1984
By
Dr Patricia Ngene
2017
Nineteen eighty-four was a hurricane.
A tropical cyclone that blew its rotating winds in from the Atlantic Ocean off
the Gulf of Guinea onto the coastal landmass of the geographic expression
called Nigeria ,the elemental forces of nature , unrestrained by anything man
can create unleashed a reign of pure terror on the land , crashing waves,
tossing sea faring crafts upon rocks and sandbars, displacing marine life ,
flora and fauna, hissing , spitting, crashing, wind and water coursing through
the atmosphere; rendering the landmass unrecognisable by its utter devastation,
debris and death carried in its wake , charging inexorably at speeds of
up to 200 mph till it is spent.
And then silence…
“Boom boom boom boom”
The bass drum notes in the opening stanza
of The Nigerian national anthem rang out shortly after dawn on that New Year’s
Eve of 1983, stirring the populace from Lagos to Calabar, and Port Harcourt to
Kaura Namoda out of their last booze fest of the year –induced sleep; in Obe
the morning air carried the scent of sweet palm wine we had the evening prior,
tinged with wood smoke from embers of village kitchen fires. The harmattan wind
whistled amid the palms and guava trees in the compound as the coarse fibres of
the native broom scraped its way around the porch as Kene my cousin swept on
oblivious to the import of the national anthem blaring from the radio instead
of the seven o’clock news. The scratchy sounds of static danced on the
unmistakable voice of Brigadier Sani Abacha as he clipped out his coup
declaration speech in his Kanuri accented English. Amid shock, surprise and all
round silence, even the chickens were silent; we could only make out the words
“Fellow Countrymen…economic mismanagement…educational system is
deteriorating…salary arrears…corruption…indiscipline…suspension of the
Constitution…dusk to dawn curfew…border post closed….change in
government…immediate effect”
We were in the village, for the Christmas festivities, and not just for
the annual end of year village gatherings, football tournaments, feasting and
church thanksgiving; we had actually relocated to Obe, a sleepy town in the
rolling hills of Nkanu in the then Anambra state in Eastern Nigeria. My father,
a lawyer turned government functionary had been a key player in the government
of the state before the last elections had inexplicably brought the opposition party,
the National Party of Nigeria with Chief Christian Onoh another lawyer as its
gubernatorial candidate into power. So my family had moved out of the sprawling
hilltop residence opposite the Hotel Presidential we had occupied since before
the transition to civil rule referred to as the Second Republic, to our village
which was a thirty minute drive from Enugu
My father was a spry man, fast on his feet, a former defender for the
Red Devils of Port Harcourt, a football club that won the Challenge Cup three
times in the late fifties: I was my dad’s only daughter, we were close, I
tidied his desk and took his calls, made his guests at home; I was an unofficial
aide de camp; and I knew where his medals were kept. I would gaze on them
enraptured, wondering what type of commitment it would take to get to such a
pinnacle of athletic attainment. But I digress; my dad was even quicker in his
mind, and could absorb insane amounts of information, decipher the problem
areas and arrange solutions, delegating men and materials about with military
dispatch to actualise blueprints he had choreographed in his mind with amazing
dexterity. It was for this reason that Paul Egbogu had, in the short time since
he left his legal practice in Lagos on his appointment as commissioner in the
Ministry of Establishments, a period of six years, his political trajectory had
included Ministry of Education, Local Government and Social Development, Deputy
Chairman of the state executive council in the run up to the transfer to
civilian rule and after the Transition occurred, Secretary to the State
Government. In the process he served under state governors, military as well as
civilian- Col John Atom Kpera, Col Datti Sadiq Abubakar and Chief Jim Nwobodo.
Paul
was of a radical bent , very opinionated and given to speaking his mind and
being a minority of one; a creature of logic, devoted to hard work and Spartan
discipline, classically trained, versed in Latin, Shakespeare, World History
and he would reel out quotes of Churchill and other great men in times gone by.
I would listen to him, mesmerised, transported into dreamland and brought back
to earth by his thoughts on contemporary Nigerian politics. He adored Fela, the
Abami Eda himself, the maverick musical genius and instrument for social change
who preached continually against the oppressions and inequalities facing the
Nigerian masses, and the strains of Fela’s peculiar afro beat music were a
theme song of the late seventies and early eighties in our house. He smoked as
well, Cuban Havana cigars, and he always had one in his hand as he rifled
through the files, briefing papers and maps on his desk at the Cabinet Office
as his workplace was known. It was indeed the engine room of the government,
and all the thinking behind the policies and actions of the state government as
well as its political direction in relation to the Federal Government emanated
from there.
So
this was my dad, in his caftan and long shorts and leather slippers, on this
coup morning, the harmattan haze still sitting like a cloud at eye level,
holding his chewing stick and thinking furiously while listening to the
broadcast as we all lingered about on the porch in front of the house .Suddenly
he sent us all inside and I went to the kitchen to tidy up and prepare for the
day. I was still peeling plantains and I heard a car pull up outside ; two
minutes later my mum breathlessly grasped me by my shoulder ; I was
startled, “ If they ask you where your dad is say you don’t know”. I raised an
eyebrow then frowned when the confusion in my brain actually registered, “What?
