17 Mar 2008 |
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THIS IS AN ADAPTATION FROM THE YET-TO-BE-PUBLISHED NOVEL BY AHAOMA KANU It was nearing the end of January and I was a week and some days old at my new job when what looked like the heaviest attack by the Nigerian army started. It started usually with mortar shellings which initially killed more civilians than soldiers. The attacks started initially from the Okigwe section but the offensive was quickly halted for no apparent reason. No sooner had the dust raised from there settled did a full attack with heavy arsenals from the Nigerians started from the Onitsha region, I knew the battle there was serious when I noticed the regularity with which infantry soldiers were dispatched towards that zone. It was learnt that the road blocks set up on the Okigwe and Mbieri sector achieved its aim there of preventing the passage of enemy heavy equipments and tanks. I had not had the chance to go back to Egbu village to see Mrs. Okonkwo and my brothers, my inability to go visit them was more out of the fact that I could not penetrate the kitchen department on like before so I did not see any use going home empty handed when my brothers would be looking out for me with an expectant mind. There was also talk about the enemy deliberately destroying the farmlands of any vicinity they captured and which was on the threat of being recaptured by the Biafrans. The Biafran army were fighting with determination and sheer luck; I heard talks among the soldiers about the new weapons manufactured by the Science Department in their task to turn waste materials to war materials. There was the formidable and highly lethal Ogbunigwe (mass killer) that was definitely a disaster for the Nigerian troops, the explosiveness of the locally made bomb was such that it not only killed but blew the enemies to pieces. The Nigerian soldiers had to introduce the use of herds of cows to detonate the deadly mines that were buried alongside the route they marched on towards their aim. The Ojukwu beer was another popular weapon discussed among the soldiers, it was so because it was death in disguise, appealing outwardly to quench thirsty but sending its finder to the great beyond should that person’s thirst for its liquid content overcome their cautiousness. The weapon was made in the form of bottles of beer and were normally disposed and scattered over an area very likely to fall into enemy hands, lethal bottles of beer would be left in a way to suggest to the unsuspecting enemy advancing infantry to look as if the Biafran soldiers fled in a haste on learning the closeness of the advancing army. The soldiers claimed they watched the weapons achieve its aim over and over again. The Biafran soldiers on their own side encountered so many disadvantages in the battles; the Nigerian soldiers learnt abut the scarcity and inadequate arms and ammunition situation on their side and also almost naked conditions of the Biafran soldiers. Many of them lacked uniforms, boots and helmets. Some wore their singlets and shorts while the very unlucky ones fought almost naked. The enemies started dropping broken bottles and sharp objects on the frontline to check the infantry charge. The strategic worked really well for the Nigerians for many of the Biafran soldiers became the look out for broken bottle instead of being on the watch out for the enemies. As many of our soldiers fought more or less naked, pneumonia and cold became a serious ailment that attacked them in the battle front, many of the soldiers were brought back with life threatening bouts of fever and cold that it became a major cause of concern to the authorities. The major problem the combating soldiers faced was hunger. As the fighting continued and the troops were deployed to the war zones, it became necessary that cookhouses were set up near the fronts, the civilians that manned such places performed courageously but the cookhouses suffered the problem of dispersing anytime the army lost ground. It took quite some time for its workers to regroup and set up at another location once they got dislodged. This development led to the troops fighting on the frontlines for days and nights on hungry stomachs. Some of them ate raw grasses or if so lucky, some fruits in the forest, like unripe pawpaw and plantains which to some extend did more harm than good. Another problem the Biafran army faced was having standby reserve platoons to reinforce the fighting platoons, where such forces existed; their deployment became another problem as they had to wait for night to fall before they could move to where they are needed. Again
the acute scarcity of fuel and vehicles for carrying across messages
amongst the various brigades, the use of foot runners was thus the last
resort. It was such that by the time the requested reinforcement
arrived; more ground may have been lost. In order to tackle the petrol
situation, mushroom refineries were set up to carry out petroleum
refining so that the needed fuel would be available for the war. Most
of the fuel gotten from such measures ended up being sold in the black
market with less quantity getting to the army. Some of the refineries
were usually planes that frequently targeted such places, a number of
the refineries shut down out of fear when one palm oil processing plant
was napalmed at Awo-Omamma. It was told that the plane appeared out of
the blues and dropped its load of bombs directly on the plant, as they
bombs exploded; it sent the highly heated oil frying everybody within a
distance of the place. That singular tragedy was felt all over
The hospital where I was assigned was constantly busy throughout the period of the attacks. Day after day, soldiers wounded in battle were brought over by porters on foot, with the truck and a few made it on their own. The intensity of the war at that period made it impossible for the Red Cross to fly in their supplies of which we run out of stock. The bondages got finished completely that we had no option than to remove already used bandages from patients that were older in the ward to be washed and used on fresh causalities. Three qualified and elderly nurses came over from Umuahia to help us out and another young doctor arrived from Orlu. The constantly arrival of the wounded, nearly dead and dead causalities made the added human resources unnoticed. Dr Nwosu worked day and night, we worked during the day, with the fear that could give us away. Many of the casualties that went into the surgery room were carried out dead because, at a time, operations were carried out without anaesthetic. The patients watched their shattered limbs and arms gruesomely cut off their body. This led to many of them dying of the haemorrhage. One night, I watched as a soldier carried in another wounded comrade, the wounded one was very older while the person that brought him was younger almost as young as me if not for his enhanced biceps. As I showed them a place to lay the wounded man down for me to administer first and, my kit being river water and a small face towel with a length of bandage, I noticed the striking resemblance between the two soldiers, they were father and son. The older man had been hit in the hip and by the way his trousers that was held to his waist by a rope which I believed served as a belt, I was sure the man had lost so much blood, the position and distance his son carried him contribution no doubt. As the wounded man was laid down, his child pleaded with me. “Biko, nyere nna m aka, ekwela ga onwu o biko,” he pleaded, I saw the pain and the fear with which he meant those words. He was been ready to do anything to ensure his father did not give up. I nodded as I started loosing the knot on the rope, the man cried out in pains as my hands moved to check out the exact position of the exit wound. The son disconnected the bayonet from the nozzle of his rifle quickly and cut the rope, helping me to pull his father’s blood soaked trousers down. “Papa, hang on, don’t die, hang on,” he consoled his father as he undid the trousers, it was such a pitiful sight that it brought tears to my eyes, it was such a horrible situation to watch your own fat her dying before your very eyes and you could