Gen. Alabi-Isama's account of the civil war

By Muyiwa Adetiba
I have on my shelf, an autographed copy of General Obasanjo’s ‘My Command’ which gave his account of the unfortunate civil war. I also have General Madiebo’s (un-autographed) version of the war.

Between these two extremes, I have read other authors who have made their valuable and invaluable contributions to enrich our knowledge as to what really went on during those three years of madness. So why would another book on the civil war interest me; a war that ended over 40years ago and from which we have refused to learn any tangible lesson?



General Alabi-Isama is someone I have liked almost from the first time I met him. He has also been talking about this book for at least a couple of years now. He was gracious enough to give me a draft copy to flip through. To top it all, he had given me more than an advanced notice of the launch.

So when Uncle Sam Amuka called me a day to the launch for details, I had more or less made up my mind to attend. The fact that the venue was less than 15 minutes drive from my house was an added incentive. I pleaded with Uncle Sam to show up if only to ‘shake hands and disappear’ as he sometimes does.

To my surprise, he was not only there before me, he stayed till the very end. When I signalled to him at a point that I wanted to leave, he waived me back to my seat.

The programme started almost on the dot which was a welcome surprise despite the slightly inclement weather. Another surprise was the quantum—and quality of attendees. Many old Generals—some leaning heavily on walking sticks-graced the occasion and stayed the course.

They were ably led by General T.Y Danjuma who doubled as Chairman and Chief Presenter. Their use of nick names and aliases in addressing themselves was enchanting and indicative of old camaraderie.

I am sure it was more than a reunion of sorts for these old generals. It was however, not only the Generals that graced the day. Many otherwise busy VIPs and veteran journalists were there too.

At the end of it all, Uncle Sam echoed my thoughts when he wondered what it was about ‘our friend’ that brought all these people to the hall. He repeated the question twice but I could not think up a good answer.

My answer ‘came’ a couple of hours later when I got home and decided to browse the book. I found myself spending the next two hours. It was that riveting. But what got me was the man’s attention to details. Pictures, maps and documents authenticated the fact that General Isama not only took part in the war, he was a major participant.

In spite of what many of us were made to believe, the real truth about each officer’s role in the civil war is known to many of the officers of that era. So their presence was possibly to identify with the author and give their approval of the ‘corrections’ that have been made.

Secondly, anybody who keeps records and provides minute details the way General Isama has done, can not be described as flippant, a fact that might be overlooked by those of us who only know the social side of him.

It was probably this attention to details that made him reach out to many officers that played a role in the war. As to the rest of us who filled the hall, the social, amiable side of him probably won us over.

The book from what I have read- and I have read more than half—gives a more believable account of what happened during that dark part of Nigeria’s history than many books on the topic including international ones. It shows that truth, whether hidden for 40 or 400 years, will one day eclipse untruth.

Thanks to the book, we get to know a bit of the personalities of those who took decisions –either in the war front, or in their offices that affected the outcome of the war. We also got an insight into the politics, intrigues and indiscipline of our young generals; how the war officers and desk generals—as Wole Soyinka once described them, took decisions that perished lives.

I was touched as I am sure many at the hall would have been, at the presence of many unsung war heroes; the barely literate tank driver whose tank sank on the bank of a river, the tribal marked tank commander who was mobbed by the enemy, the colonel who virtually started the war and was there throughout the duration of the war, the officer who actually received the enemy surrender, and wives of those who had passed on.

You wonder why very little capital has been made of these unsung heroes. Why is it that those who are at the fringes of things in Nigeria are those who benefit the most? They are the ones who have streets named after them, who collect the nation’s most coveted awards while laughing to the bank.

Mean while the real heroes are left to languish like Brigadier Adekunle who gave his all to the war effort. Today, he is dying slowly; a poor, neglected and dejected person. The same thing has happened to June 12 where the fringe players have cornered most of the spoils. We hope the real story of June 12 with its many heroes and infidels will emerge soon.

I salute General Isama’s courage and urge all of us, especially those who are playing brinksmanship in River State, to sometimes remember how we came to fight this mindless war.

