Samuel E Umweni
10 August 2008
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In the single cells, Adeola, Maduka and Okuesa were using single Vono beds. But when they were transferred to our cell, the others except Adeola lost that privilege and had to make do with double deckers. The transfer of Adeola to our cell meant the loss of his police informants and consequently the closure of one of our most reliable avenues of information.
The presence of all these additional detainees also meant a lot of problems for us. All other cells apart from ours were definitely overcrowded. With the original number of inmates the food contractor was already finding it difficult to cope with required supplies. When the additional detainees from Aba joined us the strain was so much for the contractor that he vamoosed without waiting to cash his unpaid bills. Some said he defected to his hometown that had been liberated by Nigerian troops. However, the cook warder had enough supplies to last two days while Mr Nwoko hurriedly engaged another contractor. In our cell the position was not too bad when we took stock. Maduka was definitely a Biafran while Okuesa sat firmly on the fence. Amalinze and Ajiero were no better either but could be said to be slightly leaning towards "Biafran". The final count read Nigeria 6, Biafra 3, Independent 4 while giving Amalinze and Ajiero the benefit of doubt.
The effect of the Nigerian blockade was beginning to be felt at Umuahia which, by virtue of its position as the seat of Government after the hurried evacuation from Enugu, had been well stocked with all foodstuffs by the Food Directorate to cater for all high-ranking officials and their families. Naturally, these powers that be didn't grumble when lesser people picked the crumbs that dropped from the masters' table. Prisons came under the latter category. When, therefore, the blockade was tightening, the commoners and prisons were the first to feel the pinch. Our lunch was certain, but breakfast and supper couldn't be guaranteed. Under this condition it is needless to say that detainees in the common cells had only lunch. Amongst them signs of Kwashiorkor was beginning to show.
With a situation like this it was considered necessary for us to beg Nwoko to allow us spend whatever money we had at the Records Office to buy fruits and maize to supplement our meals. This had been the usual practice in our previous prisons and it had now reached the turn of Umuahia to follow suit. As expected, Mr Ibekwe, the doyen of Okigwe and later Umuahia detainees, was unanimously requested to put our case forward. Wakama jumped down from his bed and passed a feeding plate round to raise funds for Ibekwe's professional fees. This caused a great roar of laughter as Ibekwe said, "silly boy, go back to your bed." Honestly, I thank God for giving us the ability to enjoy jokes even in detention.
When Mr Nwoko came to our cell the following morning on his normal official inspection, Ibekwe, in his characteristic way of approach that is only acquired by lawyers of his calibre, brilliantly made our request known to the Superintendent. Okorogu listened attentively and saw his chance of making money. As soon as Nwoko agreed to our request and instructed the "after-care" to set the ball rolling, Okorogu got his wife to prepare a corn meal (okwuoka to the Edos, ekusu to the Yorubas but maimai to the Igbos), which she was to start selling to the detainees at a shilling per loaf. Adeola had money and that meant I was covered. Nevertheless there were richer people like Captain Amalinze, Ajiero and Ibekwe in our cell, so that apart from the fruits that we bought on individual basis, Ibekwe opened the show by buying maimai for everybody when it was brought to our cell. By this simple gesture, he again demonstrated the advantages of love and unity. It was certainly his day for around 10 am that day, his wife paid him the first visit at Umuahia and brought amongst other things a whole roasted chicken and about 24 cobs of maize. What a great feast it was in our cell that day. We were very grateful to "Ogbuefi"-for that was how he was referred to in prison, having been conferred with a chieftaincy title at his hometown (Onitsha) some years back. To emulate this example, Amalinze, Ikpo, Wakama and Adeola bought maimai for the house on about three occasions while Ajiero made his own a daily affair for a whole week. Thereafter he bought for his selected friends, which incidentally included Adeola and me. From the time Adeola moved into our cell, I became his houseboy automatically while he took the role of my father. It is, therefore, not surprising that in those days, to court Adeola's friendship one must first pass through me, and in contemplating any favours my share must be put into consideration.
