves and are still standing to show the pain and anguish some of the ancestors went through.
To cross over to the Point Of No Return, we hired a boat. Anago negotiated for us but not many of the tourists were so adventurous.
“It’s alright,” our guide said, “it’s difficult for some people.”
Our boat had the inscription God’s Light Marine and our captain was a young boy in his late teens. We strapped on our life jackets and the engine roared to power as we began sail. I looked at the departing horizon and wondered what it was like for the slaves; did they cry, whimper or just stare at their disappearing origin? Again, I could not go on with the thought.
The boat ride lasted a few minutes and we got out beginning the journey. At the sides of the road were white stones which our guide explained marked the exact route the slaves walked on.
“The road is wider now but it was a foot path then and the slaves, chained by the shackles together, walked on a single file.”
Not all the slaves made it alive we were told; some died and were buried by the way side.
“We may be walking on the graves of hundreds of our ancestors that died and might have turned to humus now,” Anago said. The information had a chilling effect.
Along the way were signposts that read, “Badagry Slave Route. This is the route of the journey to unknown destination.” Even our guide was silent as we walked on; only the wind and the whispering palms of the many coconut trees around were audible.
I noticed a thatched hut a distance away, the sign post beside it read, “Original Spot, Slaves Spiritual Attenuation Well.”
We all looked at our guide, asking the obvious question with our eyes.
“This is the well where slaves were made to drink water and forget themselves,” he explained. I was not the only person scared.
“Come in,” he invited when got close and he noticed our reluctance to enter the hut that looked more like a shrine.
The well was about three feet high and was covered with a crafted raffia cover with two broken pieces of calabashes on top; it looked weird. Hanging on the wall of the raffia constructed shrine was a poem or so I thought at first but when I quickly read the verses, I struggled to hold back the tears; the lines were inscribed on wood and had English and Yoruba versions. It read thus;
“Recitation By The Sold Slaves.
I am leaving this land,
My Spirit leave with me.
I shall not come back now,
My shackles do not break.
It is the shackles that hold the ship down.
My ancestors bear me witness,
I shall not return.
This land shall depart,
My soul do not revolt,
My spirit go along with me.
I depart to that land unknown
I shall not return.”
Finally, the tears rolled down my eyes; I was not alone in the emotional feeling; I saw a man consoling his sobbing partner. How could the slaves forget themselves?
“All the chiefs in Badagry dealing on slave business came together and cast a spell in this well, a kind of black magic which brings forgetfulness,” Anago explained, “the slaves were forced to drink the water and recite that incantation.”
We took turns looking at the charmed water inside the well; the water was covered with a visible rainbow-like film and I wondered if was still potent.
“Nobody has drank from this well in over 600 years,” Anago informed us, “maybe one of you can help us find out,” he joked with a mischievous smile. Nobody dared.
We walked on, looking at the hundreds of coconut trees all over the island, planted by our ancestors through forced labour on shackles and chains. I wondered if it could be possible to find out how many souls perished on this land.
Another twenty minutes walk brought us to the Point Of No Return; the signpost explained it better and read, “Point of No Return, Journey to the unknown destination.” Two slanting pillars with iron casts on top were visible from afar; they represented the final path through which thousands of slaves were taken against their will to unknown destinations.
As I mounted the concrete monument, the ocean became visible; the route that annihilated slaves from their origins. Anago left us to our different moods.
I walked towards the beach shore and looked ahead; the tide was high and I could taste the salty wind. The sight of the coconuts that whispered as their branches touched was not appealing to me. I tried to imagine the slaves entering the small boats that took them to the merchant ships which took them to destinations of bondage but could only see the high sea.
I grabbed some sand and clasped it tightly, imagination had eluded me. Some of us picked sea shells as memorabilia.
As we started going back from the beach, I sat on the signpost to meditate and say a prayer. Anago asked me what perception I now have of Seriki William Abbass, I shook my head; I didn’t have an answer. Somebody asked why the island was not used for agriculture and also why there was no fishing activity going on. Anago explained that the people of Badagry were mainly traders and believed in buying and selling. I wondered if the souls beneath the earth were responsible for the lack of activity. I did not get an answer.
Our guide urges us to visit the other tourist places in Badagry; the first storey building in Nigeria where Bishop Ajayi Crowther once lived and also, where Lord Lugard’s writing table and pen are still on display but somehow, I could not go on. I made a note to visit those another time, my heart was heavy.