Where did he go?” I asked no one in particular, for my mum had dashed outside
again. In the few minutes I had been in the kitchen something had been in the
offing. I peered from the side of the house and saw four burly men in plain
clothes sitting on the bench reserved for assorted village visitors outside. They
sat unconcernedly for about thirty minutes before they left. They returned the
next day about the same time, and the next, until they gave up.
I learnt from my
brothers that a quasi-commando operation to abduct my dad had been foiled by
God’s providence and the quick-thinking of my dad’s only brother Uncle Tony.
After we had been sent inside my Uncle had gone to buy cigarettes across the
street and met the gang of four burly men in a Peugeot 504 arguing with the gateman;
on enquiring who they were and not getting any reasonable answer he ran back
the length of the driveway, a distance of about 120 meters and somehow bundled
my dad who was standing in the sitting room with his thoughts, oblivious to the
goings on, through a side door and out of the house. The fence on that side was
yet above dwarf level and they jumped it and made their way through the bush to
the safety of a relative’s house .All this transpired before the goons were
able to overpower the gateman and drive to the front porch. My brothers and I
were nonplussed, confused, no one could say what was going on ; but clearly
whatever it was far from good. Clarity became a receding reality moving further
away by the day; one day we had been in the throes of a governorship election
the Nigerian People’s Party was certain to win. The next day the electoral
Returning Officer announced a hastily contrived result and a new Governor was
sworn in; we moved out of Enugu and not two months later martial music was on
the airwaves announcing a new Military Government. We were still digesting the
news and some James Bond script was playing out right before our eyes.
Confusion had come to visit, and it had packed bags for a long stay apparently.
My mum
made contact with the military authorities in Enugu, who assured her they had not
sent anyone after my dad; and indeed, they sent a lorry load of soldiers to get
my dad out of hiding and he returned to the house under protective house arrest
as the soldiers remained on guard until he had to report to the mandated authorities
for detention with other political figures of the time
It was under this murky and uncertain climate that I returned to
my studies as a medical student in the University of Benin.
I
was a 300 level student and we were studying Pharmacology and Microbiology that
year. It wasn’t my hardest year academically, and I was involved in other
church-based activities on campus that enabled me to immerse myself and try to
put my father’s plight away from the forefront of my mind though it was
psychologically impossible.
There was change in my household all right but everyone in Nigeria felt
the pinch of change. The four years of civilian rule had been a long, expensive
party and we, the people were left with a bad hangover. The babanrigas, Italian
made suits and handmade ostrich leather shoes of the politicians had been
replaced by the stiffly starched olive green uniform of the Nigerian Army and
thick black boots polished to a high shine stomped to a martial rhythm in
military parades in formations all across the country. The new head of state
Gen Muhammadu Buhari, a thin, dour Fulani who was a military hero and a former
Petroleum Minister asserted himself two days into the new year and assured us
his fellow countrymen and women that the Army was there to clean up the mess
inherited from the political class and there would be zero tolerance for
kickbacks, inflation of contracts and over-invoicing of imports. The twin evils
of corruption and indiscipline had attained a hitherto unprecedented height and
a War Against Indiscipline was waged. Nigerians became accustomed to queueing
for buses and in banking halls and hospitals .The Chief of General Staff, a Kwaran,
Major- Gen Tunde Idiagbon with his stern demeanour brooked no nonsense as they
prosecuted the war with military zeal and despatch; former public officers were
thrown into detention and made to face special military tribunals; long jail
sentences were handed out and large sums of money forfeited.
Decrees were reeled out in quick succession that curbed personal
liberties, press freedom and expatriation of foreign currencies. Decree no 4 saw
two journalists with Guardian
Newspaper Tunde Thompson and Nduka Irabor thrown into gaol for refusing
to disclose their source of information.
The economic landscape in particular was a scene of
devastation. Amid the poor balance of payments, mounting external debt
inherited from the previous regime and a fall in oil prices the new Head of
state appointed an Industrial Sociologist from the University of Ibadan Dr
Onaolapo Soleye who had served as a Commissioner of Industries and of Finance
in an earlier regime. Times got worse for the citizenry ; there was
increasing economic hardship, job losses and rationing; food lines for milk,
soap and other things we students called essential commodities appeared on the
Nigerian landscape .An agency called ESSENCO was created to enable imports of
sugar , milk and other essential items by issuing sole import licences .The
scarcity drove prices higher and incited inflation By April, the currency
exchange took place , ostensibly to prevent or check currency hoarding. The
colour of naira notes were changed and rendered up to 6billion naira in private
hands useless. Scarce money supply in face of high demand for goods and services
put a chokehold on the economy. The Grains Board could not buy grain because
market prices were higher than what it was allowed to pay, bread prices
skyrocketed.