not do anything. “As I soaked the towel inside the iron bucket I had with to clean the area surrounding the wound, the man cried out, “Ahh, Chineke mu, AlaOji bia kwa nu, Chineke bia kwa o!” “Papa ndo! Ndo! Sorry! Jisi ike,” his son consoled. “Mmiri o, biko nun ye mu mmiri!” he requested. “He needs water,” the young man said to me as if I was deaf. I shook my head to indicate the request was cannot be granted. “Please, give me water, Jesus, I am dying, I need a drink!” the father yelled, his son still looked at me questionly. “Give him water to drink please, he is my father!” he pleaded as tears rolled down his young eyes. “No, it would kill him,” I told him. “Chineke umu Africa, biko, mmiri! I need water, my mouth is dry,” the man groaned, I could see his loss of blood was sapping whatever energy he had left. “Papa please don’t die, please hold on,” his son cried, “Nurse! Help me, don’t let my father die, please help me.” He asked holding his dying father’s head on his laps. I cleaned the surface of the wound and the man flinched and shouted with a very familiar drooling sound that I heard often inside the hospital’s butcher room, “Hmm, chukwu ala oji nwa oduma anaa! Blood trailed out slowly from the wound, whoever fired the shot aimed to kill him instantly but instead his death was occurring slowly. I went on to bandage his waist to stoop the bleeding. “Where is the doctor?” the kid soldier asked with tearful pleading eyes, I pointed towards the new doctor who was standing by the bed of another patient. “Doctor, Doctor!” the boy called out, leaping up and moving towards him, I cried more for his pain, he was willing to keep his father alive. I looked back at the dying man, his eyes were half closed and some saliva were running down his mouth, his mouth squeezed into a smile as he looked at me. “So this is how a man goes,” he said a little audibly, I held his hand, not really knowing what to say or do at that very moment. I knew the man would be gone in a few minutes time, I had seen cases like his in my short stay at the hospital. I looked up on time to see the boy and the doctor coming down to us, the doctor crossed over to where we were and shifted the two weapons lying carelessly by the side. “Nurse, what do we have here?” the doctor asked as he bent down to have a closer look. “The patient was brought in not long ago with a bullet wound to the pelvis,” I narrated, “Must have lost so much blood and requested for water. I tried to stop the bleeding.” I finished the doctor lifted the bandaged to study the wound closely. “The entry wound is a real bad case,” he commented, “did you check if there’s any exit?” he asked. “No, I replied. “That means the lead is still lodged in there, too bad,” he said as he checked the man’s eyes with his torch. “This one will need someone to till the ground,” the doctor finished as he stood up, it was our code for indicating a patient that may die soon and be buried. “I’ll go get some pain killers across,” the doctor announced getting up and touching the boy briefly on the shoulders, “be strong and be man.” I knew the doctor would not be back, the talk was just a way of buying time for the expected to come to happen. “Ikenna,” the dying man called out weakly. “Papa, I am here,” his son replied. “Icheghi na nga agbake na nka,” he started. “Papa, hold on the doctor is coming,” the boy replied into his father’s ears. “Ikenna, listen,” the weak voice demanded, “I am leaving and want you to know I died a very proud man. I am proud of you, you are a brave son.” “Papa, you will not die, the doctor will soon be here. He went to get drugs for you,” his optimistic son continued. “Take care of your mother and sisters, don’t let them down and don’t let those bastards hurt you,” his dying father kept uttering, his eyes were closing and the strength in his voice was trailing with each word. “Papa, hang on, Papa, Doctor!” the boy shouted, “Nurse call the doctor, my father is dying,” As he shouted, his father’s weak head kept shaking on his laps with his body’s movement. The only thing I could do was to watch the tragedy happen, if I had had the power of life, I would have been more than generous for the son’s sake. But being equally mortal, I cried at the demise of yet another causality. The poor boy started crying and calling his father continuously, it was useless, the man was dead I watched with tears as the boy hugged the torso of his dead father whose was nakedness was still exposed with only the bandaged a rolled round his waist covering his manhood partially. The boy was still bent in agony when Dr Nwosu appeared from the butcher room wearing his same bloodstained gown, he watched the scenario for sometime and then walked up to them and collected the two rifles lying on the floor. “Elias, keep these inside my office,” he instructed, “he will certainly come back for it.” Both of them left the scene as if nothing happened. I stood by the side and grieved with the boy, the boy’s sobs continued for sometime until he could cry no more. He got up and looked about with reddened eyes which fell on me. He stopped “towards me and asked, “Where will I bury my father?” I did not know where the dead were laid, it was the job of Elias and Orjiakor or any solider Dr. Nwosu assigned the duty. I went and enquired from Elias and he led us that night to the place used as burial ground for the fallen heroes. That night the kid soldier called Ikenna carried the corpse of his father to his final resting place, I held the lantern as Elias dug the grave. Elias helped the boy put down his father’s remains down the grave, the body was completely stripped of its clothes as they were in short supply and was needed by somebody else. I said the prayer for the soul of the departed man and heard the boy’s tearful Amen. Elias reminded him to perform the burial rite of dust to dust, the boy grabbed some earth heaped by the side of the grave and stared for some minutes at his dead father before he courageously said, “Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust. Papa goodbye.” After that Elias threw in his and I followed, I still held the lamp as both Elias and the boy covered the grave and marched on the grave. We all walked back to the hospital together silently, when we got to the entrance, the boy asked Elias, “Where is my gun?” “The doctor took it to his office,” Elias informed him. I watched as he went in there and came out with it, the expression on his face was obvious, he was no longer a boy, he was a soldier; a solider that was out for revenge. The war took a more threatening dimension when the enemies involved aerial raids in the attack; they started dropping loads and loads of highly explosive napalm bombs on anything within the Biafran occupied territories. The Biafran air force that prided themselves on the adventurous exploits of their Biafran Babes jet fighters could not match the aerial superiority of the Illushyin jets of the Nigerians. We watched the battle in the air as the baby jets and their brave pilots were shot down one after another, that as the time I knew how crucial the war was. The
next morning the bombers woke everybody up with a bang of explosions,
the attacks came from the air, from mortar shelling by the enemy
infantry in preparation of their onward launching into Owerri. The
number of refugees that ran into the barracks in the early hours of
that morning told showed the intensity of the attacks. There were talks
and rumours that the some villages in the outskirts of Owerri were in
grave danger of falling into enemy hands, others had it that some of
the towns had actually fallen. The situation was made worse by the
incessant manner by which the shellings was coming; the Nigerians were
out to incapacitate anything and anybody within the perimeters that may
pose a threat to them. They wanted to move in unchallenged by any
pocket of resistance anyway. There was no way the stories could be
verified as people came flooding into the barracks every passing
minute. It seemed that the enemies had decided on a final assault to
defect the Biafrans and possibly end the war. With the way things were
going, many of the civilians refugees had started asking questions,