So who who killed Kudirat Abiola?

By Muyiwa Adetiba
And so Major Hamza Al-Mustapha went home last week to a tumultuous welcome after 14 years of incarceration. His daughter who was five years old when he was locked up is now 19. That special father/daughter relationship that is usually forged in teenage years might be lost for ever.

He probably would come home to find a home he doesn’t recognise, a wife who has become independent and children who have to get used to having a father again.

[caption id="attachment_241077" align="alignnone" width="412"] Alhaji Shofolahan, Late Alhaja Kudirat Abiola and Major Hamazat Al-Mustapha[/caption]

Fourteen years is a long time. There was no GSM for example in 1999. But it is not only the internet and social media revolution that has passed him by. Life itself has moved on—in Kano where he was born, in the Military where he used to hold sway despite his rank, in his family where he was Lord of the Manor, and in the larger society where his name alone sent shivers down many spines. Now, the man they call the lion-hearted has to prove the stuff his heart is made of as he picks up the pieces of a truncated life. Yet, all things considered, the very fact that he is alive to tell of his prison ordeal makes him one of the lucky ones.

Unknown to me, I was put under surveillance during the June 12 struggle. By the time I realised I was being followed, they had known almost everything there was to know —where I lived, some of my contacts, my watering holes etc.

Twice, the evening paper I was publishing then was prevented from coming out. My printing press could not print for certain pro-June 12 publications for fear of being swooped in on. We worked in palpable fear on a day-to-day basis. Yet, in spite of my loss of privacy and commercial income, my person was not touched. I am indeed, one of the lucky ones.

Niran Malaolu and Ben Charles Obi had worked with me at different times. They, together with Kunle Ajibade and Chris Anyanwu, etc, spent years in prison because of trumped up charges. Niran came out to become a Press Secretary, Chris a Senator, while Ben and Kunle became publishers. They must count themselves, along with those who got top political positions, among the very lucky ones.

Generals Diya, Olanrewaju and Adisa grovelled before a certain Major because he had the power of life and death. They lived to enjoy the freedom of democracy and rule of law. They are among the lucky ones.

General Obasanjo was a Military Head of State who became a prisoner for daring to shoot his mouth. He lived to become the President and tell his story in ‘This animal called man’. He is obviously one of the lucky ones.

Alex Ibru was shot at and blinded. He survived the experience and lived for another 10 years or so. He was one of the lucky ones. So was Senator Abraham Adesanya whose car was riddled with bullets but still lived to lead the struggle.

Many left lucrative businesses and young families to flee into exile. Many have not come back since then while some of those who did found it difficult to piece their fragmented lives together again. Many, like Gani Fawehinmi had their premises bombed and lived to tell the story. They all can still be counted among the lucky ones.

For the five or so years that the June 12 war raged, homes were shattered, businesses destroyed, relationships fractured. The Directorate of Military Intelligence became known — and feared— for its ingenious and creative ways of interrogation. People spent days in conditions that even animals should not be subjected to.

They emerged with broken minds and bodies. My late childhood friend Major Akinyemi was one of them. Many disappeared and were never traced. Many were shot for daring to protest. These were the unfortunate casualties of the inglorious era only because they paid the supreme price.

They, along with General Shehu Musa Yar’Adua who was poisoned in prison and Chief Abiola who was poisoned when every body was expecting his release, represented the unlucky ones.

So when Major Mustapha recounts his 14years ordeal, he must remember its genesis. He must remember the days when he co-ordinated a ruthless and clinically effective intelligence network. He must remember lives that were irrevocably altered. He must remember how they played one tribe against the other (some of our Igbo brothers died on their way home), and one interest group against the other all in the name of security. If he indeed mourned the loss of his mother, then he must remember the many people who also lost their parents.

He said he has forgiven his enemies. He must also seek the forgiveness of the many lives he has participated in ruining—both the ‘lucky’ and the ’unlucky’ ones. Those who say he was wrongly incarcerated for 14 years must also think of the many who were not only incarcerated, but who lost their lives.

