By Uba Okoh
This piece is in commemoration of the 58th anniversary of the formal declaration of the sovereign state of Biafra on 30th May, 1967, by His Excellency, Gen. Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, (Eze Igbo Gburugburu & Ikemba Nnewi).
I was barely 15 years old when Nigerian Civil War broke out in 1967. Before this time, I had always fantasized about being a military officer, and marshalling out orders to the junior ranks, with reckless abandon.
My passion, or rather ambition, was inspired by one of my cousins who was a military officer. As an adolescent growing up in the hinterland, I was always fascinated each time I saw this cousin of mine in a chauffeur-driven army Land Rover whenever he visited home.
His towering figure, gait, athletic and masculine physique which combined to give him awesome looks, were better appreciated when dressed in a well starched and ironed military uniform.
So, during the hostilities in the year aforementioned, I felt it was a golden opportunity for me to join these khaki-wearing uniformed men, in the hope that someday, I would rise to the rank of my role model.
But then, I forgot to recognize the popular English aphorism which says “All articles that coruscate with resplendence are not truly auriferous.” In other words, “All that glitters is not gold.”
Biafra (then) had three categories of freedom fighters namely; the Boys’ Company, the Militia, and of course the regular Army. By then, I was only fit for Boys’ Company who were only armed with machetes “to severe the heads of the Nigerian vandals.”
But I wasn’t quite comfortable with being armed with only a machete, to defend myself and the Biafran nation. So, I had to jettison that category which I considered was meant for the kindergartners, and eventually opted for the Militia, since I was still too young to be recruited into the regular army.
I told myself that I needed to hear the cacophonous sound of gunfire which I read in the History books during my Standard Three in the primary school, as it was then called.
Overwhelmed with the illusion, and basking in the euphoria of being a respectable army officer in no distant time, and exhibiting such unmitigated superciliousness to my subordinates, I took off in company of one of my uncles (now late), without informing my parents, or any of my siblings where I was headed for.
We had to trek a very long distance from our locality to the Militia Headquarters which was (then) located at Awgu County Secondary School, Nenwe, in the present Awgu LGA of Enugu State.
On arrival at the recruitment centre, we met a plethora of other vibrant youths, enthusiastically chanting in Igbo; “Ojukwu nye anyi egbe, ka anyi je jide Gowon n’aka.”
When translated, it simply means, “Ojukwu give us guns so that we would go and capture Gowon alive.” Oh my goodness! What an empirical demonstration of patriotism and intrepidity!
At the end of the successful recruitment, followed by a crash programme for combat readiness which lasted for a few days, I was issued with a “she beretta” gun, while my uncle who was bigger and older than me, was given a “Mark-4” rifle.
On why I wasn’t given a “Mark 4” rifle like my uncle, the officer whose rank seems to have escaped my memory, looked at me pitifully and said “It will push you down when you fire it.” And that was all.
It is noteworthy to state here, that the bullet from this “Mark 4” rifle, has a reputation of lifting its victim some feet above the sea level, before hitting the person hard on the ground, with a resounding thud.
On the other hand, the Nigerian soldiers made a caricature of the Biafran “she beretta” gun, as they mockingly referred to it as “Ajukwu katapot,” meaning “Ojukwu’s catapult.” Honestly, I needed to handle such big rifles like “Madsen” or “SLR.” But I was considered too young to handle any of them.
It would be recalled that the Militia uniform was conspicuously sewn with the badge “M” on both sides of the upper sleeves which was a symbol of Militia.
But unfortunately or fortunately, the Nigerian soldiers were always scared stiff each time they came across these amateur fighters, thinking that the “M” on their arms was an insignia for army Major.
Out of fright, they had always fled in different directions, shouting: “Ajukwu soja na so so Mejo Mejo!” This means that “Ojukwu’s soldiers are Majors throughout.” But that was a ridiculous misconception, to the advantage of Biafrans!
However, it goes without saying, that by all standards, Nigerian troops were much better equipped than Biafran soldiers. But by the mysterious working of divine providence, we were able to withstand them for 30 gruesome months! But I must tell you that “odiro fechaa!” It was hellish!!
I think the first theatre of war where I was deployed to showcase my gallantry and patriotism, was the Afikpo sector. That was after camping at St. John Bosco’s Secondary School, Okofia Ezza in the present Ebonyi State.
It was in this sector that I saw death eyeball to eyeball for the first time in my life. Fighting in a “built up area” could be very dangerous, if not suicidal!
A comrade-in-arms who merely introduced himself as John, and hailed from Nomeh, in the present Nkanu East LGA of Enugu State, lost his life in this fierce battle.
This good friend of mine who always flaunted the picture he recently took with his newly married wife, each time we were on break, was hit on the forehead by a bullet in the Afikpo main market where the battle raged.
The slain John was just by my left side during this battle, in what was known in the military parlance as “extended line formation.”
It was when I stopped hearing the sound of his gun that I took a quick look at my left side, only to behold blood streaming from his forehead down his nose, while his accusing finger remained motionless on the trigger.
Oh my God! I was scared stiff! I wept and wept, while my hands trembled on my rifle. I felt like throwing away my uniform and running away. But it wasn’t possible, as I reasoned that I would be seen as a saboteur and gunned down immediately.