In
universities food subsidy was removed, leading to student unrest; and for me
personally with my dad in detention and facing trial with his accounts frozen,
I was effectively immobilised. I quite frankly was living below the poverty
line, and beans and bread became all I could afford to eat. Hunger was one
thing; worry that my dad would be thrown into prison for life as the government
threatened every chance they got was another.
I took to praying at all hours; if I was not studying I was praying, sometimes
all night. I was worried for his health, after seeing Chief Bisi Onabanjo, the
former governor of Ogun State on a stretcher being conveyed for medical
treatment in the papers. I hurriedly took a sphygmomanometer to Enugu prisons
where my dad had been transferred to with other political detainees to measure
his blood pressure. It was normal, much to my everlasting relief. My dad, on
the other hand appeared highly unconcerned, and simply asked me to ask my mum
why there was no coffee in his weekly provisions basket! My dad was made of
stern stuff, and if he suffered deprivation or disappointment he didn’t show
it, rather he devoured the newspapers and Time magazine we brought every week
and his Bible which he made comments on small cards in his needlepoint writing
that looked very much like an ECG tracing for ventricular fibrillation.
I suffered greatly internally, from the disappointment in a system that
punished someone who was so undeserving of punishment. I was not unaware of the
profligate lifestyle of the political class at the time, but I knew for sure
that my dad had no part in such, for he was very unconcerned about money,
whether he had any or not. I know that he was revered and to some extent feared
by his contemporaries as well as the opposition National Party of Nigeria for
that same reason that he could not be bought. We were under strict instructions
at home to accept nothing under guise of gifts in cash or kind from anyone of
the teeming number of people who would come to him to seek some favour or the other.
He was not that kind of politician and we had moved to the village because that
was the only property he owned apart from a single duplex still yet unfinished.
This however meant nothing and in due course after a summary trial he
was convicted of misuse of public funds, the said funds being the security vote
which at that time actually meant what it connoted. The sentence was twenty two
years.
I had heard some bit of the sentencing on the four o clock news but the
following morning I saw it in the papers. I couldn’t breathe but I was adamant
I wouldn’t cry. Time stood still as blood rushed to my ears and I could hear my
heartbeat thudding in my head like a gong. I kept hearing twenty two years,
twenty two years, twenty two years…and I was looking at other students going to
and from lectures, laughing with friends and living carefree lives and I wasn’t
to know what my tomorrow would be. My eyes glazed over and I couldn’t see straight.
I straightened up, took a deep breath and went past the milling crowd at the
paper stand past the parking lot and common room to my dorm room; I
was nineteen, no longer a child and not yet a woman . But I squared my shoulders,
set my face forward and got on with life as best as I could.
That year was like
navigating a road full of potholes with a rickety tricycle made of rusty sheet metal;
your entire skeleton and bony parts were shaken arrythmically, rendering you dizzy,
disoriented and almost disabled from the trajectory but you still had to
function .It was not a solo expedition however as Nigeria was limping along
like a bloodied soldier, wounded, tired and almost out of gas. Extensive job
cuts were undertaken across the country under guise of retrenchment or
downsizing in an attempt to reduce government recurrent expenditure on payrolls.
Some states even attempted across board pay cuts for the state employees. The
Manufacturing sector became moribund as severe shortages of raw materials and
spare parts reduced capacity utilization and induced massive layoffs in the
private sector; at the same time inflation was rising up to 14%.The economy
with a negative GDP growth rate of -2% was officially declared bankrupt in
October
Transportation became very challenging as new cars became very expensive
There was a period of severe disenchantment that lingered, as well as
frustration at the inability of the government to move quickly and decisively
especially on the economic front, rather than choosing to clamp down on
interest groups and pursue various vendetta and ill-advised policies like
cancelling the Lagos Metro project that could have solved the long-standing
issue of Mass transportation, and paying a fine that was almost 60% of the
funds required to complete it. Arbitrary jack-boot policies were the order of
the day and the ship of state floated abysmally. All passengers on the ship
held on for dear life while the storm raged, hoping against hope that a lull in
the storm or a new captain would emerge to chart us into calmer waters. Those
that could go overboard and check out like Andrew, a famous video clip made to
discourage people from leaving, did so , and thus began the massive haemorrhage
of Nigerian talent, ingenuity and resilience that has birthed the Nigerian
Diaspora. It is a haemorrhage that is ongoing, waxing and waning according to
the season and the climate of the new frontier, but it never ceases completely;
we are not out of stormy waters yet.
My
personal journey in that year marked a watershed, a loss of innocence, a first
modelling in the furnace of affliction that deepened my resolve, illuminated
and sharpened my focus and
Set my course on the path I continue to walk. The end is far from being
in sight but I have acquired a degree of self –knowledge that remains, no
matter what storms life may bring. I believe each of my co-travellers has come
to some such realisation, at this halfway point in all our lives; we will never
be broken by the journey .A greater end is hopefully in sight on the horizon.
