28 September 2008
opinion
At the time we were having a comparatively easy and pampered time at Umuahia Prison, I was secretly nursing the fear that our treatment at Umuahia was too good to be true, particularly from an African captor. My mind often went back to the Edo proverb which says that "suffering lurks around the corner for the pampered and well powdered new-born baby". Right from the time we arrived at Ntueke on that moonlit but unhappy night, the true meaning of this said proverb began to dawn on us.
Ntueke Prison yard was one of the newly improvised Detention centres with the fall of important Biafran towns and their normal Federal Prisons. It was formerly a Secondary Modern School that had stopped functioning at the beginning of the Civil war. It, therefore, lacked the normal high security walls. In its place were palm-leave fences with armed soldiers posted at different positions inside and outside the yard as security measures.
When our lorry finally came to a halt in front of what turned out to be the main office (this probably must have been the headmaster's residence originally), there was such frightening silence around that I could hear myself think. We were right in the midst of the jungle and only the occasional hooting of an owl from a distance broke the dead silence. The enclosed Prison yard itself looked like a graveyard. If someone had suggested at that instance that we were probably brought there to be disposed of quietly without arousing much publicity, I would have believed the gambit and swallowed it hook, line and sinker. However, whenever I seemed to be facing a dangerous encounter or starting a hazardous journey I always remembered my God. I strongly believed in the beautiful Presbyterian Hymn, which says:
"Father, I know that all my life is portioned out for me.
And the changes that are sure to come I do not fear to see, But I ask Thee for a present mind intent on pleasing Thee."
Then I silently and inwardly repeated Psalm 23 "The Lord is my shepherd" and the Hymn "My God my father, while I stray ... Thy word be done." Having done this I automatically became spiritually fortified and prepared to face the unforeseen.
As soon as we alighted, Chief warder Ifediba came to us and received very smart salute from our escort Warder. He was wearing a "Wrapped beneath his "Agbada", held a walking stick and torchlight and donned night cap. After the official preliminaries he moved towards us and dainfully ignored our "Good morning Sir". Instead, he barked "Warder open the gate. Prisoners, take your luggage and move in."
Having just left Umuahia where we were treated as human being hadn't quite dawned on us that the time had arrived for the pamper baby to start suffering. We, therefore, did not realize that his instruct was also meant for us the "Special detainees." Within a flash second, he had hit someone with his walking stick and asked him: "You de craze? Comon, go inside". We did not wait to be so humiliated but quietly carry our luggage and trooped inside the Prison yard with the others. Having closed the gate behind us he halted us and produced the papers hand over to him by our escort warder. To his amazement we were still standing upright. In his indignation he shouted, "Common, stoop down for comments or explanation about our status. The sooner we realized that we come to a place where the Pharaoh knew no Joseph, the better. On one we stooped down in pairs. As always, Adeola and I formed a pair and brought up the rear immediately behind the stooping pair of Moses E and Dan Ibekwe. To signify your presence, the instruction was that
stand up as the Chief warder calls your name and resume your original position when he has ticked your name on his paper.
This exercise took another 30 minutes, at the end of which we sifted into two groups of "Special" and "Common" detainees. E Ibekwe, Adeola and I were the only special detainees. The rest were mon. Having thus been divided, we were led separately to our respective cells. The common detainees were the first to move. Outside the prison gates we had noticed some armed soldiers. Their presence didn't mean a thing to us since we realized that we were in the middle of a war. But then inside the prison yard their presence became more felt and embarrassing to us. As the common detainees moved away some soldiers cocked their guns and moved along with them. To those that remained the Chief warder gave a clear instruction "shoot to kill if any of them makes any false moves". A few minutes later he was back to take us to our cell. Throughout the whole period I surveyed our surrounding and the result was frightening. The distant school blocks now used as cells were dark and deadsilent. The open courtyard, which was originally used as football field or play ground was camouflaged with sharp-pointed sticks and palm leaves pinned to the ground at intermittent intervals to render the space unsuitable as an emergency landing ground for enemy planes and helicopters.