annoyed at losing the loved ones and members of their families, they
wanted to know why the soldiers of
When they could not get favourable answers from anybody, they started talking about why
They
said the aircrafts started their habitual air raids in the night and
continued till daybreak when the eventual happened, for the first time
since the war started, the people saw enemy soldiers marching into
their villages and towns behind deadly looking tanks and armoured
vehicles. The air raid of the night before was done to clear any
trouble the land attack might possibly face. It was said that the
wreckages and obstacles erected by the people of
My mind wondered to Mrs. Okonkwo, De Ibe and my brothers, what may have happened to them; were they dead? Did they escape like some of the people did? I tried to believe they may have hidden in George’s hut but the more I composed those pictures and excuses, the more I knew the fix I had found myself in was not one I was familiar with. There was nobody I could run to for consolation in the crowds of confused, defected and equally hopeless people that milled around the barracks, no friend, no brother or sister and no Mrs. Okonkwo to help me on. The only thing I had that was as close was my chaplet but recent happenings around me were beginning to put doubts in my mind if the Blessed one was still around me. I tried to pray but ended up making meaningless words while my mind kept flashing ugly images of Okechukwu, Ekene and Mrs. Okonkwo. It was at that period that I knew the bond I had with these three people in my life. I was still languishing in self pity and pains when an idea cropped into my head, “they may have fled like the others,” one voice reasoned inside me, “they may be here looking for me while I was mourning for no reason.” That thought was like an engine, a surge of strength and a spring of hope, I believed at once that they were around me, I only needed to search them out among the mammoth crowd of refugees and soldiers. I went into action immediately walking about with my eyes scanning peoples faces for recognition of my loved ones, the exercise rather revealed the many different faces of a people, I saw faces filled with pain, sorrow, hunger, annoyance, fear, optimism and a will to survive. They came in many shapes, sizes and ages,” the old, the young, the small, women, man and children of all ages were scattered about inside the barracks and other parts of Owerri town. Some were with their loved one, others stood or lay alone, some children wandered about crying out aloud for Papa and Mama, crying out for familiar arms to hug, comfort and console them, to show them a little love or kindness and assure them that there may be a tomorrow. Each face I saw had one similar expression, they wore the expression of a people that have seen death so close and were thinking if they may be twice lucky. The sight of the pregnant women was more sympathetic, they looked about as if asking God why he allowed such situation meet them in that condition, they stared on into thin air with full knowledge that their unborn children may not be a thing of joy anymore, they seemed to have accepted their fate that the end was not so far away. The nursing mothers were another set of people that needed mentioning, they sat on the floor with their babies in their arms, precious gifts that they looked at time after time. They may have been lucky to have come that far but the fears in their eyes as they watched their babies cry was that of how long, how long it may be before they throw the bundles of joy away in a possible attempt to save their own lives. They did not need to wait long, that same night the Nigerian birds of death came calling. After strolling about for quite some time looking and starring at faces of people around, I decided to quit for the evening when it became too dark for me to make out the faces. I made my way back to the hospital to see if I may be needed. I met Elias outside talking with a girl I did not recognise, I greeted them as I passed and went into the ward. The place was three times filled to the last space with patients, a greater percentage of them civilians since the air raids started. The whole place smelt of unwashed bodies, blood and death, there was people lying down everywhere calling out for help the help they needed was made slower in coming when Dr. Nwosu went into the war front to start up field hospitals where wounded soldiers were firstly treated to stabilization before being transferred to the hospital for further treatment as the case maybe. The new doctor, Dr. Okoro, was the only one around and was being helped by the two midwives from Umuahia. Some of the escapes from the raids volunteered voluntarily to help out in the ward so my long absence was not really missed. I walked around the ward from bed to bed, mat to mat and checked out the patients, firstly looking for the familiar faces of Okechukwu, Ekene and Mrs. Okonkwo before then looking out for anyone that really needed my attention. Those that needed attention needed the attention to be given with kits but unfortunately, our kits and consumables from the Red Cross had long finished. There was no more bandages, methylated spirits, pain killing tablets and so on. I just promised to get back to patients who earnestly pleaded with me knowing full well the promise was an empty one. I went outside the ward and watched from the window how the people kept wailing in pains inside the wards. I saw members of the Jehovah Witnesses going from bed to bed comforting the patients, reading out portions of the bible and preaching hope into the painful faces of their listeners. This special group of Christians had been engaged in those acts right from the camps at Agbogugu and Okigwe. I watched with interest as one of the witnesses explained the bible to a patient, pausing here and there to listen to a question the patient had to ask. As I watched them, I admired their courage and strength to be doing what they were doing even at that point in time. I left the window and headed out of the hospital towards the kitchen and saw the crowd of people walking about in the dark night. They had set up a night market by the place that used to serve as negotiation zone then, that was the zeal of the common Ibo man, they strived to move on in the face of any danger. The traders sold items ranging from pinches of salt, garri and cigarettes. Their wares were spread out on the floor before them with a locally-made lit lantern providing light, they shouted on top of their voices announcing the various goods t hey were selling. Since I did not have any money to buy anything I walked away from the place and want towards the burial ground, I wanted a place I could alone and away from the noisy barracks. I had hardly settled down at the feet of a tall tree when the familiar vibrations of the dreaded Mig Jets came roaring from a distance, then appeared within minutes after it’s sound were heard. The people had already started dispersing on realizing the presence of the birds of death; the planes flew at a very low attitude because the breeze from its propellers blew up dust that night and quenched most of the lanterns burning in the night. The noise and commotion among the people as they struggled to their feet in flight from the imminent danger was more than the noise produced some few minutes ago, leaving their wares behind, some of the brave ones dragging their children behind, they all scattered in different direction. Those who had not yet mastered the surrounding ran helter skelter towards the dormitories. The soldiers reacted swiftly coming out from their rest places shouting on top of their voices in the chaos, shots started firing from the guns of the soldiers who ran for cover as well. It was as if the shootings triggered off their annoyance the planes started dropping the parcels of death they had brought, the first target was the market place. The explosion rocked the whole compound sending a big glare of light that illuminated the whole arena momentarily turning people deaf and sending hundreds to death. The shouts of confusion started in a higher pitch as the next round of bombs hit the place. I ran immediately through the bush past the burial