My Independence

I had always wondered at People’s reasons for celebrating the independence! For 20 years I have celebrated my independence by either donning a Green and white t-shirt with some witty Nigerian slogan written on it or some form of traditional attire and teaching either a local Nigerian game or telling a folklore or tortoise story in some school!

My reasons for celebrating my independence are plenty! Am I proud of my country? The answer would be yes and why not! I have a roof over my head! I can wear what I like, say what I want, I am free! I may not be as wealthy as I want to be but I see a future where it can happen for me. What more do I have to celebrate? I see and hear people make the mistake of crying that Nigeria is now 51 and headed no where. Actually is it No Where or Now here!

Many make the mistake of comparing our great country to the Americas or Great Britain or China! How old are these countries? How many wars did they fight? How unstable was their economy? They worked it till they got it right! Think first we are only 51yrs old. Our country is still very young! We have come so far and yet our generation is still blind to that fact!

A 51 year old man and a 51 year old country are not the same and should not be compared! Man lives to max 120yrs but a country- generations! Have we forgotten so soon our social studies and history? Have we forgotten those days when ignorance was the biggest destroyer of our great nation! Have we forgotten so soon the ethnic and tribal wars that ravaged our country and killed so many? Do we need to be reminded of the pains that our fathers went through? Have we forgotten when all we wanted was democracy? Freedom to say what was our minds without being criticized, arrested or even killed! Have we forgotten the lyrics of Fela in his songs? Have we forgotten so soon the military reign of terror?

We are at a time when our  problems are power, infrastructure and employment. We sit down in our houses and offices and complain of how bad the country is going! We do not hide in terror or look for ways to run to our villages. We are the lucky few yet ungrateful! Our banana republic as one of my cousins referred to our country yet we have no idea of all the parts this great country played in the liberation of many African countries like South Africa, Liberia, and others.

Our biggest problems now are boko haram and the niger delta militants and the internet scam and even these are slowly fading away. Everyday amidst the corruption and the critiscms of our people our leaders still work! All in the bid to making our country a better place. As I go to my office everyday I look out my window and see the number of foreign investors growing everyday. If my fellow people say we are not getting it right then what are these people seeing that we are not seeing or what are they realizing that we are blind to?

I sit back and reminisce at the old stories my parents and other older friends have told me about the different troubles that have befallen our country in the past, about the Biafran War, stories that touch the heart (not the super story on our screens) some of which I will retell later! However here is one for you to read!

 My Biafra as told by The Prince

Driving my daughter to school, today, I heard something about American wounded warriors, on WTOP New. I wondered why Americans call all their soldiers warriors. In my book, not everyone who dons the uniform is a warrior. A soldier may be, but not a warrior. When a warrior enters the battlefield, things happen. Drifting into reminiscence, my experiences of the Nigeria-Biafra war flooded my head. Tears blurred my vision and lumps filled my throat, as it all came back to me...

I remembered the community of which I became an identifiable part. For the longest three years of my life, these were family. There was nothing like a smell of gunpowder in the morning, and the occasional smell of blood reminded us that it was no child’s play. We could be here, and gone the next minute. 

Firstly, let me mention the Expatriates, mostly French who fought with us to Defend Biafra, who received no thanks for their trouble. Jealousy reared its ugly, green head, and irrespective of how it would affect the fighting men, they were sent packing, and things were never the same again.

There was Col. Steiner, Founder and Commanding officer of Majors Guards that later grew into the 4th Biafran Commando Brigade, headquartered at Madonna High School, Ihitte.

Col. Russel, Commanding Officer, 4th Commando Brigade, after Col Steiner left.

Major William Taft, Officer in charge of training, Major’s Guards. Some of his training regimen comprised having soldiers crawl under a sustained barrage of bullets levelled at about a 14” off the ground. His doctrine was that 3% casualty was permissible during combat training. Who would argue with a white Commanding Officer?

Capt. Armand, Commanding Officer, Ahuada Strike Force. I was his bodyguard until the expatriates left. From him I learned everything I knew about field tactics, unarmed/hand-to-hand combat, and escape in the event of a capture. These abilities paid off, big time.

Capt. Billewa (not sure of spelling), first Commanding Officer Nsukka Strike Force or Ogoja Strike Force, I’ve forgotten which. He was fondly referred to as “Papa vou,” I guess because the Expatriates spoke no English and that was how French sounded to us. He was once wounded at the Port Harcourt sector.

Lt. Toomy, Commading Officer, Biafran Par Commando and Marine Commando (Our mini version of the Air Force and Navy, respectively. It’s a long story.