“Owo da?” The voice of the conductor asking for the fare jolted me out of my soulful mood while riding a bus back to the city; he was wearing a Yes We Can campaign Tee shirt of Barrack Obama. As I handed the money to him, I juxtaposed that reality with my experience at Badagry; if after all these inhumanity, an African son made it that far, the sweats of the slaves were not in vain. I smiled for the first time since leaving the slave port, one tourist attraction that leaves you loving the liberty the world now enjoys.
Friday, August 29, 2008
For the love of a nation, for the vengeance of a father.
Adaptation from the yet-to-be published novel, A SEASON OF THE SUN by Ahaoma Kanu
The hospital where I was assigned was constantly busy throughout the period of the attacks. Day after day, soldiers wounded in battle were brought over mainly by porters on foot with very few arriving on trucks, only a few made it on their own. The intensity of the war at that period made it impossible for the Red Cross to fly in their supplies which made us run out of stock.
The bandages got finished completely that we had no option than to remove already used bandages from patients that were older in the ward to be washed and used on fresh causalities. Three qualified and elderly nurses came over from Umuahia to help us out and another young doctor arrived from Orlu.
The constant arrival of the wounded, nearly dead and dead causalities made the added human resources unnoticed. Dr. Nwosu worked day and night; we worked during the day fear and uncertainty.
Many of the casualties that went into the surgery room were carried out dead because, at a time, operations were carried out without anaesthetic. The patients watched their shattered limbs and arms gruesomely cut off their body. This led to many of them dying of haemorrhage.
One night, I watched as a soldier carried in another wounded comrade, the wounded one was very elderly while the person that brought him was younger almost as young as me if not for his enhanced biceps. As I showed them a place to lay the wounded man down for me to administer first aid, my kit being river water and a small face towel with a length of bandage, I noticed the striking resemblance between the two soldiers; they were father and son.
The older man had been hit in the hip and by the way his trousers was held to his waist by a rope which I believed served as a belt, I was sure the man had lost so much blood. The position and distance his son carried him contribution no doubt. As the wounded man was laid down, his child pleaded with me.
“Biko, nyere nna m aka, ekwela ga onwu o biko,” he pleaded, I saw the pain and the fear with which he said those words. He was ready to do anything to ensure his father did not give up.
I nodded as I started loosing the knot on the rope, the man cried out in pains as my hands moved to check out the exact position of the wound. The son disconnected the bayonet from the nozzle of his rifle quickly and cut the rope, helping me to pull his father’s blood soaked trousers down.
“Papa, hang on, don’t die, hang on,” he consoled his father as he undid the trousers; it was such a pitiful sight that it brought tears to my eyes. It was such a horrible situation to watch your own father dying before your very eyes and you could not do anything.
“As I soaked the towel inside the iron bucket I had with to clean the area surrounding the wound, the man cried out,
“Ahh, Chineke mu, Alaoji bia kwa nu, Chineke bia kwa o!”
“Papa ndo! Ndo! Sorry! Jisi ike,” his son consoled.
“Mmiri o, biko nun ye mu mmiri!” he requested.
“He needs water,” The young man said to me as if I was deaf.
I shook my head to indicate the request cannot be granted.
“Please, give me water, Jesus, I am dying, I need a drink!” the father yelled, his son still looked at me questionly.
“Give him water to drink please, he is my father!” he pleaded as tears rolled down his young eyes.
“No, it would kill him,” I told him.
“Chineke umu Africa, biko, mmiri! I need water, my mouth is dry,” the man groaned, I could see his loss of blood was sapping whatever energy he had left.
“Papa please don’t die, please hold on,” his son cried, “Nurse! Help me, don’t let my father die, please help me.” He asked holding his dying father’s head on his laps.
I cleaned the surface of the wound and the man flinched and shouted with a very familiar painful shrill that I had become accustomed to inside the hospital’s butcher room,
“Hmm, chukwu Ala oji nwa oduma anaa! Blood trailed out slowly from the wound, whoever fired the shot aimed to kill him instantly but instead his death was occurring slowly.
I went on to bandage his waist to stop the bleeding.
“Where is the doctor?” the kid soldier asked with tearful pleading eyes, I pointed towards the new doctor who was standing by the bed of another patient.
“Doctor, Doctor!” the boy called out, leaping up and moving towards him, I cried more for his pain; he was willing to keep his father alive.
I looked back at the dying man, his eyes were half closed and some saliva were running down his mouth, his mouth squeezed into a smile as he looked at me.
“So this is how a man goes,” he said a little audibly, I held his hand, not really knowing what to say or do at that very moment. I knew the man would be gone in a matter of minutes, I had seen cases like his in my short stay at the hospital. I looked up on time to see the boy and the doctor coming down to us.