ground into the thick forests, as I ran, I met people that were heading to the same destination. Nobody cared to rescue anybody, the night made a little act of heroism or bravery the last thing one could think about the successive explosions that erupted made one concerned only with surviving, the enemy dropped the highest number of bombs I had ever witnessed that night within some few minutes of arriving. As we ran deeper and deeper into the thick forests, not minding the fears and wound the grasses, short root stumps and undergrowth inflicted on us, we ran as far away from the calamity happening at the barracks. More sounds of enemy aircraft came and it came with the quantity of devastation and death. As the run for dear lives continued the thoughts of Okechukwu or anyone else never came to mind, I was concerned about outrunning the woman in front of me, to get away from the valley of shallow of death which was happening not quite far away. I heard people crying out for help as we ran, others were calling on the name of their God endlessly but nobody attempted to stop. It was the kind of situation that even with the night very dark and people bumping into trees in their flight, they got up almost immediately and kept on with the run. As we ran deeper into the forest, the explosion kept on sounding while the planes kept crisis crossing the sky above us. As I managed to peep behind me, a saw the yellow glows of fire burning in the horizon, the moon was full that night as the children of Biafran kept dying. I may not have known how long I ran but soon I came up to a place where people gathered about. “Ozugo nu, unu agbazina oso,” a man cautioned, some moved a bit further from him before bothering to stop as he ordered. Many stopped not because of the caution but because energy had drained from them. We were safer where we stopped as the tall palm trees in that tropical rainforest hid us from the jets hovering about. Many people that came along stopped briefly to take a breather before starting further up the hill, it was safer there than where we halted. I followed suit in climbing the bushy hills and came a little bit on an elevated place. We sat down at different places up the hill and watched the catastrophic destruction of our brothers and sisters go on all through the night. By the trunks of the tall palm trees, we sat down and cried when we heard the explosions that we all well knew the aftermaths of its been dropped. Throughout that night till the early hours of the morning, the attack continued, almost all the building where on fire and the smell of smoke was everywhere, the picture was definitely that of hell. Nobody slept, we all stood at alight, diving for cover anytime a plane flew above the area we were hiding. When morning eventually came after what seemed like eternity, the rising sun was not noticed by anyone. The day drew away the cover the night gave us, exposing the people on top of the hills. From that distance, I could make out the barracks or what used to be the barracks, many of the building had burned out long before day broke, the smoke pillowing from them was the reminder that the ordeal was real and not a dream as many would have hoped it to be. Small explosions started occurring around the devastated area, it happened leaving lot of white smoke and knocked the surrounding trees down. The sudden appearance of enemy tanks and heavy equipment sent the people hurrying farther into the hills. I watched in fear and saw for the first time the enemy soldiers following their monster looking Saladines pushing forward wit a mission kill. The shout they made was barely audible from where we hid. Unlike the Biafran soldiers who fought more or less naked, the enemy troops looked like real soldiers, the greenness of their uniforms could be noticed from that distance, they wore helmets and boots and all of them had weapons. But even at the extent of their sophistication, they moved more in caution into the bombed out barracks, shooting anybody that moved and setting building that survived the bombing on fire. To me and everybody watching the enemy marching, we were seeing the end of the war. It was obvious that Owerri had fallen as the little resistance the Biafran army put was stopped even before it started. We watched, from our hiding places, wounded Biafrans shot dead by the Nigerian forces, they were not taking any prisoner. For no reason explainable, the enemy positioned their armoured tanks and waited. They did not make any move to advance further than they were. Their delay gave us more time to move away from the hills, the survivors marched on through the forest on bare feet, some naked and others bleeding. People grieved as they moved, they cursed both Ojukwu and Gowon and blamed God for their woes. A young lady kept crying aloud, throwing her hands in the air. Her blouse was soaked with lactating milk from her breasts, she was a nursing mother but had to thrown her baby away in the race to escape from the indiscriminate bombings. It was like that always, mothers throwing away their babies, fathers leaving their children behind and husbands running away without their wives and families. It was like that, everybody ran for his or her very own survival and then mourn for those they left behind and as the case always is, lost. On our way to wherever the bushes may lead us, we ran into some company of Biafran infantry soldiers, seeing them in t hat their half-military-half-civilian attire and looking more determined than the arsonists we were running from, was like seeing angels. They took their time to console us and organise everybody together, asking questions about the enemy back there at the barracks, the number of tanks they came with and other intelligent questions. As they debriefed the people they marched on to make sure the last of the people had passed before they went farther ahead to set up their weapons which included Tempella mortar anti-tank guns, and the deadly flying Ogbunigwe’s. as they reconnaissance team returned from examine enemy positions, the first rounds of mortar shells started firing drawing so much cheers from the people who refused to move on as the soldiers ordered them, almost everyone close to remain and see the enemy paid back in their own coin. As the shelling continued, Biafran infantry soldiers started moving in through the flanks, I was witnessing the war in real colours. More jubilations went up when we heard the sounds of planes,
many of the civilians ran for cover as they thought the killer was
flying again but were informed that the little birds up there were
flying for
That battle by
The enemies could not go forward nor backward; they remained there with their saladines on the ready. When the enemy retreated to their position, mines were laid and a defense trench dug through all the enemy defences. The people started coming back when the all clear signal was sounded. On our way back, we passed and met the now swollen corpses of the victims of both the initial attacks and the battle that brought the retreat. We came in to meet close to thirty enemy prisoners of war, they were all stripped naked and their uniforms and boots shared among the gallant Biafran soldiers that saw to their capture. Some of the prisoners were in bad shape and needed medical attention, when the call for a doctor was raised, it made us to learn that Dr. Okoro, the young doctor from Umuahia was among those who did not escape from the premises alive. His roasted body was identified by one of the nurses by the ring on his finger. The job of taking care of the wounded enemies fell on the nurse and myself. We had barely started to examine their wounds when shouts of annoyance filled the air. “These na the bastards wey kill our children, our wives and our brothers. Why we go help them?” the people asked. They formed a mob and requested for the heads of the soldiers. I watched the enemy prisoners at close quarters, the white of their eyes flashed about in fear of the apparent danger, the ones among them that could speak the Igbo language started pleading for mercy. “Biko nu, unu egbu anyi, menu ebere,” one pleaded in a Yoruba accent, the mob did not agree instead they brought the corpse of a