Sameul E Umweni
29 June 2008
column
Some few days before, a batch of about 200 extremely dirty looking prisoners were brought to Okigwe prison. Later, from our informants, we understood that these prisoners were evacuated from Afikpo and were in transit to other improvised prisons.
As the Federal troops marched on triumphantly, capturing one town after the other, former Federal prisons became few. Alternative arrangements had to be made quickly to house the evacuated prisoners and detainees. The only answer was to turn as many schools and trade centres as possible to makeshift prisons. Extra barbed wires were used on the windows to improve the security measures. The windows on one side of the classrooms were permanently closed and nailed with cross-battens.
As far as the war was concerned, Okigwe was reasonably peaceful throughout my stay there. Enugu had fallen, even though Biafran Radio was still announcing that it was broadcasting from there. Oji River, Awka and Onitsha from our informants had also fallen. Abakaliki, from our lack of yams, rice and salt, we could guess, had fallen. It was obvious too that Afikpo had become a disturbed area from the presence of its inmates at Okigwe prison. The only sign of war to those of us behind bars were the occasional flights of Nigerian jets across Okigwe on bombing missions to Afikpo and a newly constructed air strip some 6-10 miles away. From the sound of dropping shells we could estimate the fighting distance to be at least 20 miles. By May the sound of shelling was becoming louder and more frequent. It was obvious that Okgwe was in trouble.
At 4 am on June 18th 1968, the warder on guard duty at our cell woke us up from sleep and told us to pack our belongings. At first we thought it was a joke and disregarded his instructions. After a few minutes when he found that nobody started, he banged his baton repeatedly on the windows and told us to get up and pack. When we asked why, he told us that the Superintendent was waiting for us at his office. As there was nothing to pack in the cell since the bulk of our belongings were locked away in the Records Office, we folded our mats and blankets and by 5 am we were collecting our luggage form the Records Clerks.
Having collected our remaining luggage under the supervision of the Prison Lords, the main gate opened. Parked tightly into the entrance was a big lorry without benches. We were eight special detainees from our cell. Mrs Julie Alale was the only special female detainee from the female cell. There were about 40 ordinary detainees from the common cell. Along with the apprentice, four (4) armed military escorts and two (2) prison escorts, one of whom was a cadet ASP, the total number of passengers came to about 56. I was meeting Julie Alale for the first time. Human beings being what they are, I quietly hummed the tune of the well-known song: "God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform". So here is Julie Alale whose husband was shot publicly by the firing squad under Ojukwu's command soon after sending me and my Midwest colleagues into detention at Enugu", I said to myself. Later I was sorry for entertaining such a selfish and vindictive thought, and prayed for God's forgiveness.
We were packed standing and like sardines into the empty and seat less lorry. It could only accommodate about 45 of us. Mrs Julie Alale sat in front with the Cadet ASP. The tailboard was closed and the driver started his engine. He made a fast forward movement and stopped abruptly. The resultant force of inertia flung all of us so tightly together that we fell on one another. Meanwhile this exercise had created more room at the back into which the remaining detainees and escorts jumped. We protested vigorously about this inhuman treatment. But the Superintendent had done his job and turned deaf ears to our yelling as the vehicle began to drive off.
The suffocating heat inside the lorry was becoming unbearable. At last the lorry moved and we turned out of Okigwe Prison Yard into the main toad leading to town at precisely 7:30 am. We were evacuating to presumable safety. In fairness to Ikocha, although he was very strict, read and interpreted the Prison "Bible" to the very letter, he was nevertheless extremely frank and fair in his administration.
Umuahia Prison: Reunion With Adeola
When you say "God is great" you do not really understand the full implications of that seemingly simple sentence until you have unfortunately lost one or several of His varied mercies. Let's take a close look at some examples. Pay a visit to the Royal (now National) Orthopaedic Hospital, Igbobi-Lagos. In several of the wards you will find invalids of all ages, some of whom have never been able to get down from their beds for years. They've suffered their miseries and pain quietly in hope and trust in God.
Again take a look at the Mental Hospital, Yaba-Lagos, and you can see more of what exactly I mean. The numerous inmates are in most cases completely oblivious of the worldly pleasures going on outside their immediate surroundings. Visit the Independence Fountains at Tinubu or beggar's corner near Oyingbo-Ebute Metta. Imagine the sort of conditions under which those unfortunate but certainly healthy and happy looking children were conceived and brought up by parents afflicted by one form of disease or the other. I could go on ad infinitum. Unlike you and I who want to build mansions, become fabulously rich and be referred to as "Cash Madams" and "Cash Ogas", the only requests these people constantly ask of God are good health, daily bread and the fortitude to bear their afflictions until such a time as it pleases the Almighty to release them of their burden. No more. If only we remember the Biblical injunction of "Count your blessings and name them one by one. It will surprise you what the Lord God hath done for you", the healthy should never be heard to complain.