The doctor crossed over to where we were and shifted the two weapons lying carelessly by the side.
“Nurse, what do we have here?” the doctor asked as he bent down to have a closer look.
“The patient was brought in not long ago with a bullet wound to the pelvis,” I narrated, “Must have lost so much blood and requested for water. I tried to stop the bleeding.” I finished the doctor lifted the bandaged to study the wound closely.
“The entry wound is a real bad case,” he commented, “did you check if there’s any exit?” he asked.
“No, I replied.
“That means the lead is still lodged in there, too bad,” he said as he checked the man’s eyes with his torch.
“This one will need someone to till the ground,” the doctor finished as he stood up; it was our code indicating a patient that may die soon and be buried.
“I’ll go get some pain killers across,” the doctor announced getting up and touching the boy briefly on the shoulders, “Be strong and be man.” I knew the doctor would not be back, the talk was just a way of buying time for the expected to happen.
“Ikenna,” the dying man called out weakly.
“Papa, I am here,” his son replied.
“Icheghim na nga agbake na nka,” he started.
“Papa, hold on the doctor is coming,” the boy replied into his father’s ears.
“Ikenna, listen,” the weak voice demanded, “I am leaving and want you to know I died a very proud man. I am proud of you, you are a brave son.”
“Papa, you will not die, the doctor will soon be here. He went to get drugs for you,” his optimistic son continued.
“Take care of your mother and sisters, don’t let them down and don’t let those bastards hurt you,” his dying father kept uttering, his eyes were closing and the strength in his voice was trailing with each word.
“Papa, hang on, Papa, Doctor!” the boy shouted, “Nurse! Call the doctor, my father is dying,” As he shouted, his father’s weak head kept shaking on his laps with his body’s movement.
The only thing I could do was to watch the tragedy happen; if I had had power to give life, I would have been more than generous for the son’s sake. But being equally mortal, I cried at the demise of yet another casualty. The poor boy started crying and calling his father continuously, it was useless, the man was dead.
I watched with tears as the boy hugged the torso of his dead father whose nakedness was still exposed with only the bandage rolled round his waist covering his manhood partially. The boy was still bent in agony when Dr. Nwosu appeared from the butcher room wearing his same bloodstained gown. He watched the scenario for sometime and then walked up to them and collected the two rifles lying on the floor.
“Elias, keep these inside my office,” he instructed, “he will certainly come back for it.” Both of them left the scene as if nothing happened. I stood by the side and grieved with the boy, his sobs continued for sometime until he could cry no more. He got up and looked about with reddened eyes which fell on me and asked, “Where will I bury my father?”
I did not know where the dead were laid; it was the job of Elias and Orjiakor or any solider Dr. Nwosu assigned the duty. I went and enquired from Elias and he led us that night to the place used as burial ground for the fallen heroes.
That night the kid soldier called Ikenna carried the corpse of his father to his final resting place, I held the lantern as Elias dug the grave. Elias helped the boy put down his father’s remains down the grave, the body was completely stripped of its clothes as they were in short supply and was needed by somebody else.
I said the prayer for the soul of the departed man and heard the boy’s tearful “Amen.” Elias reminded him to perform the burial rite of dust to dust and he grabbed some earth heaped by the side of the grave and stared for some minutes at his dead father before he courageously said, “Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust. Papa Na gboo.” After that Elias threw in earth and I did the same.
I held the lamp as both Elias and the boy covered the grave and marched on the grave. We all walked back to the hospital together silently, when we got to the entrance, the boy asked Elias, “Where is my gun?”
“The doctor took it to his office,” Elias informed him. I watched as he went in there and came out with it; the expression on his face was obvious, he was no longer a boy, he was a soldier, a solider that was out for revenge.
The hospital where I was assigned was constantly busy throughout the period of the attacks. Day after day, soldiers wounded in battle were brought over mainly by porters on foot with very few arriving on trucks, only a few made it on their own. The intensity of the war at that period made it impossible for the Red Cross to fly in their supplies which made us run out of stock.
The bandages got finished completely that we had no option than to remove already used bandages from patients that were older in the ward to be washed and used on fresh causalities. Three qualified and elderly nurses came over from Umuahia to help us out and another young doctor arrived from Orlu.
The constant arrival of the wounded, nearly dead and dead causalities made the added human resources unnoticed. Dr. Nwosu worked day and night; we worked during the day fear and uncertainty.
Many of the casualties that went into the surgery room were carried out dead because, at a time, operations were carried out without anaesthetic. The patients watched their shattered limbs and arms gruesomely cut off their body. This led to many of them dying of haemorrhage.