When Militia was eventually disbanded, all of us were compulsorily converted to regular army irrespective of your age. I think I was deployed to 55 Battalion. I have not forgotten that it was at Obite in Etche, in the present Rivers State, that I ate raw cassava (in the war front), for the first time in my life.
For some days, our regular ration wasn’t forthcoming. My comrades-in-arms had no other option but to uproot cassava which was cultivated there, and started eating them raw like grass cutters.
Feigning resilience and indomitable, I tried to endure the pangs of hunger, but my perseverance could hardly be sustained, as I soon found myself joining them to uproot the cassava and munching it like wild animals.
However, mother luck later smiled on me when we were deployed to R.O.B (Republic Of Benin), precisely at Ibusa in the present Delta State. By this time I had grown so lean with sunken eyes, terribly emaciated as a result of hunger and starvation.
A young officer who was an “I.O” (Intelligence Officer) whose duty was to visit war fronts, and gather situation reports (Sitrep), saw me while I was inside my trench where we laid ambush, waiting for the rampageous enemies to advance so that we would mow them down.
This young officer (apparently touched by the holy spirit), stopped at my trench, took a critical look at me and asked, “Who conscripted you into the army?” “Nobody conscripted me, Sir.” I answered.
“Then, how did you manage to join the army?” he further probed. “I am a militia-convert, Sir.” I responded. “From which Contingent are you?” he fired again. “Oji River, Sir.” I answered with a quaking voice.
“Get out from there” he commanded. I clumsily got out of the trench with my torn and weather-beaten uniform, while my gun was loosely strapped over my shoulder.
“Follow me,” he instructed. I complied with enthusiasm and military alacrity, following him directly behind, while his batsman trailed behind both of us.
“From which part of Oji River are you?” he continued. “From Nkanu, Sir,” I answered. “From which part of Nkanu,” he still wanted to know. “From Amurri, Sir,” I responded. Note; during that time, Nkanu was identified with Oji River.
“Do you know Mr Nweke Ede?” He further asked. “Yes, Sir,” I answered rather monosyllabically, for I was surprised at that question.
Mr Nweke Ede, you may wish to know, was a celebrated clown (dark-skinned with immense stature and protruding eye-balls) who was very popular throughout Nkanu land and even beyond (then).
To cut a long story short, right from that day, I became one of the batsmen of this young officer whom I later learned hails from the present Awgu LGA of Enugu State.
To the glory of God, I stayed with this godfather of mine till the end of the Civil War in 1970, during which I was privileged to eat officers’ meals, and dress properly like a human being.
I doubt if I would have survived this bloody war, if the most benevolent God hadn’t sent this young officer to rescue me. Interestingly, this young man who later went back to Nigerian Defence Academy, eventually retired as a Colonel in the Nigerian Army, and presently resides in Enugu with his family.
In my presence, I lost great friends/officers like Ogechukwu Onyejeme who hailed from either Isuochi or Isuikwuato, Captain Pedro from Obosi in Anambra State, Longinus Ogueri from Imo State.
Chukwuemeka Oliwe who hailed from either Isuochi or Isuikwuato had a spinal cord injury as a result of motar bomb explosion which almost claimed his life. Coincidentally, I saw him on a wheelchair in Enugu after the war.
These were some of the fallen heroes I can still remember. I’ve not forgotten the diminutive but phenomenal Boniface Ebuzeme, also from Obosi in Anambra State.
My fervent prayer, is that God may never allow anything likely to precipitate another Civil War in this country, in Jesus’ name, Amen.
Never shall we sing again; “My father, don’t you worry. My mother, don’t you worry. If I happen to die in the battlefield never mind, we shall meet in Heaven.”
That was the motivational war song that boosted troops’ morale and spurred them to embark on a suicide mission. I think this illusory mantra should be jettisoned, for us to face the stark realities, that war is an ill wind that blows no one any good.
Suffice it to say that the last nuclear holocaust (1967-1970), during which our roads and streets were littered with decomposing human bodies of both old and young, including the skeletons of the sick who were abandoned on their sick beds by their relations who fled for safety, should not be allowed to repeat. Not in this generation!
A situation where human beings and wild animals/reptiles scrambled for a space in the forest, in order to escape the bullets from the ubiquitous Nigerian vandals, including the heavy aerial bombardments from the nefarious Egyptian and Russian fighter pilots, who were contracted to come and exterminate us, should be avoided at all costs.
Though Nigeria eventually won the war due to the immense assistance of the world powers and their murderous mercenaries, it wasn’t a tea party for them, as they equally suffered heavy casualties, which was an empirical demonstration that Biafra wasn’t a push-over after all.
Nigerian troops cannot forget in a hurry, the unprecedented casualties they suffered when they ran into Biafran ambush at Abagana, in the present day Anambra State, some time in 1968.
A convoy of about 200 vehicles carrying over 6,000 soldiers from the 2nd Division led by the late Murtala Mohammed met their Waterloo at this sector, when Biafran soldiers detonated their locally manufactured explosive device of mass destruction “ogbunigwe,” which neutralized the advancing vandals that were caught off guard.
I think I’m beginning to conceptualize writing a book on this unmitigated holocaust unleashed on the Igbo nation, which I intend to caption; “Genocide Against Biafra: Memoirs From My Trench.”
Watch out for it in no distant time.
• High Chief Uba, JP, is Biafran War Veteran