I have been through HELL and I fully understand what it means to lose one's freedom. I was deceitfully abducted from my happy family on August 12th 1967 and for six clear months my colleagues and I from the Midwest were under house arrest with the tightest security measures one can ever imagine. From February 12th - June 18th 1968, I was detained at Okigwe prison where, looking from the window of your cell, all you could see above the very high prison walls and fences was nothing but the sky and the creatures that fly in it. One moment you try to believe that you have absolute faith in God, then the next minute, for one reason or the other, you begin to have very strong doubts about Him being the poor man's protector and defender. Then you instantly remember that this unbelief may lead you to blaspheme and thereby cancel all your daily prayers to God for deliverance. You think of the beautiful hymn which says, "God is working His purpose out, and the time is drawing near", and you say "That's true, but God should remember that I am not Job. Didn't He say, 'Go ye into all the world and multiply'? Well then, what on earth is an extremely virile man with a happy family like me doing in this lonely dungeon?" Suffocation or no suffocation, it was heavenly to be out of Okigwe Prison into civilisation.
Within ten minutes we had driven out of town and were heading towards Umuahia. The mere sight of people getting up early in the morning to start their daily chores, and the freshness of the air and refreshing breeze at that time of day was enough consolation for our state of captivity. Before this date, Port Harcourt had fallen and Aba was threatened. The fall of Port Harcourt meant the loss of the oil refinery at Eleme. This was a formidable threat to the general mobility of the Biafran population, including the army. But they too were fast thinking and resourceful. In anticipation of this situation, the appropriate directorate had geared all available manpower and resources to building underground oil storage tankers. Large excavations were dug at convenient places and barrels upon barrels of refined petroleum of various grades were buried for future use. With the declaration of secession, several petrol storage rail trucks of the Nigerian Railway Corporation that had been cleverly diverted to the then Eastern Region and detained were now filled with petroleum products and packed along the sidings. For years, they thought, Biafra would not be short of petrol.
But thanks to the excellent intelligence service of the Federal Government and the accurate bombing missions of the Nigerian Air Force, even before the fall of Port Harcourt, part of the oil refinery and most of the oil companies' big storage tanks had been set ablaze. Similar treatment was extended to those trucks packed along the railway sidings. One would have thought that with the fall of Port Harcourt, any reasonable rebel leader and people faced with such odds would call it a day. But not Biafrans. How would they teach their children to unsing their daily and popular marching song which on interpretation meant "My God, Have Mercy on me/ The world should perish rather than that we should be ruled by the Hausas"?
Their scientists came up with an answer to the fuel problem. What is there in refining petrol when their people have been distilling gin for ages, they reasoned? After all, it is the same process. Consequently the Directorate went to work and crude oil from Egbema field was distilled at Uzuakoli. Several other individuals were encouraged to set up mushroom distilleries for the Biafran Government. This resultant petrol was undoubtedly not perfect but it was good enough to keep their vehicles on the road for a limited period. Akpan and Wakama supplied the details about these facts, which I did not know before, when they joined us at Okigwe Prison.
As we drove along, those of us lucky to be near the sides, (I had quickly manoeuvred myself to that post at Okigwe Prison gate when the resultant force of inertia created by the clever move of the driver sent us crashing into one another) occasionally peeped out of the sideboards and reported the beauty and nature of the passing scenery to our unlucky companions. All important buildings were camouflaged and most of the churches along the road were filled with refugees. It was easy to read hunger, distress and uncertainty in the faces of most of the people. Even those still in their homes and normal environment did not seem to be happy either. How could they be happy when according to the Biafran interpretation of the sound of dropping shells, one hears "Gakem, Gakem" when the shells are dropping about 20 miles away, and "Kuapu, Kuapu", when it is only a few miles away. This is a funny interpretation when one realises that Gakem is the first boundary town between the North and East, captured by Federal troops at the early stages of the Civil War, and Kuapu in Ibo means "Pack and go".
Be the first to Write a Comment!
Copyright © 2008 Daily Trust. All rights reserved. Distributed by AllAfrica Global Media (allAfrica.com). To contact the copyright holder directly for corrections — or for permission to republish or make other authorized use of this material, click here.
AllAfrica aggregates and indexes content from over 125 African news organizations, plus more than 200 other sources, who are responsible for their own reporting and views. Articles and commentaries that identify allAfrica.com as the publisher are produced or commissioned by AllAfrica.