fallen Biafran soldier, that of a woman and of a child and laid them before the prisoners. “See wetin una do to us,” the assumed leader of the mob asked in anger,” did these people beg you for mercy, even wetin this baby do una? We no go leave una, na blood we want, an eye for an eye” the army officers were enjoying the fear the mob instilled on the prisoners, they did nothing to save the situation. When the mob seemed to be becoming uncontrollable, the soldiers intervened. It was later decided that since the doctor that was supposed to treat the wounded prisoners was burnt to death by the enemy bombs, it was decided that all the wounded soldiers would be killed equally by burning. Immediately the decision was ruled, the mob assembled the naked wounded soldiers together, dragging the men by their legs on the ground to the centre of what remained of the market and danced round them happily singing,” “Enyi mba enyi, nzogbu enyi mba enyi.” In all, thirteen men were brought together to have jungle justice carried over them. The remaining healthy ones watched in full glare the fate about to befall their comrades. Their execution was delayed for some time while the search for petrol was made. A little while later cheers went up all over the jubilant young men, a man waved a ten litre gallon in the air and proudly walked towards the men who had been bound feet and arms. One after the other he poured the liquid on each of them. I can still hear the cries of the men, they rolled on the floor in a bid to escape but the mob had them surrounded, holding clubs and sticks of different sizes just in case any of the prisoners developed ideas. The eyes of the men flashed in fear as they cried for mercy. It never came, there in the presence of men, women and surviving children, thirteen Nigerian prisoners of war were roasted alive as their comrades watched. The war was definitely not the kind of war that we used to watch on our small black and white television back then at Zaki, the war was brutal as well as gruesome. In this war, no one gave a doom about the Geneva Convention. The remaining prisoners were taken to the Army tactical command as was announced, nobody knew if they ever got there alive. Within the next few days of February, Biafrans picked up the pieces and moved on with life. The dead were buried and some of the damaged building started being repaired, starvation set in and hunger was in the land as the way to Umuahia was partly being held by the enemies, it took Caritas some weeks to start shipping in their relief materials which never got to us. It was after the Red Cross resumed their night flights to Uli airship with the relief materials that food started appearing at the black market but at very exorbitant high prices, it came to a point that the army officers had an open confrontation with the civilian administrators at the food directorate, they accused them of hoarding the food and selling to the black market operators. The hospital where I was employed soon became filled with refugees that had bouts of malaria fever and pneumonia, The Red Cross came in fully with their doctors and nurses who helped the people that were sick. I had little or nothing to do when the officials of the Red Cross were around though I helped in putting on the bandages and occasionally stitching up somebody’s wound. Whenever I was not busy, I went outside to look down the road leading to Egbu village where the enemy was in control, I would stand there for hours trying to picture have Okechukwu, Ekene, Mrs. Okonkwo and De Ibe was faring, I had come to accept they could not have escaped like others after looking tirelessly around but to no avail. I prayed constantly for them to be alive not at all did I allow the negative thought of them dead come into my mind. I kept my ear to the ground listening for any information about the people behind the enemy lines, stories did fly around that the enemy was killing the people one after the other, another version said the men were being buried alive while the women were raped and then shot. In all the stories I heard, I never wavered, I stood by faith and hope and wished for the best. When the intelligence unit of the Biafran army started gathering information about the trapped enemies, my hope was renewed with some of the reliable information they got. The unit got their information from the Biafran kids they sent out to the Federal troops, the kids soldiers would claim that the Biafran troops killed their parents or forced to fight in the war, they would fabricate stories that would make the Nigerian soldiers absorb them into the camp they had set up and when absorbed, the kids would monitor the enemies logistics, as petrol tankers, announced tanks and saladines and how was their brigade commander, brigade Major and maybe the strength of the brigade the kids, knowing the grounds too well, will after some days escape back to the Biafra side to be debriefed by their military intelligence officers. From the informants we learnt that the Nigerian troops kept the people inside camps in different schools, prisons and hospitals around the part of Owerri they controlled, they informed that the captives were separated men and women and closely guarded by mean looking soldiers. The part of feeding was more worrisome, the enemy soldier used to feed them on the onset but ceased when their food started going down. The people were left hungry and were fast looking malnourished. The best achievement of the spies was exposing the method by which the declining food supply of the trapped soldiers were replenished, their colleagues came flying at very high attitude to by-pass the Biafran soldiers that had cut off the trapped Nigerian soldiers, once on the side of their comrades who would clear an area in the field and spread a white cloth there as a sign, food materials, and ammunitions were then dropped from the helicopters. Immediately the trick was learnt, Biafran soldiers started clearing areas in the field and deceived their enemies into dropping supplies for them also. The situation remained calm on both sides that for almost three months, no fighting occurred between both parties. The air dropping of food helped Biafrans so much as it helped in the food situation in the country. I was still employed at the hospital where the Red Cross brought in salted fish and powdered milk to distribute to the refugees, the salted fishes helped in temporarily arresting the salt scarcity being experienced in Biafra, the fishes would be shared among families who in turn would used a little bit of the fish to cook with. The orphaned children and other abandoned children were taken
care of by the Joint Church Aid, another organisation that was helping
She said that the enemy soldiers left the people to starve to death, the ones that survived suffered from Kwashiorkor, a health condition caused by the long and severe malnutrition they were subjected to. Her revelation further heightened my fears to the extent that I started having nightmares about Okechukwu and Ekene showing me empty plates crying that they were waiting for me to bring back some food for them. On such nights, I would wake up soaked in perspiration and would not sleep for the rest of the night. The bad dreams continued that I started being afraid when night falls. I would be the last to sleep when we finished our chores. I tried to stay awake by looking up at the moon and counting the stars in the sky, I imagined how ironic it was that Okechukwu and Ekene may be looking at the stars and seeing the moon just as I was doing but we were still held apart by the enemies, by the war and instability that was in no way any fault of ours. My belief in the Blessed Mary to heal troubled hearts and restore peace to the world was my only source of hope, I prayed my rosary everyday of those painful weeks and also cried any time my worries weighed me down. One morning while we were waiting for the Red Cross officials to come and share us relief materials, we were asked instead to go and serve at the army officers mess, we were to serve some special guests of the army. The enemy soldiers that were trapped were to pay a courtesy visit to our camp. Such was the brotherhood and fraternity