For as long as Dim Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu lived, they
walked in his shadows. They were totally dwarfed by his larger-than-life
status. They walked in the shadows of his intimidating credentials, his
enormous wealth, his seeming insatiable appetite for pleasingly distinctive
women, his huge network of friends, and the critical roles he played in
reshaping the crazy political situations that Nigeria’s incoherent political
systems foisted on the country at some points in its history.
But now, the iroko has fallen. The mighty one has gone to
the land of the spirits, taking with him the veil under which his children,
especially the older ones, had been hiding. However, one person that never
really wanted to live in the shadows of the departed Eze Igbo Gburugburu is
Sylvester, a former policeman-turned-lawyer, the first of Ojukwu’s eight
children from “four or five wives,” and his mother’s only child.
A true son of his father, and looking every bit a chip off
the old block, Sylvester, who turns 56 on August 3, struggled desperately, even
as a boy, to defy his father’s overwhelming pull, by carving a niche for
himself, by being “just me”. Though it was like walking against gravity, a
determined Sylvester stuck to his gun, and not only did things differently but
also without undue dependence on his late father, Dim Chukwuemeka Odumegwu
Ojukwu.
For instance, although he was born with the proverbial
silver spoon, Sylvester chose to start life through the hard way, joining the
Nigeria Police Force as a recruit! Contrary to his father’s wish for him to
attend either Cambridge or Oxford or Harvard, he went to study Law at the
University of Nigeria, Nsukka, UNN, not on his father’s bill but on study leave
or in-service training from the force. He did everything without the old man’s
influence. He just wanted to be different.
“That is the son of whom I am,” he enthuses in an interview
with THE SUN team. “The police sponsored my education and it was so gratifying
because my father’s influence was not there. I just wanted to prove that I can
be me. The driving force was the wise saying of Dr. Nnamdi Azikwe which says
that ‘it doesn’t matter what you are and who you are; but whoever you may be
and whatever you may be, try to be the best of whatever and whoever you may
be.’ …It was not a struggle per se. It was part of my resolve to be different…”
If you will permit the cliché, this is just a tip of the
iceberg. During the almost two-hour interview, Sylvester, an orator, like his
father, touched virtually every aspect of his relationship with his super dad.
Starting from the day he became conscious of the fact that he was an Ojukwu
son, he traced the odyssey to the bitter-sweet memories of Biafra, his
reconnaissance roles, as a 10-year-old, within the Boys Company of the Biafran
Army, recalled how he and his colleagues were infiltrating enemy lines to
ferret information, up to that fateful day when, faced with the imminent
collapse of the ill-fated Republic of Biafra, his father fled to exile in Ivory
Coast.
He also spoke on Ojukwu’s titanic battle against four
debilitating strokes within a year, saying that just like he used every fibre
of his being to fight the secession war between 1967 and 1970, he also fought
the strokes to a standstill with everything he had. And when he had to succumb,
he went the way of all flesh peacefully. Unlike Biafra, he was never defeated.
“He was a brave man,” says Sylvester, “and we saw his
bravery even on the hospital bed. He really fought his ill health but then his
final moments were also peaceful. He held on for one year. What he had was a
debilitating stroke, which most people don’t survive. In fact, the day he was
being flown out, we thought it was the end. He was in coma when he was flown out.
But he held on for one year. We spent four days in the hospital sleeping there
at Enugu. But he held on. For that I am most grateful.”
Of course, the younger Ojukwu also spoke on his relationship
with Bianca, who he described as his father’s “only widow”, stating that his
relationship with her is “cordial”. “No problem.”
Well, as they say, the taste of the pudding is in the
eating. Please, sit back, relax and enjoy the rest of the interview.
Excerpts:
Let’s start by what the name, Odumegwu Ojukwu has brought
you, in terms of opportunities and liabilities…
The name, Odumegwu Ojukwu, to many people, should have
brought blessings to me but, ironically, the name brought with it a lot of
challenges.
What are those challenges?
The challenges are that, somewhat, I was faced with two
gentlemen, whose achievements were so tall that I’m so dwarfed and I didn’t
even know where to start. Would you talk of my grandfather? He started from
nowhere but ended a legend of his own time. Growing up, people alluded so many
things to him. Some even said that he was richer than the whole of Nigeria. How
he did that, I do not know. But then, that was what I was faced with at that
time. Then, his fame hadn’t quite died down when his only natural son too began
his unprecedented trajectory in the world.
You said “his only natural son”…
Yes, his only natural son…
How do you mean “his only natural son”?
I say that without any fear of contradiction. You see, there
are many sons, some are adopted sons, some are sons that came from your loin.
So, when I say natural, I mean, that that came from his loin.