One night, I watched as a soldier carried in another wounded comrade, the wounded one was very elderly while the person that brought him was younger almost as young as me if not for his enhanced biceps. As I showed them a place to lay the wounded man down for me to administer first aid, my kit being river water and a small face towel with a length of bandage, I noticed the striking resemblance between the two soldiers; they were father and son.
The older man had been hit in the hip and by the way his trousers was held to his waist by a rope which I believed served as a belt, I was sure the man had lost so much blood. The position and distance his son carried him contribution no doubt. As the wounded man was laid down, his child pleaded with me.
“Biko, nyere nna m aka, ekwela ga onwu o biko,” he pleaded, I saw the pain and the fear with which he said those words. He was ready to do anything to ensure his father did not give up.
I nodded as I started loosing the knot on the rope, the man cried out in pains as my hands moved to check out the exact position of the wound. The son disconnected the bayonet from the nozzle of his rifle quickly and cut the rope, helping me to pull his father’s blood soaked trousers down.
“Papa, hang on, don’t die, hang on,” he consoled his father as he undid the trousers; it was such a pitiful sight that it brought tears to my eyes. It was such a horrible situation to watch your own father dying before your very eyes and you could not do anything.
“As I soaked the towel inside the iron bucket I had with to clean the area surrounding the wound, the man cried out,
“Ahh, Chineke mu, Alaoji bia kwa nu, Chineke bia kwa o!”
“Papa ndo! Ndo! Sorry! Jisi ike,” his son consoled.
“Mmiri o, biko nun ye mu mmiri!” he requested.
“He needs water,” The young man said to me as if I was deaf.
I shook my head to indicate the request cannot be granted.
“Please, give me water, Jesus, I am dying, I need a drink!” the father yelled, his son still looked at me questionly.
“Give him water to drink please, he is my father!” he pleaded as tears rolled down his young eyes.
“No, it would kill him,” I told him.
“Chineke umu Africa, biko, mmiri! I need water, my mouth is dry,” the man groaned, I could see his loss of blood was sapping whatever energy he had left.
“Papa please don’t die, please hold on,” his son cried, “Nurse! Help me, don’t let my father die, please help me.” He asked holding his dying father’s head on his laps.
I cleaned the surface of the wound and the man flinched and shouted with a very familiar painful shrill that I had become accustomed to inside the hospital’s butcher room,
“Hmm, chukwu Ala oji nwa oduma anaa! Blood trailed out slowly from the wound, whoever fired the shot aimed to kill him instantly but instead his death was occurring slowly.
I went on to bandage his waist to stop the bleeding.
“Where is the doctor?” the kid soldier asked with tearful pleading eyes, I pointed towards the new doctor who was standing by the bed of another patient.
“Doctor, Doctor!” the boy called out, leaping up and moving towards him, I cried more for his pain; he was willing to keep his father alive.
I looked back at the dying man, his eyes were half closed and some saliva were running down his mouth, his mouth squeezed into a smile as he looked at me.
“So this is how a man goes,” he said a little audibly, I held his hand, not really knowing what to say or do at that very moment. I knew the man would be gone in a matter of minutes, I had seen cases like his in my short stay at the hospital. I looked up on time to see the boy and the doctor coming down to us.
The doctor crossed over to where we were and shifted the two weapons lying carelessly by the side.
“Nurse, what do we have here?” the doctor asked as he bent down to have a closer look.
“The patient was brought in not long ago with a bullet wound to the pelvis,” I narrated, “Must have lost so much blood and requested for water. I tried to stop the bleeding.” I finished the doctor lifted the bandaged to study the wound closely.
“The entry wound is a real bad case,” he commented, “did you check if there’s any exit?” he asked.
“No, I replied.
“That means the lead is still lodged in there, too bad,” he said as he checked the man’s eyes with his torch.
“This one will need someone to till the ground,” the doctor finished as he stood up; it was our code indicating a patient that may die soon and be buried.
“I’ll go get some pain killers across,” the doctor announced getting up and touching the boy briefly on the shoulders, “Be strong and be man.” I knew the doctor would not be back, the talk was just a way of buying time for the expected to happen.
“Ikenna,” the dying man called out weakly.
“Papa, I am here,” his son replied.
“Icheghim na nga agbake na nka,” he started.
“Papa, hold on the doctor is coming,” the boy replied into his father’s ears.
“Ikenna, listen,” the weak voice demanded, “I am leaving and want you to know I died a very proud man. I am proud of you, you are a brave son.”
“Papa, you will not die, the doctor will soon be here. He went to get drugs for you,” his optimistic son continued.
