Fifty-three years after the Nigerian Civil War ended, different generations of Nigerian authors have chronicled the war from their own perspectives – from generals to foot soldiers, roving ambassadors to paramilitary personnel, kwashiorkor survivors to ‘saboteurs,’ medical workers to orphans – with evocations of heroism, dread, persecution and spectacles of misery.
These recollections include works of non-fiction and fiction. Some of the nonfiction include: Biafra: The Nigerian Civil War, 1967-1970, by Peter Baxter; The Biafra Story, by Frederick Forsyth, 1969; The Nigerian Revolution and the Biafran War; Surviving in Biafra: The Story of the Nigerian Civil War: Over Two Million Died, by Alfred Obiora Uzokwe, 2003; There Was a Country, by Chinua Achebe; Sunset in Biafra: A Civil War Diary, by Elechi Amadi, 1973; Because I am involved, by Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, 1989, etcetera.
In fiction, we have Survive the Peace, by Cyprian Ekwensi, 1976; Half of a Yellow Sun, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, 2006; Under the Udala Trees, by Chinelo Okparanta, 2015; Roses and Bullets, by Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo; and Sunset at Dawn, by Chukwuemeka Ike, 1976; to mention a few.
Enter Chudy Otigba with I Remember the Nigerian-Biafran War Graphic Recollections of a Child, to the war canon. Otigba’s offering is another recollection of the dark chapter in our national life told as a detached observer. The harrowing experiences that came with the war has made the author, five decades later, to “quickly say no’’ to any crusader of war. He strongly believes that “war is destructive and nothing good comes from it” from the prefatory note.
In lending his voice to the civil war narratives, the author invites us to look into the mirror to see where we got it wrong and how the ghost of this wrong course could be laid to rest and forestall any further occurrence.
“I remember I was six years old when the war began. I was in school, the famous Central School Onitsha, which was the first elementary school established in Onitsha, that day.” recollects the author in the first chapter. It was there that news filtered that Ndi Awusa had entered Asaba, with rumours of horrific massacres. That news led to panic, relocation and dislocation of many families.
But life wasn’t about a humdrum existence in the early days of the war. Though schools were shot, children still played games and watched dramas by delinquent adults and other stereotypes. His father owned a Gwongworo (a Mercedes 911 lorry), which was active before the war on the Northern and North African routes.
“He was a tall, handsome, well-built young man, the pride of any woman,” recalls the author about his dad; while his mum was nicknamed “Nwanyi Ghana” because of her resemblance to Ghanainans. She was a caterer with a difference, too.
As the war moved closer to home, young Otigba and his family hurriedly left the commercial nerve centre of Onitsha, where they lived, to their village in Awkuzu, where they heard horrible tales of massacres of Igbo people in Northern Nigeria. There was a state of revulsion and apprehension everywhere.
Otigba’s book is also a coming-of-age tale. Childhood fantasies echo in this book. Igbo culture is also evident –from his father’s traditional religious rites to folk songs recited by kids. An example is the udala song: Udala, da, da, da…. (Udala fruit fall for me). There are also new moon games by kids, folktales and kolanut rituals. It wasn’t totally gloomy, despite the sleepless nights and lurking fears.
The return of Otigba’s father from Kano tells of a narrow escape from the pogrom in the North, passing through bushes and villages of the Middle Belt. “Papa disclosed that it was only by the grace of his personal “chi” (god) and his ancestors that brought him back home alive….,” says the author.
Otigba’s father was close to a nabob, and took the Ozo title even as the civil war was on. Ozo titles in Ignoland are meant for eminent men in the society. In the case of his father, he continued to make money during the war from Afia attack –smuggling salt and beans.
The Otigbas were soon to relocate to Otu-Ocha, a safer place, when news filtered that Awkuzu was about to be attacked. His dad was also determined to join the Biafran Army, despite opposition. Reason prevailed, however.
At Otu-Ocha, the kids learnt new survival strategies, including how to run into a bunker or dive for cover during air raids. His mother continued her food business. On one occasion, young Otigba was hit by shrapnel in the buttocks. In this book, the reader is meant to feel empathy for the downtrodden with the harrowing tales coming out from refugee camps.
With bated breath, the reader follows the author’s trajectory to Nsugbe where the family fled to after their haven in Otu-Ocha was bombed. There was a big relief when the war ended in 1970 with the family surviving the war..
In Otigba’s parents, we discover self-sacrifice and hard work even in the midst of life-threatening conditions such as the one imposed by the civil war, as they continued to soldier on in their businesses while paying utmost attention to raising children and the family’s safety.
The concluding parts of the book recollect life after the war. Normalcy has returned now. The author returns to school and his father’s business continued to flourish. Christmas celebrations became more elaborate with festivities.
The author also recounts his education at Oko College of Arts and Science, life at Ajegunle when travelled to stay in Lagos after schooling, life as a banker and his subsequent travel to Italy.
This book is another robust addition to the civil war cannon, told from the lens of a curious child. Indeed, Otigba’s I Remember Biafra is an engrossing read. Though it makes us cringe with the spectacles of despair, it’s unputdownable in most parts. It’s highly recommended.