They must also ask themselves if the judgement might not have been different if we had a   swifter and more efficient judicial system where vital evidences are not easily tampered with—never mind that he has benefited from a judiciary that was not made available to many victims.

So, 15 years after, who killed Kudirat Abiola? Who made her sun to set at noon and her children orphans at sunrise?

There are many things for Mustapha to ponder upon. And if he wants to be at peace with himself and his God, he should tell us what he knows.

 

We need a high profile scapegoat too

By Muyiwa Adetiba
A big fish was spiked out of the muddy waters of politics and government in China early this week and hung up to dry.

Mr Liu Zhijun, the Minister of Rail Transportation was given a suspended death sentence for alleged corruption while in government.

His trouble started when there was a train collision a couple of years back which called for a probe. The probe also coincided, unfortunately for him, with the President’s determination to rid China of corruption.

So you could say he was a scapegoat; a high profile tokenism in a corrupt ridden system.

Mr Zhijun had spent over 20 years in government and ironically, his tenure witnessed a rail revolution of sorts when better, faster trains were built.



In other climes, particularly in Nigeria, he would have been described as a performing Minister and given a plethora of awards. It took an accident to unearth some undercover deals that eventually put him away.

On the same day that Mr Zhijun was facing his suspended death sentence, our own ex Transport Minister, Mr Femi Fani-Kayode was in court to defend himself against allegations of corruption. He has been trying to extricate himself from the EFCC net since 2008 according to his lawyers. A case of two countries and two Transport Ministers you could say.

One got a death sentence while the other is enjoying the hide and seek game of a politically unserious regime. What does Mr Zhijun’s case say to the world about China’s promise to fight corruption? What does Mr Fan-Kayode’s case say?

There are a few lessons to learn from Mr Zhijun’s case as well. It is instructive that there were no elders and tribal warlords proclaiming political harassment.

Whilst it is possible that there were political undertones in his arraignment and prosecution, Mr Zhijun is, according to law, guilty as charged having broken the 11th commandment which says ‘thou shall not be caught’. At this point, political and ethnic considerations must take a back seat if you really want to fight corruption and clean up your country.

That Zhijun played a key role in the rail revolution of his country did not stop him from soiling his hand; a lesson we must bear in mind in assessing those few governors we call performing Governors or the Ministers who are recipients of local and even international awards. How much is the civil society or even the press doing to hold these people to the minimum standard of accountability and transparency?

We used to say Nigerians would demand more transparency from their leaders once they started paying commensurate taxes. Now we pay taxes. At least much more than we used to pay. Yet as far as the profligacy of our leaders is concerned, it is more of the same.

So why for goodness sake, do we allow our leaders to steal our money and get away with it because they have tarred some roads and built a few hospitals? Why do we also allow them to make governance so attractive for themselves and their offspring that it has become a family business? An ex governor who should actually be hiding his head struts about a State as if he owns it and talks about democratic dispensations as if we are all fools who can’t see or feel.

At the last count, he has installed key members of his family and friends into prominent and lucrative positions. Nothing he has achieved —as a dogged political fighter, June 12 activist or Governor—entitles him to appropriate (or misappropriate) the commonwealth and demand a slice of every juicy pie. We hear and see things, and what we hear and see are damaging to say the least; especially to those who see him as a role model.

We should also commend the courage and speed of the Chinese judiciary. Here, we have not made a head or tail of those who were indicted in the oil subsidy scam early last year. That prominent House of Representative official who was said to have collected bribe over a year ago, is still walking free and probably preparing for the gubernatorial election of his State.

The pension thieves who have sent many retired people to their early graves are still enjoying the warmth of their wives. When will justice be done to these people?

Also the length of the sentence shows not only the seriousness of the crime, but the seriousness with which it is viewed in China. Compared to this, our plea bargaining in Nigeria, makes us nothing but a laughing stock to the rest of the world.

When are we going to have a high profile case decided in a manner that will give us hope? i.e from indictment through prosecution to judgement within a period that shows some seriousness without the monarchs, elders and tribal warlords inputting ethnic, religious and political colouration to what is usually a simple case of daylight robbery?