Resultant of the Infantry jealousy, the Expatriates were asked to leave, and the 4th Biafran Commando Brigade was assimilated into the 2nd Infantry Division. For all intent and purposes, we lost the SAG designation, as we began soldiering like the Infantry, holding grounds and stuff, which we weren’t structured or trained to do.

We were a strike force. Our main responsibilities were to hit the enemy, gain ground, and leave the ground holding to the Infantry, as we moved on to another theater of the war. When our Commanders left, we had to make the best of the situation. These are the men who, for me, made the military a home away from home, and fighting, the most fun it could be. 

Lt. Nwanke, the most exuberant and energetic Biafran officer I ever knew, who wore his busted hand as a badge of honour, swearing to do it again if the opportunity presented itself.

Lt. Ogbuka, the only human who took a whole mortar round on his head, and lived to talk about it. Not a giant of a man, I remember him, beards and all.

Capt. Nkenine, from Ishi-nweke, Officer Commanding Tactical Headquarters, always smiling, even in the battlefield.

Sergeant Major Adam (WO II) from Orie-agu, who governed Ahuada Strike Force at down time and charged up the frontlines with his “atilogwu” ensemble during combat.

Drill Sergeant Mbe from Onicha Ezinihitte, who never spoke much of English and yet trained out soldiers we could depend on.

Sergeant Major Ekwunife (WO II) Nsukka Strike Force, the administrator with a huge heart and soul.

Major Okoro, Nsukka Strike Force (Strategic Commander, as he was fondly called), His pet name for me was Operational Lee. He was my Commanding officer till the end of hostilities.

Col. Agu, 4th Commando Brigade, my Brigade Commander who nicknamed me Able Serge (we met when I was yet a Sergeant), and later field-commissioned me to show an infantry battalion, sent to reinforce or Strike Force, how soldiering was done.

Major Otigbuo, Ahuada Strike Force, and my very first Biafran Commanding Officer, and the most handsome man to ever put on a uniform. When he was yet the Strike Force 2nd in Command, he took over my 2429 LMG when I was called up to be a bodyguard to French Capt Armand, then Commanding officer. That same evening, I watched him, then Capt. Otigbuo, play swordsmanship with a Nigerian jet fighter that came to strafe our Oba Girls High School camp. I wished so hard to lay my hands on another LMG so we could do this dance, together.

Capt. Luke Onyeneho, my dear uncle, who tried his damnedest to keep me from joining the military, knowing it was not a place for kids. But hey, stubbornness won out, and I joined the SAG (Special Assignment Group) of the Biafran Commando. He was killed at Mkpor Junction. He was brought home and buried on his birthday

Corporal Donatus Ibeh, another uncle of mine who was chef for an infantry battalion, I’ve forgotten which. He cooked up a storm and fed the soldiers no matter how chaotic things got.

Sergeant Major Albert Obieje, my boyhood friend whom everybody thought of as my brother. Post primary school, while I went off to High School, Albert joined the Nigerian Army, and later the Eastern Command. He introduced me to the Bren Group, a group selected for marksmanship and charged with manning machine guns and devices such as the bazooka, and RPG, rocket propelled grenades. He was fondly called Bazooka, as it was his favoured weapon. He never saw an armored vehicle, tank, or saladin he didn’t pursue. One of them dropped a shell on him as we attempted to clear Dumez and Onitsha Prisons Complex. Till his death, he carried a bullet, from a prior wound, in his head. 

Lt. Alabama (Forgive me for forgetting his name), the flamboyant officer that made soldiering funfest it was for me. 

Lt. Alpha Uduma, our spiritual guide. He is from Uwanna, Afikpo. In his quarters, we communed with our Maker.

Lt. Chris Unegbu, form Ogbe Ahiara, a true wounded warrior, who took me to Owerri Pay and Records, slicing through a series of checkpoints, to make sure my allotment got to my Mother.

Tales of Fearlessness and bravery cannot be told without a mention of my father, HRH, Eze Joseph I Onyeheho, Onugotu Onicha Amairi. Towards the conclusion of the conflict, while everyone else was fleeing the advance of the Federal troops, he armed himself with his five-shooter rifle, called his younger brother Nze Edmund Onyeneho, and Chief Ben Osuoma, both of whom had a double barreled rifle, to go defend Onicha. He vowed that his dominion would never be over-run or taken by the Federal troops as long as he lived. 

They ambushed the advancing soldiers at Nkwo-Umuevu. The trio opened fire at the approaching soldiers. Of course, it took but a minute for them to realize that one doesn’t take a sick to a nuclear war, as the soldiers let them have it. Tank fire, machine gun, automatic weapons, mortar shells, all were in the mix. The trio took to their heels, to borrow a cliché, in different directions. 