“Take care of your mother and sisters, don’t let them down and don’t let those bastards hurt you,” his dying father kept uttering, his eyes were closing and the strength in his voice was trailing with each word.
“Papa, hang on, Papa, Doctor!” the boy shouted, “Nurse! Call the doctor, my father is dying,” As he shouted, his father’s weak head kept shaking on his laps with his body’s movement.
The only thing I could do was to watch the tragedy happen; if I had had power to give life, I would have been more than generous for the son’s sake. But being equally mortal, I cried at the demise of yet another casualty. The poor boy started crying and calling his father continuously, it was useless, the man was dead.
I watched with tears as the boy hugged the torso of his dead father whose nakedness was still exposed with only the bandage rolled round his waist covering his manhood partially. The boy was still bent in agony when Dr. Nwosu appeared from the butcher room wearing his same bloodstained gown. He watched the scenario for sometime and then walked up to them and collected the two rifles lying on the floor.
“Elias, keep these inside my office,” he instructed, “he will certainly come back for it.” Both of them left the scene as if nothing happened. I stood by the side and grieved with the boy, his sobs continued for sometime until he could cry no more. He got up and looked about with reddened eyes which fell on me and asked, “Where will I bury my father?”
I did not know where the dead were laid; it was the job of Elias and Orjiakor or any solider Dr. Nwosu assigned the duty. I went and enquired from Elias and he led us that night to the place used as burial ground for the fallen heroes.
That night the kid soldier called Ikenna carried the corpse of his father to his final resting place, I held the lantern as Elias dug the grave. Elias helped the boy put down his father’s remains down the grave, the body was completely stripped of its clothes as they were in short supply and was needed by somebody else.
I said the prayer for the soul of the departed man and heard the boy’s tearful “Amen.” Elias reminded him to perform the burial rite of dust to dust and he grabbed some earth heaped by the side of the grave and stared for some minutes at his dead father before he courageously said, “Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust. Papa Na gboo.” After that Elias threw in earth and I did the same.
I held the lamp as both Elias and the boy covered the grave and marched on the grave. We all walked back to the hospital together silently, when we got to the entrance, the boy asked Elias, “Where is my gun?”
“The doctor took it to his office,” Elias informed him. I watched as he went in there and came out with it; the expression on his face was obvious, he was no longer a boy, he was a soldier, a solider that was out for revenge.
Heroes or Villains? Agonies of forgotten war heroes.
By Ahaoma Kanu
AS youths, they were able bodied men with dreams and aspirations struggling to make the best out of life. They were soldiers who were called to battle by the circumstances that emanated from a political fiasco at a time none of them was prepared to face the unknown.
They were freedom fighters who saw the inhuman treatment meted out to their people and were convinced by their leaders that they had a reason to defend their existence.
They took up arms against a nation that they once belonged to and which their fathers and fore-fathers fought together for its independence from the exploitative grips of the colonials who were determined to rule them from a place their generations were taken to as slaves.
They went into a war with barely few weeks of training in combat against an army whose superior weaponry and training in combat gave them no chance to survive in the eyes of the world but they sacrificed their all to defend their ethnic existence.
Forty years after the war in which they became more of the vanquished than the verbal declaration of “No Victors No Vanquished” made by the Federal Government, in the eyes of those they fought for and against as the enemies.
As it is said, every soldier has a story to tell, the members of the Disabled Veterans of the Nigeria Civil War Association have sober tales to tell after heroic sacrifices and escapades that cost most of them their future and dreams they once longed for.
In their impoverished abode located along the Enugu-Onitsha Express way in Oji Local government of Enugu State, the men who were once regarded as brave hearts reminiscenced on how it has been 40 years after the civil war that happened in the country.
To them the infamous declaration of the former head of state, General Yakubu Gowon's holds no iota of truth as they are the vanquished than war heroes and are now regarded to a great extent as the enemies that the Nigerian nation once and still has.
But in the midst of all the pains and extremely challenging conditions they exist, they have a consolation; they are alive and have hope and will possibly have a decent burial when death comes calling.
For Lawrence Onyegbu, surviving the war is what counts.
“We are alive and that's what matters most. Many people that went to the battle field did not come out alive. Some were blown to pieces and never made it but even as we are sitting here day after day trying to make ends meet through the benevolence of kind Nigerians, we are consoled by the fact that we wake up everyday to fend for ourselves through this means.”
They all share one thing in common as former comrades at arms; each and everyone of them is physically challenged and has been for the past 40 years but the seasons past has not in any way blurred the ugly incidents that led to their being in the condition they presently are. As soldiers, they still have memories. Casmir Mbonu remembers how he was recruited.