The saying ‘Justice delayed is justice denied’ is never truer than in Nigeria. Here, justice is initially delayed and eventually denied. And so, out again they go— with their colleagues— to sin some more.

 

Even the best laid plans can go wrong

By Muyiwa Adetiba
It was a week to my promotional exams to form five, and I had been following a carefully laid out revision plan.

Then I caught conjunctivitis and had to be sent home. Conjunctivitis, known in my days as Apollo, is a highly painful, highly contagious disease that affects the eyes. It’s as if pins and needles are dancing on your eyeballs. You are afraid to blink because of the excruciating pain, yet you are forced to blink in order to get rid of the foreign bodies. And so the circle of pain continues….

Because of the infectious nature of the disease, the school authorities decided to send anybody that contacted the disease home –in my case, barely days to a crucial promotion exam. I remember asking my house captain about our chances of getting to the next class and he assured that the Principal had promised to use the second term results.

I thought that was dicey and whimsical since the Principal did not make a public announcement and resolved not to let my fate hang on a last minute sleight of the hand. I therefore decided to come on D-day to sit for the exam even if it meant coming from home with all the pain and inconvenience of conjunctivitis.

So fortified with antibiotics, analgesics, and eye drops — useful or not—I doggedly pursued my studies at home. I was left largely alone, and, free from the clatter and banter of a school life that was largely ruled by bells and sundry distractions, I was able to concentrate much more than I had hoped. The pain was there but the analgesics and my mind I guess, drove lot of it away. The result was that I had one of my best results in my five years of O levels.

It was also a week to a wedding a friend and his wife had spent the better part of a year to plan that the storm which passed through Lagos two years ago, took the roof of an event centre they had booked and paid for.

It is not what happens to us that really matter as even the best laid plans can go wrong

The owner of the event centre promised to do everything possible to get the hall ready within the week. In the alternative, he offered them their money back – money that is of no use as anybody who has had to look for a decent event centre at a short notice in Lagos knows.

Faced therefore with the grim prospect of having a wedding without a reception hall, my friend’s wife opted to work hand in hand with the owner of the centre. They barely made it and the gaily dressed guests that thronged the hall could not have known that it was such a ‘touch and go’ thing.

Another wedding incident almost went awry when the generator packed up a day to the event. The owner of the centre quickly rented a ‘name your price’ generator hoping it would be up and running before the church service was over.

It was not. Those who gave the church service a miss, or left the church early, were barred from entering the hall. After hanging around for some 45 minutes, nerves became frayed and tempers rose. Eventually, the security people bowed to the immense pressure and the doors to the hall were thrown open.

The hall was an oven! The gasps and snorts were still going on when the church entourage arrived. What impressed me most was how the parents of the bride and groom—which included a royalty by the way— handled the situation.

They dressed down as much as possible and started working the crowd. A cold drink here, a nice word there, a smile here, a joke there, quickly got many guests into showing empathy. All is well they say that went well as the generator sprang to life shortly after.

Finally, an incident happened to a very, very close friend of mine which shows that even the best laid plans can go wrong. His wife was to celebrate a land mark age so a detailed event was planned to mark the occasion.

The hall of a first class hotel was booked somewhere in the heart of Europe and close friends from all over the world were invited. Just as friends were checking into hotels and establishing contact, their son who had actively participated in planning the occasion took ill. Seriously ill. This definitely was not part of the script.

As at the morning of the event, only a few people knew of this twist in the tale. Should they cancel? It was not an option to be easily dismissed given the state of their son.

It was to their credit that they thought of their rainbow guests who had come from all over even as they thought of themselves. The show went on. I occasionally threw glances at the couple and the way they conducted themselves was admirable.

You see, it is not what happens to us that really matter as even the best laid plans can go wrong. It is what happens in us when the unexpected happens. Making lemonade out of lemon might sound as a cliché but it still holds true.

The cause of the problem might not be ours but the responses and decisions are definitely ours to make. It’s our response to the unexpected shocks and knocks of life that shows who we really are and can, at the end of the day, determine what we become in