The food situation was now getting really bad i.e. around July-September 1968. When we were lucky to have breakfast it was the equivalent of one unripe plantain to three people. The natives could not wait for the plantains to be strong before they were harvested. This would look ridiculous when boiled and presented. The hunger situation was too bad. So the cook warder devised a clever method. He made porridge of the available plantain and dished it out. Not only was the quantity so small, it looked so black. Like me, Adeola could eat anything to keep life going, but the quantity of plantain porridge served was not even enough to wet the appetite. He looked at it, shook his head and told me to add it to mine. Thereafter I always had double ration of this horrible mess.
Lunch, even though constant, was beginning to present its own problems. Egusi and such other ingredients for preparing and thickening soup were no longer available. The cook warder substituted ukpo which, even though it thickened the soup, made it look greenish-black. It was not strange to the Igbos among us and so it was not thought advisable to raise any voice of protest. The rice situation had improved considerably with the new contractor but the vegetable that usually came with it had stopped and the quantity of meat in our ukpo soup at lunchtime had reduced. We were now entering our darkest moment at Umuahia.
The arrival of Chika, little Julie, and Mrs Laura Obienu to join forces with Mrs Julie Alale completely transformed Umuahia prison. From stories told us by those who knew them, Mrs Laura Obienu was supposed to be a sort of Godmother to all the militant young army officers in Enugu who had, in concert with Ojukwu, planned the freedom of Southern Nigeria from the "Hausa-Fulani oligarchy" of the north. When Ojukwu broke faith with his collaborators and cleverly eliminated Colonel Banjo, Lieutenant Colonel Emmanuel Ifeajuna, Major Philip Alale and Mr Samuel Agbam, he realised that Mrs Laura Obienu who had remained their common confidant knew too much and might under undesirable circumstance let the cat out of the bag. To save himself from much embarrassment, it was better to put Mrs Laura Obienu in a deep "freezer". However, the public must be given an excuse for this action and it was left for members of the Propaganda Directorate to spread the false rumour around that she was caught red handed with two million pounds given to her by Emmanuel Ifeajuna for safe keeping. This money was supposed to be part of the blood money allegedly given to Emmanuel Ifeajuna by Gowon for tactically withdrawing from the Midwest. Again, this was totally false.
Did the Bible not say that the sins of the fathers would be visited on the children, unto the third and fourth generations? This was what happened to the other women. Major Philip Alale had been executed and his wife Julie and junior brother (Emmanuel) had to continue the punishment by being detained. While Julie was initially detained at Okigwe Prison, Emmanuel was sent to Umuahia.
Chika was supposed to be Banjo's girl friend. Because Banjo betrayed Biafra, for that was the propaganda dished out to the public, Chika was not to be left alone to enjoy Banjo's ill-gotten money. The same story goes for "little Julie". We called her "little" to differentiate her from Mrs Julie Alale who was obviously older and married. Little Julie was, according to the rumour mill, supposed to be engaged to be married to Samuel Agbam at the time he paid the supreme penalty for his association with Banjo and co. She too must not enjoy the ill-gotten money according to the propaganda. These four women were very pretty (and that depends on your concept of beauty) and dynamic. Soon after their arrival they joined forces with Dudu Maya and organised the women's wing into a very lively group. Instead of pining away in their dirty and lonely cell they organised a daily clean up routine of their cell at daytime and at night they conducted singing competitions. I understand that these innovations made the wardresses so happy that they often joined in the singing and native dances. Most of the songs were very pathetic while some were consolatory. We in our cell listened with great admiration as this daily rendition lasted between 7.30 and 9 pm.
Captain Stanley Amechi Onyejiaka was equally lively and vivacious.
The challenge of the women just behind his cell was too much to take lying down. He too could sing and do the native dance very well. It took him no time to organise some young army boys in his cell into the competitive spirit. A few days later the competition started. Both sides had a good blend of Treble, Alto, Tenor and Bass, and while the females mostly sang the pathetic tunes, the boys sang the consolatory equivalents. This was too much for the ordinary prisoners to bear. The following night they too rigged up a team to decisively remind the other two groups what they are supposed to be-saboteurs.
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