“I was recruited into the Biafran Army at Umuna Training depot and was posted to the 9th battalion. From there I went to Umuahia to be the special guard to our then head of State, Gen Odumegwu Ojukwu. In December 1968, there was too much bombing at Umuahia so we were drafted down to the 14th Division in the Aba Area,” he revealed.
Uzim Chuks was 17 years old when he enlisted in the army.
“We volunteered to fight the war because of the atrocities we saw with our very eyes been done to our people, no one forced me into the army. Any youngman in Biafra then was willing to fight for our people,” he said.
Mbah Joseph aged 63 and a father of six children served in the Ojukwu Brigade at the 7th Battalion in Umuahia .
“I was in the Infantry Division and wanted to go into the battle. Nobody was thinking about the future, the present them gave no hope for what was to come as all we wanted was to defend ourselves. I enlisted into the army after I saw our people being brought back from the North; Igbo people and they were indifferent conditions of pain, agony and death.
Everything they ever laboured for has gone with the war. Some of the survivors told us of how anything Igbo was being killed; kids as young as five years were murdered in broad day light. That was enough reason for me to join the army of liberation for Ndi-Igbo.”
Having undergone little or no training, the immature soldiers fought with bravery and were able to hold the equipped Nigerian Army for almost four years to the surprise of their then enemies and to the amazement of the world at large.
They confessed that they actually fought with less ammunition but much bravery.
“We had nothing to start with; we fought with little arms and ammunition and it still baffles me how we survived for so long. I believe God was on our side otherwise we would have been overrun by the enemies a long time before the war ended. There was a time we fought with our hands; Biafra manufactured weapons that sustained us,” Uzim recalls.
One memory each of the veterans have is the day they were hit either by the bullets from their opposing forces or shrapnel that originated from the mortar shells fired by the Federal forces or bombs dropped on them during heavy aerial attacks.
Festus Mba who is the secretary of the association remembers vividly where he got wounded in battle,
“At Abala in the Azumini sector. I was shot in a gun battle between us and the enemies,” he readily said.
Ambrose Oko who was recruited in September 1968 and served in the Afikpo sector was wounded also in that sector.
For Uzim Chuks who had fought for two years before his accident, he got wounded in September 1969 and has ever since remained confined to a wheelchair while Bartholomew Ezeife was shot in the stomach region at Nkpor near Onitsha while serving in the 11th Battalion of the Biafran Army.
Even in their present pitiable conditions, the veterans still maintain they have no regrets with the condition the war put them. Patrick Adiele when asked if he would fight again under similar circumstances, courageously replied in the affirmative.
“The reason we fought was not because we were strong or powerful, we fought to defend ourselves and should the situation repeat itself, we will defend ourselves because the people we fought against them came with a mission to annihilate us. That gave us no chances at all than to take up arms,” he said.
Mbonu still believes they fought for the right cause as he maintained that they war was brought to them.
“We fought for the right cause because we did not plan for the war; it was imposed on us. You will not be in your home knowing that somebody wants to eliminate you and you wouldn't fight back,” he said.
Being the physical, visible and human victims of a war in which their commander-in-chief whose decision to go into exile despite the call for all soldiers to fight to the last man contributed to the surrender, the ex-soldiers did not feel betrayed by his action.
“I felt very happy when he took that decision,” Uzim reveals, “Nobody will stay and see his head of state captured or killed. If that happens, that means the whole cause for which we fought failed.”
But that notwithstanding, they feel betrayed by the false declaration of No Victor No vanquished as what they later witnessed and are still experiencing is a far cry from what was proclaimed by the Gowon-led government.
“I feel 100 per cent betrayed by that. They should have a rethink and know what went wrong. I believe some people don't want the real intentions to be carried out,” Mbah Joseph pointed out.
Another recent development that painfully opens the wound that they sustained four decades ago was the recalling of ex-Nigerian Army Officers that fought on the Biafran side who the Federal Government paid them gratuity and pensions. To the veterans, that gesture was discriminative as well as biased even though they understood the basis on which the benefits were disbursed.
“We know that Ojukwu and others were serving in the Nigerian Army before the onset of the war and we are happy he was called back but then, what about us that were lured into the war? We should also be compensated in one way or the other. The FG should pay us also,” the association's secretary declared.
Ifeatu Joseph, another member of the association is of the opinion that since they all fought in one war, the spirit of reconciliation which the gesture was supposed to bring should also be extended to them.
“The No Victor, No Vanquished proclamation should have guided the government. The way Okeke was treated, Okafor should benefit too. This selective payment of ex-Nigerian Army Officers is not good after all, we were all soldiers, he said.