still existing between the two warring sides, it started at the collection ground of the air droppings; both sides reached a truce not to harm themselves over the development, the friendly gesture developed into exchanges of gifts of food and later on, friendly visits by both sides. A small welcome party was organised for them when they arrived that night, looking so tall and busy due to the many weeks of isolation. The soldiers talked heartily with themselves and drank the cans of beer that we served them, a gramophone was surprisingly brought and the Beatles track of “All we are saying, give peace a chance” was played. Willing young girls were provided for the enemy soldiers to dance with while the celebration continued throughout the night. At that moment, nobody cared about the war, nobody cared about the leaders nor what their superior officers would say, that night everybody became one again and saw themselves as brothers, fellow citizens of a great part of Africa, only that all the expressions showing it were facial, none came from the heart. The parties went on until the fighting started again at Umuahia at all cost, it was getting close to the Easter celebration of 1969 but the enemy did not show any sign of halting the war for the Biafrans and Christians to observe the period as they usually did. I remember it was during that period that I became a woman. Many a times in the night, I often thought about my mother, Aunty Nkem and more often Mrs. Okonkwo, they were the three women in my life that could educate me on growing up from a girl to a woman. There were so many experiences I encountered during the war that I needed fore knowledge, one of those experiences happened in the Easter celebrations of that year when I turned thirteen years old, I was skinny and lean, though I was amongst the best fed, many thanks to my being accepted to work in the food departments often, but my luck did not prevent my being emaciated a bit. I had finished my chores for the night that included washing all the dishes used by the army officers and cleaning the tables at the officer’s mess. All the while I was doing the dishes; I felt wetness in my legs. I dismissed the feeling as I thought I was just sweating under due to my having been standing all day. When I finished, I went down to the dormitory allocated to the female workers in the camp, it was situated at a corner a bit farther from the barracks. As I walked through the hallway between the corners we slept on two persons shared a mat and we used our few clothes folded together as pillows, I noticed that many of the tattered mats were void of people. Many of the girls prostituted with the soldiers at night in order to get an extra can of beef or a piece of dried salty meat that was now mainly available to the army, the girls waited for night to fall before they would sneak out to their various partners they may have arranged with during the day. As I got to my corner, Kuseme was missing. I collected the small tin container where I put my black soap, and pant, and a piece of my faded town gown which served as my towel and headed for the back of the building to take my bath. I had earlier gotten the iron bucket used for bathing but the place used for bathing was smelling awful as some of the girl urinated right there and defecated not very far from there. As I made to undress, I still felt the wetness in between my legs. When I removed my panties in order to wash them and put on the other fresh one (I just had two of them, I noticed it was soaked wet. I could not really see in colours as the moon was not bright enough so I touched myself only to notice where the wet sensation originated, I did not need anyone to tell me it was blood. I became scared and started pressing my thighs, my genital region and my buttocks to feel for pain but none was forth coming. I hurriedly took my bath before any of the roaming infantry soldiers take me down by force as they sometimes did. Lying down on the mat after bathing, I started crying. I was confused as hell, what was happening to me? I thought. Throughout the night, I could not sleep as I rolled on the ground, contemplating what manner of illness had befallen me that I was bleeding from my private part. The next morning, I kept quit about it. I could not confide in any of the girls as I was scared that their knowledge of my secret may be shameful and embarrassing. On top of the strange sickness, I had severe stomach ache that day. I used my other free underwear to stuff inside me to stop the blood. While serving the officers in the most uncomfortable condition I never understood, one of the officers noticed my dilemma; he saw my skirt soaked red. “How can this stupid girl walk up and down the mess showing her disgustness!” he shouted, his hard voice brought the attention of the others to me as they sighed and looked sternly at me when they saw the mess. “Will you get the hell out here before I kill you for making me lose my appetite!” the officer thundered. I walked out fast, embarrassed and very much ashamed. The cook, a short round woman, came in to know what was happening but was scolded by the soldiers, who threatened to fire her should she not get another maid. She rushed into the kitchen, looking as if she was about to devour me. “Why you no remain for house when you know say you dey menses?”, she hollered, her eyes radiating fire. “I don’t know what is happening to me!”, I almost screamed with tears rolling down my cheeks, I needed to offload to someone and that was my chance. The woman was stunned at my outburst, I could tell from the series of expressions that dashed across her face; anger, as I had almost made her lose her job; surprise at my revelation of ignorance; a tiny glint of doubt which was then replaced immediately by pity; and then understand and sympathy. “Is this the first time it is happening to you?” she asked in a subtle manner, I slowly nodded my head in affirmation. The woman shook her head and came closer to me. “My child, that sign shows that you are now a woman,” she said and then went on to educate me about menstruation and the menstrual cycle. I was grateful to her for making me realise so late and unprepared on becoming a woman, a sigh that ordinarily my mother, Aunty Nkem or Mrs. Okonkwo would have let me know if not for the war. The fighting going on at Umuahia was not appearing to be on the Biafran favour, the town was being shelled every minute of the day and the Biafran soldiers fought more out of pride than tactics, they did not want the last standing capital of their country to fall, it would mean losing the war to them. Both civilians and soldiers fought together to defend the town but the enemy were equally determined, the war which they thought would have taken a few months was on its third year and the rebels were not yet willing to surrender. From the reports filtering in on the battle for Umuahia the enemy was coming from three different routes, they attacked from Okigwe, Afikpo and Uzuakoli which was not so far from the capital. The visit of the British Prime Minister to Gowon at that time was attributed to the ferocity with which the enemies fought. It was rumoured that the Prime Minister came with some British Royal armed forces to help their Nigerian counterparts. The
shelling and bombardment that the enemy deployed in the battle to
overrun Umuahia was the highest whatsoever used in the course of the
war. The