Silently we moved on with a couple of stern looking armed soldiers guarding our flanks. As we approached Cell "A" the warder on duty recognized the Chief Warder and gave a smart salute before the other armed soldiers on guard duty could shout "Who goes there?" He opened the cell door on instruction and we moved in. We later discovered that we had been expected and that some inmates of lesser status had been moved to the common cell in order to accommodate us. The cell was near pitch darkness but for a small palm oil lamp that dimly lit a corner of the cell. This lamp popularly known as "Biafran lamp" was brought to the center of the cell to enable us to locate our posts. The windows were tightly shut and ventilation was provided by the barb-wired space between the wall and the roof. The chief warder's torch provided additional illumination. Having completed his task, he left the room with his body guards and the door was securely locked.
When the chief warder was considered to be safely out of hearing distance, the inmates who had been watching silently got up from their beds to welcome us to the "Hell" that was known as Ntueke. I immediately recognized Dr. Chike Obi, Dr. Vivian Ene and Dr. Fiberesima (the prominent Okrika chief and leader of the Rivers people who was dumped into Detention by Ojukwu even before Aburi meeting for daring to demand a separate state for the Rivers people). Adeola and Ibekwe were no stranger to the either. Chief Superintendent of Police, Mr Itu, also recognized his former boss, Adeola, and carne to express his sorrow and disappointment at their present state. After the first round of greetings, Dr. Chik Obi undertook to introduce the remaining anxious looking inmates. These included Brandi W. Owei, Chief Mbakogu, Eze, Odo, Ekong, George Edet, Richard Agbama, Long John, Joe Obieku, Joe Ekelena, and a few others whose names I have now forgotten.
The security measures at Ntueke were so tight and the warders were so unfriendly that it was virtually impossible for the outside news. What's more, these inmates were extremely poor, ragged and so near starvation that they were not in any position to bribe their way through with the equally starving but bitter warders for any news of the outside world. It was, therefore, natural that these inmates should be eager for news and for whatever we could tell them. Having been so long in the deep-freeze, their attitude was more Pro-Biafran than one could imagine. In order to get a bit of favourable treatment and small crumbs of food from the chief warder, these inmates had been brought to a stage where they spied on one another and made private and confidential reports to the authorities in anticipation of some good words on the behalf to the right quarters. This way they supposed they could secure their release. To us this system of "divide and rule" was unknown to Okigwe and Umuahia and hence we were surprised that most of them do not like the sort of war reports we gave them. They were amazed to hear that Umuahia was about to fall to Federal troops and that with it he could be over anytime. Drs. Ene and Fiberesima and their colleagues the Rivers and South Eastern State were obviously happy that their oppressors were suffering humiliating reverses in all the war sectors. But the others who had been getting distorted and obviously Pro-Biafran biased was reports could just not believe the fantastic stories I was dishing out. Who it was too much to bear, and more for my own good, me quietly aside and advised me that Ntueke Prison was a very dangerous place and that I should watch my utterances. I quid tuned off. I had very little to unpack and within minutes I had finished helped Adeola make his bed and at 3.30am we called it a day and his the sac.
Normal routine life in prison starts at 6 a.m. except for the kitchen staff who normally start preparing breakfast (beans) at 4 a.m. At this stage of the war and particularly at Ntueke food was never expected until around 4 p.m. if at all there would be any. We had been briefed about this as part of the welcoming ceremony from Drs. Ene and Fiberesima. However, a week before our arrival the local Red Cross had at long last included Ntueke Prison on their list and started the supply of hot milk to be alternated with a bowel of "Formular 2" and a sizeable quantity of stockfish every other day. To Ntueke inmates before our arrival this was a God-sent Xmas feast. There is a Nigerian proverb which says that a child always thinks that his father's farm is the biggest in the world until he has seen another. So when we related the sort of comforts we had enjoyed at Umuahia they sighed and cursed their ill-luck. Whatever we had enjoyed at Umuahiahad now become history. We were soon to see what life had in store for us at Ntueke.
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