To their fellow comrades at arms, who were beneficiaries of the largess of the policy, the veterans had mixed feelings for as they believed the spirit of Espirit d' Corps that bound them should have touched them to speak up on their behalf.
“They are the one that are supposed to have taken up our case especially our former Commander-in-Chief, Col. Ojukwu,” Ambrose Oko, a father of three argued, “Whatever Ojukwu says about us will be taken seriously but it is unfortunate that it went the way it did. We have resigned ourselves to fate. We fought as soldiers but have now been abandoned. If he wants to help us, we will be happy and appeased but if they keep on turning deaf ears to our pleas, we can't do anything than wait for the day death will come calling.” He said.
But the more painful experience they are can't bear is the manner in which most of the South-East governors has been treating them.
“We are always here and see them passing with their convoy and they don't look at us. They were children when we were in battle to save them from being annihilated but today we can't even attract their sympathy.
Let them know that the God of the Igbos is watching,” Ifeatu sounded.
As if they still believe in the Proudly Nigerian project, they happily replied that they are the crop of Nigerians that are still been seen as the enemies and to them that is the worst ill treatment that touches their innermost soul.
AS youths, they were able bodied men with dreams and aspirations struggling to make the best out of life. They were soldiers who were called to battle by the circumstances that emanated from a political fiasco at a time none of them was prepared to face the unknown.
They were freedom fighters who saw the inhuman treatment meted out to their people and were convinced by their leaders that they had a reason to defend their existence.
They took up arms against a nation that they once belonged to and which their fathers and fore-fathers fought together for its independence from the exploitative grips of the colonials who were determined to rule them from a place their generations were taken to as slaves.
They went into a war with barely few weeks of training in combat against an army whose superior weaponry and training in combat gave them no chance to survive in the eyes of the world but they sacrificed their all to defend their ethnic existence.
Forty years after the war in which they became more of the vanquished than the verbal declaration of “No Victors No Vanquished” made by the Federal Government, in the eyes of those they fought for and against as the enemies.
As it is said, every soldier has a story to tell, the members of the Disabled Veterans of the Nigeria Civil War Association have sober tales to tell after heroic sacrifices and escapades that cost most of them their future and dreams they once longed for.
In their impoverished abode located along the Enugu-Onitsha Express way in Oji Local government of Enugu State, the men who were once regarded as brave hearts reminiscenced on how it has been 40 years after the civil war that happened in the country.
To them the infamous declaration of the former head of state, General Yakubu Gowon's holds no iota of truth as they are the vanquished than war heroes and are now regarded to a great extent as the enemies that the Nigerian nation once and still has.
But in the midst of all the pains and extremely challenging conditions they exist, they have a consolation; they are alive and have hope and will possibly have a decent burial when death comes calling.
For Lawrence Onyegbu, surviving the war is what counts.
“We are alive and that's what matters most. Many people that went to the battle field did not come out alive. Some were blown to pieces and never made it but even as we are sitting here day after day trying to make ends meet through the benevolence of kind Nigerians, we are consoled by the fact that we wake up everyday to fend for ourselves through this means.”
They all share one thing in common as former comrades at arms; each and everyone of them is physically challenged and has been for the past 40 years but the seasons past has not in any way blurred the ugly incidents that led to their being in the condition they presently are. As soldiers, they still have memories. Casmir Mbonu remembers how he was recruited.
“I was recruited into the Biafran Army at Umuna Training depot and was posted to the 9th battalion. From there I went to Umuahia to be the special guard to our then head of State, Gen Odumegwu Ojukwu. In December 1968, there was too much bombing at Umuahia so we were drafted down to the 14th Division in the Aba Area,” he revealed.
Uzim Chuks was 17 years old when he enlisted in the army.
“We volunteered to fight the war because of the atrocities we saw with our very eyes been done to our people, no one forced me into the army. Any youngman in Biafra then was willing to fight for our people,” he said.
Mbah Joseph aged 63 and a father of six children served in the Ojukwu Brigade at the 7th Battalion in Umuahia .
“I was in the Infantry Division and wanted to go into the battle. Nobody was thinking about the future, the present them gave no hope for what was to come as all we wanted was to defend ourselves. I enlisted into the army after I saw our people being brought back from the North; Igbo people and they were indifferent conditions of pain, agony and death.
Everything they ever laboured for has gone with the war. Some of the survivors told us of how anything Igbo was being killed; kids as young as five years were murdered in broad day light. That was enough reason for me to join the army of liberation for Ndi-Igbo.”
