ANOTHER WARRIOR DOWN; ANOTHER VILLAIN DOWN

I had slept for more than two hours and had a good bathe. The time was half past five. I decided to visit my friend, Isaac. I knew Isaac through another friend, Sunny and both have proved to be loyal and good friends. Both come from Ogoja in Cross River State but reside in Umuahia, Abia State working. So when I travel to the South East, I ensure that I see them. It was the case here

 Twenty minutes later, we were throwing banters, cracking jokes and bringing back old memories. My stomach churned in hunger. I signalled Zik and he suggested that we go to his sister’s place to eat.

On our way to the place, I took in the rusted zinc roofs, the single lane roads, the semi huts at the heart of the state capital and a handful of two or three storey buildings. I also took in the chaos and traffic congestions; all these I had seen in the four five years ago. In fact as the tricycle nicknamed kekenapep progressed, I concluded that nothing significant has changed the state capital of God’s own State.

Worry took over me. Why is this state and some others not developing at a fast pace.  I even wondered why some states are perpetually underdeveloped. Could it be that FG is not been generous enough or is it that the state governments have a way of attaching wings to the huge allocations given them for the monies to fly away.

I came to the conclusion that past and present leaders have short changed the masses. Poverty is on the increase, basic amenities are in a state of disrepair, employment opportunities are grossly inadequate. The gap between the rich and the poor gets wider by the day. It is even rumoured that government in connivance with some cronies buy up all the plots of land, “by fire by force”. It is a rip off. Dishonest men and women left to man public coffers. Contracts are awarded on the television and radio. Even those executed are below standard.

In my reverie, I was unaware that we had reached our destination. Zik had to nudge me to reality.

I followed him closely as he entered one of the busy track roads overlooking the popular Isi gate. Five minutes later, we were at his sister’s place, a small shack where a beautiful chubby woman roasted yam, plantain and potatoes.

Three men in their late 40s or early 50s were already sitted. Two of them were eating and the last man was waiting for his turn as he focused on the newspaper he was reading. We greeted them and took our seats. When the man’s food came, I relieved him of the newspaper. I quickly glanced through the headlines in the pages and settled for the back page column.

The columnist had among other things argued that heaping encomiums on the late hero Dim Odumegwu Ojukwu is far from the truth. His argument was based on the premise that the late warrior, our warrior took on an avoidable war. His arguments concluded that if Ojukwu was not over ambitious and proud, he ought to have listened to the late sage, Chief Awolowo and col. Adebayo to stand down on the war. I was infuriated. Mad to say the least; very mad.  To me, either he was very mischievous or f he was been economical with the truth.

I was not born before the war to know what happened first hand but history bequeathed to us by first hand witnesses indicate that the Igbos were massacred in the north ( a genocide of sort) and their mangled bodies sent back to the east as evidence.

In a heated polity Ojukwu had appealed for peace and prayed the Igbos, who looked up to him for leadership to remain calm and alert.

Enter Aburi conference. In a bid to reduce the tension and solve the problem, Ojukwu and Gowon had headed off to Ghana at the invitation of the president of Ghana at that time. One of the core agreements of the Aburi Accord is a weak centre and robust regions that will develop at their own pace. But Gowon came back and reneged on the agreement.

If Ojukwu had not taken on the war, the Igbos would have been wiped out by now; the Igbos would be included not as a major ethnic group but as a minor ethnic group in Nigeria. Without the war, the Igbo Language would not have been recognised as one of the three major languages in the country and by extension, the language written on naira notes. Without the war, many award winning authors would not have been what they are today. Without Ojukwu, the Igbos would have been relegated to the background in the scheme of things. He was our warrior. We mourn him. We mourn another warrior down.

The fat lady drew my attention to ask if I would eat the roasted yam with stew or fried pepper and utazi. I chose the latter and informed her to add oil bean ‘ugba to the mixture.  I lost interest in reading column once I sighted the mixture and perceived the aroma. Not long after, the delicacy was served and she offered me a fork. In my village, a fork for a dish of roasted yam and oil bean mixture is near a taboo. It is unheard off. It is said that in using the fork the rich taste of the food will not be savoured. I quickly washed my hands and attacked the yam headlong.

It was when I had settled down to eat that I noticed the presence of a fourth man giggling and very excited, waiting for his turn. When Zik’s sister teased him and asked him the cause of his excitement, he quickly replied:

“Governor T.A Orji of Abia State was booed in Aba and Nnewi during the funeral rites of Ojukwu. “, he said. We were all silent to give him the floor to explain what he meant.

He went on to narrate how residents of Aba had booed the governor and even urged governor Okorocha of Imo state to annex Aba to Imo state owing to his committed infrastructural development of Imo state. The man went further to narrate how in Nnewi the Abia State governor was booed and pelted with pure water sachets for his inability to provide good governance to his people. To salvage the situation, he said, the governor was armed with women praise singers who drowned the rants of the people in Nnewi against him.

I burst out laughing. I totally forgot that I was eating a peppery dish. The pepper went the wrong route and choked me.

See you next week

Chukwudi