It was a Saturday, I remember because the Red Cross officials left Owerri the previous night. (They always left on Friday nights) throughout the night, troops of soldiers kept reporting at the Camp for onward movement to Umuahia. I woke up to the sounds of gunshots being fired, fearing that the worst was about to start again, I quickly jumped outside the window and lay low, scanning the sky for enemy Mig’s. The sky was blue and there was no commotion as usually accompanies any enemy raid, I looked up and saw the soldiers going about their business, the trucks that would be used in taking them to Umuahia were parked in the field and there was no sign of any attack. I came out of hiding to careful survey the atmosphere and satisfy my curiosity. It was then I saw some group of soldiers fiddling with some rifles at a corner, there was a wooden which I believed the guns were packed. The instructor must have been examining the weapons. I thought and went back to the building. My little agility performance cleared the sleep from my eyes so I just collected my chewing stick and started down the mess, the number of soldiers present that morning was so large and the whole place was rowdy. On getting to the mess, I could not enter as the whole place was filled with Military Officers. I returned back to and stayed with some civilians under the tree and watched the activities of the soldiers that sunny morning. It was while admiring the brave soldiers getting ready to march to battle that I saw someone that looked familiar. At first I had my doubts if it was truly him, the person was wearing a green army uniform short on Biafran colours, the greener of the uniform was identical to the ones the enemy soldiers wore. It was a normal sight as soldiers captured them as loots in battle. The soldier also tied a black scarf on his head and was holding a big rifle on one hand; on the other hand he held a cigarette he hanged with another soldier standing next to him. The two of them were talking casually and laughed occasionally. All the features looked like George but the scarf just made me not sure. I wanted to go nearer to the soldiers but restrained myself because some of the soldiers normally do not think straight when they were together in large numbers. With all my attention focused on the soldier on black scarf, I sat back on the tree trunk to wait for the right opportunity to come. The chance came sooner than I had expected, the soldier started walking away from his comrades to a nearby bush apparently to ease himself. My guess was right, I walked as fast as I could towards him and stopped a few metres away to give him privacy just in case I was wrong, but I wasn’t. When I saw the shape of his back, I knew I was not far from being right, I have held him close before, I had been dreaming and thinking of him almost since he was drafted and prayed constantly for his safety and then, it was clear God was listening. “George”, I called out from where I was standing, my anxiety could not allow me wait for the soldier to finish. I watched his body flinch at my call, his reaction was that of recognition and it made me surer that it was really him, I moved closer. He took time to do his fly before turning, it was George. I ran to him as fast as I could shouting out in excitement and hugged him. I held to him very tight and kept muttering, “thank God” over and over on his ears. In all my show of excitement, he remained still, I disengaged from him to have a look at him. He was no longer a boy but looked every inch a man. Suddenly I remembered what my mother normally said about maturity, she told me that a girl turns into a woman when puberty is reached and some biologically induced physical development and changes occurs, but a boy turns into a man not from bodily changes but from the condition he finds himself in life. In George’s case, the war had turned him into a man. His face looked harder and meaner, with his cheekbones protruding, his eyes were a little bit red and his lower lips blackened obviously due to smoking. I also noticed his rough beards and muscular shoulders. The way he held on to the rifle showed he was no longer afraid of being a soldier. When he called my name, his voice was husky and deep, the voice of a man. From the way he looked at me, I was no longer sure if he was the same person that proposed to me in his hideout. George looked different…and like a stranger too. “Ngozi, how are you?”, he asked again still look at me with a straight face, if he was surprised at seeing me, he did not show it and it hurt me. George was not excited at seeing me alive after four months. I felt like crying and cursing him for being so mean, I wanted to tell him how I hated him for not even being happy to see me, and just walk away but at the same time I wanted to hug him again, he was now the only family I got or rather the only person close to being called my family that I could see in flesh and blood. “I am fine.” I replied with a tough voice, I pretended also that I was not so that excited at seeing him also. He looked towards his fellow soldiers, who had noticed us, and waved. “I dey come now now,” he called to them indicating with his hand. “Carry go,” one of them yelled back. Even the pidgin English he communicated was strange. I was expecting him to ask me about his family, about his father, his aunt and my brothers, about us but he did not seem to realise that. “They are on the enemy side,” I offered to tell him when the courtesy was too long in coming. “Let us go over to that shade and talk,” he commanded rather than ask and started walking off to a cashew tree in front of a bombed out building. He equally marched like a soldier with the way he carried his weapon, I looked at his shoulder and noticed he even wore a rank though on one shoulder, corporal. His rising sun badge was sewn to his left shoulder. When he reached the tree, he sat down and kept the gun by his side, I noticed he had also lost his gentleman’s nature, he did not ask me to sit. I sat down beside him and watched him from the side as I waited for him to start talking, his side-burns was attractive. “How did it happen?” he asked, still not looking at me. “When you left, your father was very worried and Ekene took ill,” I started and narrated every event that happened after he was taken by the soldiers to the time I left the house and the attacks. When I finished I saw his jaws tighten as he gnashed his teeth, behind those acts of bravery and manhood, he still had emotions. “How do we know if they are alive?” he asked blinking his eyes severally to stop the tears from falling. “I have been praying for them and you everyday,” I replied. He shook his head and turned to look at me for the first time since we sat down. “I don’t think you understand what those bastards do to people,” he said, “they kill people as if they are animals, the Hausas wants every Ibo person dead. They don’t care if you are man or woman, boy or girl, child or baby. To them anything Ibo is not fit to live.” George said with bitterness and then turned to face his front. I felt his pains and sorrow but I did not allow his pessimism to spoil my optimism. I raised my hand and put it on top of his. “God will protect them from all danger,” I said quietly still looking at him. I watched the tears roll down from his eyes gently down through the checks before disappearing into his bushy beards. “You have changed,” I said gently. “I am now a solider,” he replied, his voice never betraying his grief, I glanced at the gun lying by his side with a red ribbon tied on the nozzle and also at his uniform, then his boots which has no strings. “What happened?” I asked him, my hand still on top of his. “I became a solider from that day they took me away,” he replied, “I wish I had joined them earlier.” I kept looking at him and then his shoulder, the rank. “They gave you a rank,” I observed, he nodded. “I was made a corporal the first time I killed an enemy,” I quickly withdrew my hand from his in shock and looked questionly and differently at him. He noticed my actions and turned to face me again. “You are getting away from me because I killed a bastard?” he asked putting up a brief smile before his face distorted in anger, “you know what, killing is like nothing to me now, I don’t even know the number of people I have shot and I don’t regret my actions, I regret I did not join the struggle on time. I have seen people die, I have witnessed children being bombed, children being killed by those fucking Hausas for nothing. My only regret is that I am fighting only their men, I wish I could lay my hands on their children and women too. I will kill them too and will never regret it,” He finished. It was them I confirmed that this was another George, an evil George without conscience, a killer without regrets. “Killing them will not stop the war,” I volunteered. “What will?” he bloated out, “what the fuck will?” I remained silent, he was visibly annoyed. “God will,” I managed to reply. “God?