Having undergone little or no training, the immature soldiers fought with bravery and were able to hold the equipped Nigerian Army for almost four years to the surprise of their then enemies and to the amazement of the world at large.
They confessed that they actually fought with less ammunition but much bravery.
“We had nothing to start with; we fought with little arms and ammunition and it still baffles me how we survived for so long. I believe God was on our side otherwise we would have been overrun by the enemies a long time before the war ended. There was a time we fought with our hands; Biafra manufactured weapons that sustained us,” Uzim recalls.
One memory each of the veterans have is the day they were hit either by the bullets from their opposing forces or shrapnel that originated from the mortar shells fired by the Federal forces or bombs dropped on them during heavy aerial attacks.
Festus Mba who is the secretary of the association remembers vividly where he got wounded in battle,
“At Abala in the Azumini sector. I was shot in a gun battle between us and the enemies,” he readily said.
Ambrose Oko who was recruited in September 1968 and served in the Afikpo sector was wounded also in that sector.
For Uzim Chuks who had fought for two years before his accident, he got wounded in September 1969 and has ever since remained confined to a wheelchair while Bartholomew Ezeife was shot in the stomach region at Nkpor near Onitsha while serving in the 11th Battalion of the Biafran Army.
Even in their present pitiable conditions, the veterans still maintain they have no regrets with the condition the war put them. Patrick Adiele when asked if he would fight again under similar circumstances, courageously replied in the affirmative.
“The reason we fought was not because we were strong or powerful, we fought to defend ourselves and should the situation repeat itself, we will defend ourselves because the people we fought against them came with a mission to annihilate us. That gave us no chances at all than to take up arms,” he said.
Mbonu still believes they fought for the right cause as he maintained that they war was brought to them.
“We fought for the right cause because we did not plan for the war; it was imposed on us. You will not be in your home knowing that somebody wants to eliminate you and you wouldn't fight back,” he said.
Being the physical, visible and human victims of a war in which their commander-in-chief whose decision to go into exile despite the call for all soldiers to fight to the last man contributed to the surrender, the ex-soldiers did not feel betrayed by his action.
“I felt very happy when he took that decision,” Uzim reveals, “Nobody will stay and see his head of state captured or killed. If that happens, that means the whole cause for which we fought failed.”
But that notwithstanding, they feel betrayed by the false declaration of No Victor No vanquished as what they later witnessed and are still experiencing is a far cry from what was proclaimed by the Gowon-led government.
“I feel 100 per cent betrayed by that. They should have a rethink and know what went wrong. I believe some people don't want the real intentions to be carried out,” Mbah Joseph pointed out.
Another recent development that painfully opens the wound that they sustained four decades ago was the recalling of ex-Nigerian Army Officers that fought on the Biafran side who the Federal Government paid them gratuity and pensions. To the veterans, that gesture was discriminative as well as biased even though they understood the basis on which the benefits were disbursed.
“We know that Ojukwu and others were serving in the Nigerian Army before the onset of the war and we are happy he was called back but then, what about us that were lured into the war? We should also be compensated in one way or the other. The FG should pay us also,” the association's secretary declared.
Ifeatu Joseph, another member of the association is of the opinion that since they all fought in one war, the spirit of reconciliation which the gesture was supposed to bring should also be extended to them.
“The No Victor, No Vanquished proclamation should have guided the government. The way Okeke was treated, Okafor should benefit too. This selective payment of ex-Nigerian Army Officers is not good after all, we were all soldiers, he said.
To their fellow comrades at arms, who were beneficiaries of the largess of the policy, the veterans had mixed feelings for as they believed the spirit of Espirit d' Corps that bound them should have touched them to speak up on their behalf.
“They are the one that are supposed to have taken up our case especially our former Commander-in-Chief, Col. Ojukwu,” Ambrose Oko, a father of three argued, “Whatever Ojukwu says about us will be taken seriously but it is unfortunate that it went the way it did. We have resigned ourselves to fate. We fought as soldiers but have now been abandoned. If he wants to help us, we will be happy and appeased but if they keep on turning deaf ears to our pleas, we can't do anything than wait for the day death will come calling.” He said.
But the more painful experience they are can't bear is the manner in which most of the South-East governors has been treating them.
“We are always here and see them passing with their convoy and they don't look at us. They were children when we were in battle to save them from being annihilated but today we can't even attract their sympathy.
Let them know that the God of the Igbos is watching,” Ifeatu sounded.
As if they still believe in the Proudly Nigerian project, they happily replied that they are the crop of Nigerians that are still been seen as the enemies and to them that is the worst ill treatment that touches their innermost soul.
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