My father returned to the palace via a shot-cut. He brought out his throne, dressed up in his full regalia, and sitting straight as an arrow, he proudly waited for his execution. When the soldiers arrived, they asked him, “Baba, na you be chief?” My father answered in the affirmative, adding that he was the traditional ruler of the Autonomous Community they were standing on.

He almost got his “death wish” when the soldiers found his rifle in his bedchamber. My father claimed ownership of the gun, and the soldiers were about to make a big deal of it. Then, the Commanding officer told my father that he should not be in possession of such a weapon. He broke it on the ground and bid my father farewell, as they left.

About all these warriors, and all the warriors of 4th Biafran Commando Brigade, who very fondly dubbed me “Guitar Boy,” I could not say enough. I salute you all. I have no knowledge of any dead or alive, and so the possibility of a happy reunion seems an improbable prospect. I love you all and will never, ever forget you.

We were great Biafrans then, and we are greater Nigerians now, always faithful.

As much as I regret not any second of it, I’m not sure pride is the word for it, given that war is never a good thing, regardless of the degree and extent to which it’s engaged in. I actuality, I wasn’t describing my war experiences. I doubt that facebook would have enough space to harbour the volume should I decide to scribble them. I was only romancing the memory of the men whom, to the best of my personal knowledge, I saw as genuine, authentic warriors.

Regarding committing my experiences to the pages, a number of things did discourage me. I started keeping a journal in the beginning, but the mobile nature of my outfit would not permit me to retain whatever earthly possession I had. At a point, all I had in this wide world were my uniform, my sub machinegun, and my guitar, which my mother bought me. Even the guitar, I lost at Umuahia.

Furthermore, I believed that those who wrote a book did so for pecuniary incentives, even though some of them never had any first-hand experience of the event they wrote about. I also believe that history has already had enough to chew on. Then again, where would I start? In its stead, I would share my experience with anyone who desires to author a book, on the condition that I am not mentioned in it.

There are some books on the shelves that are ridiculously a mere paraphrase of other journals. I have some historic facts that you wouldn’t find in most books, if not all. For example how many historians took the time to note that Ojukwu was not the first Military governor of the East? David Ejoor of the then Midwest was. Chukwuemeka Ojukwu from the East governed the North. Hassan Katsina was in the West, while Francis Adekunle Fajuyi was in the Midwest.

However, this arrangement lasted three days, and the governors were repatriated to their region of birth, Bringing Ojukwu to Enugu. It was part of Aguiyi's scheme to maintain a unitary united Nigeria. Anyway, it’s neither there nor here. Just wanted to put that one out

Every ounce of bravery or heroics I performed on the battlefield always rode on the back of a ton of fear. I just learned not to let the fear seep through. The dividends were three fold. (1) The nation had to be certain that a million dollar with of equipments were trusted in capable hands. (2) It was necessary that I show that I was worth every ounce of confidence reposed in my ability to protect and care for the men in my charge. (3) Most importantly, the appearance of invincibility was an invaluable tool in securing the love, respect, and confidence of the men under my care. They had to know that, in my care, they were ok. 

I must admit that some exhibitions were borderline stupidity or outright lunacy, looking in the rear view mirror now. Considering that I joined the military at a ripe old age of 16, against the wishes of my parents, all I managed to prove was that God indeed takes care of fools.

I still scratch my head when the issue of writing a book comes up. It’s impossible to write about my wartime experience without coming off as conceited, arrogant, and or pompous. These are characteristics that leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Nevertheless, I thank you for appreciating the sacrifices that needed to be made.

.....The Prince

Okay back to me

This is only a kiss of what our people went through! We need to remember that those are days long gone! Days that we would not want to go back to! If I have provoked you well good! (positively or negatively) I am not sorry!

My friend Ifeka did say and I end with that

“It’s so heart breaking how much hope Nigerians have lost in Nigeria without any glimpse of hope for a better country... 

Its Independence...a time that calls for a Grand Celebration... A time to celebrate our country...

As we celebrate in our different ways... I implore us all to have a sober reflection... to resolve to continuously have a positive mind for our dear Nation...

Franklin D. Roosevelt once said "In the truest Sense, Freedom cannot be Bestowed; It must be achieved"... Let us all resolve to work together and contribute in our little ways to make our country Great again...

For Me I have decided to stay positive, Talk Positive and act positive... Cos it will only take a collective conscious effort on our parts individually... To create that Nigeria  of our dream...”

Happy independence Celebration!!

Long Live Nigeria! Long Live Nigerians!

I guess you all get the gist!

Debbie Ubaru