Hmm, when will he come down?” George asked looking up to the sky, “What
is he still waiting for? Until those planes kills all the children in
I burst out crying he immediately he mentioned their names, I bent my head down and let it flow, it was truly a burden too heavy for me to carry. George made no attempt to console me, he allowed me to cry my fill and stop. “What are you still doing here?” he asked as he lit another cigarette with a box of matches and expertly blowing the smoke away. “Where?” I asked not understanding where he meant. “In this camp?” he clarified. “I work here, with the Red Cross,” I told him, he sucked on the cigarette and held before exhaling through his nostrils. “I am afraid if they will survive there,” he said. “I pray they will survive,” I answered. He shook his head slowly as if doubting my prayers, “this war is not a good thing at all,” he said sighing. I glanced at his gun and he caught my eyes. “Can
you imagine I kill people with this gun,” he asked lifting the rifle
from the floor and looking very ugly, the mouth looked deadly with the
red ribbon tied on it making it evil the more. The magazine was fitted
into the shaft and the trigger look appetizing. I glanced closely at
the base and saw the inscription, “made in
“Come and show me where you work,” George requested immediately as he got up and finished his cigarette. I took him to the officer’s mess which was still filled with soldiers coming and going and also showed him the building where we slept. “I will check you if I come back,” he said when I walked him back to where I saw him. “If?”, I asked him confused, he looked away from my eyes to the trucks parked across the field. “We are going to Umuahia,” he informed me. I started breathing faster, the whole place seemed to be spinning round. “No, no George, don’t go,” I cried, “stay here please.” He held me and brought me close in an entrance. I remained there and cried, when I had cried enough I looked up at him. “Continue praying for me and for them,” he requested. “I will,” I replied quickly and then took out the chaplet from my neck and held it out the chaplet from my neck and held it out to him. “Take it with you,” I offered, “it brings luck.” He smiled at my gift and looked at it for sometime before looking again at me. “Did you notice that it was when you took the chaplet from me that these soldiers caught me?” he pointed out. I smiled a bit. “At least you know that it works,” I said. George collected the chaplet and hung it on his neck. “I believe that with this and your prayers, I will come back,” he commented. He then held my hand and squeezed them gently, looking into my eyes. “Ngozi, if God wills, I will come back,” he announced. “He will protect you,” I replied and with assurance. “I will come and look for you then,” he said and gently started going back as our hands disentangled. He did not look back at me when he turned and I knew why, soldiers don’t dwell much on what or who they were leaving behind but what they were to meet ahead. If they came back, they would meet what they left but if they didn’t, they would die not bothered at all. That evening as I watched the trucks depart for Umuahia, I went back to my corner and cried out my heart. The Umuahia war was a fight to the last man, we got news from the BBC reports on the radio at the mess and it was not the kind of news that gladdened the heart. Umuahia was obviously going to fall. The development made the Nigerian soldiers still trapped in between to breech the peace agreement they reached among themselves and arrest some Biafran soldiers that went on a mutual night party. The fraternity practise was stopped when commanding officers learnt about it but some rank and file soldiers still were adventurous, when the soldiers that sneaked out into the enemy line failed to return three days later, the unwholesome gesture was rested naturally. Every day and night, I watched and listened for news concerning the Umuahia war but instead of encouraging news, horrible stories were told about the situation there. I kept praying for George, his father and Aunt and my two brothers, I was not really including my mother and Nnamdi (who were supposed to be endangered at Umuahia), in prayers, an incident happened one night and changed my attitude. I was lying down with Kuseme on our corner late one night after we had finished working, since the Umuahia battle started Kuseme and the other girls flirted less as many of their partners were sent on duty to defend the Capital. We had finished working, since the Umuahia battle started Kuseme and the other girls flirted less as many of heir partners were sent on duty to defend the capital. We had finished gisting and were about sleeping when all of a sudden a chilling breeze started blowing. The breeze brought goose pimples all over my body where I lay facing the hallway. I cannot really tell the state of my consciousness when the incident happened. The door to the hall suddenly opened at the gush of wind and I heard footsteps approaching, I wondered who could be marching with such strength when I saw a soldier stop in front of me, the soldier had his left thighs soaked with blood, I saw the blood clearly in that half lit room. The soldier was undeniably Nnamdi, my brother. I looked up in surprise and tried to call him but couldn’t instead he started talking to me. “Ngozi,” he called me, “I came to inform you that I will not be coming back again. I was shot at Uzuakoli. I want you to look after our mother in the village and take over the family. I will still return to our family with the marks of where they shot me. I was watching his sweaty face as he talked and I heard him audibly, I could still not talk to him as much as I tried. When he finished giving me the message, he started walking back through the same way he came and I watched him leave. As he passed the door and shut it with a bang, I woke up only to discover that truly the door was just closed at that instant. I remembered everything that just happened and heard as well. I could well have been in a trance or dreaming but I knew I heard and saw Nnamdi. I was still very much confused the next morning about the whole issue and decided to tell Kuseme about the experience. I got the shock of my life when I was about to tell her about to tell about the dream or trance when she asked me. “Is it that time that soldier came to you?”, my eyes almost fell off their sockets. “Yes, yes,” replied quickly, “Did you see him?” I asked “Yes, I saw him come to you and start saying something I did not hear. I believe that was when I fell asleep. Do you know who the soldier was?” she asked. “Yes”, I replied now certain it wasn’t a trance neither was it a dream, “he is my brother and he told me he is not coming back. I told her. “You better pray for him to come back,” Kuseme warned. I prayed throughout the day for everybody but did not pray for
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