Can you, then, tell us about the “unnatural” sons?
Experience has taught me to always limit myself to my coin of
vantage. I’m talking about my father, so, I would want to limit myself to just
that. I don’t want to go into any speculation.
Earlier, you spoke about the challenges the name Odumegwu
Ojukwu imposed on you; but you mentioned only one. What are these other
challenges and how did you overcome them? Are his shoes too big for you?
Well, I’ve not been able to overcome them. I’m still
grappling with them. For instance, I could think I’ve made a million but it’s
still very insignificant when compared with what my grandfather had achieved.
As my father told me when he was still in exile, he told me that “a man is only
a man when he succeeds his father.” I needed to know exactly what he meant by
that. He went further to explain. He said if your father was a primary school
teacher and you went ahead and became a secondary school principal, you have
succeeded your father. But if your father was a professor, and you ended up
being a primary school teacher, even though you are living your life, you are a
failure. That was why I said it was very daunting trying to grapple with the
achievements they made over the years. If a young person aspires to become a
politician, your ultimate goal will be to be Head of State. From Head of State,
if you return to your father, who perhaps is a doctor, he will appreciate you
as a son. But not when you come back to your father, who has been the Head of
State. There is nothing you will show to him that will move him.
In essence, your father’s larger-than-life status was a
big challenge for you to grapple with?
It was a big very challenge. No matter how hard I tried, it
was a spur. It gave me that urge to keep on trying. That’s why when you compare
me with some of my peers, they find it difficult to outweigh what I have
achieved. But then, the force behind my personal achievements was the
credentials of my father.
But didn’t the name, Ojukwu, give you a giant leap into
the world?
Of course, it did because of the enormous goodwill they (his
grandfather, Sir Louis Ojukwu, and his father, Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu)
left. Like I’ve always found it very easy to move with the Yoruba. The Yoruba
referred to my grandfather as the omoluabi (the special breed), especially in
the palace. So, once I enter into the palace, they always say this is the
grandson of omoluabi. And that helps them to receive me because in human
relationship, the most important stage is the reception. If you go anywhere and
you didn’t get a good reception, however fine the message you have, it will be
lost because they didn’t even give you the chance. But once you get the
reception, then the other things follow.
When did the realisation of being Ojukwu’s son become
clear to you while growing up?
It started in the secondary school. I attended Government
Secondary School, Afikpo. So, I was in the secondary school, and then suddenly
I realised that people were not treating me ordinarily. Some didn’t believe I
should even go to school.
Why?
It’s true. Even in the university, my roommates would come
to where I was reading and they would be asking me why I was reading. In the
secondary school, some believed it was a warrior talking. They had a way of
arresting me because they didn’t find the real you. They came to their
conclusion even before they gave you a chance to hear you out. That you were
almost lost. It was a struggle to let people realise “this is who I am and
please do not colour me with my father”. Even with my father, it wasn’t easy.
Every time I tell him I am a self-made man, he says “don’t say that again.” But
I always insisted “I am a self-made man.”
How are you a self-made man?
I grew up, and you may be surprised to know that I joined
the police force as a recruit. That is the son of whom I am; joining the police
force as a recruit.
You already had a degree then?
No, I went to the university on in-service training. I was
already in the police before I went to the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, on
study leave. The police sponsored my education and it was so gratifying because
my father’s influence was not there. I just wanted to prove that I can be me.
The driving force was the wise saying of Dr. Nnamdi Azikwe, which says that “it
doesn’t matter what you are and who you are; but whoever you may be and
whatever you may be, try to be the best of whatever and whoever you may be.”
That it doesn’t really matter where you start, the most important thing is
where you end up. I was prepared to join the police as a recruit and end up an
Inspector General of Police.
What was the attraction to join the police? One would
have expected that you would have opted for the army, which your father was in.
Or was this a different kind of struggle?
It was not a struggle per se. It was part of my resolve to
be different because I would be drawing so many IOUs from the army, from the so
many instructors he had trained. They all would want to pay back. Then, again,
the only place you find true interplay of true nationalism is in the police,
army, customs, and, perhaps, in the prisons. These are the only places where
your ethnicity is lost, where you can mingle with all Nigerians. Today, the
bulk of my associates in Nigeria are scattered all over the country. I’m at
home anywhere because of my course mates. For instance, I was in the same place
with (Hafiz) Ringim (the immediate past Inspector General of Police). We were
in the same place; we shared the same thing. If I go to his town today, I will
be very comfortable. The same thing goes for the Yar’Aduas, the Abubakars and
so many others.
Which of the Yar’Aduas?
The younger brother to the late Head of State. He was in the
police. You know they all spread around.
So, when that realisation came to you, how did your
teachers treat you?
Well, it was mixed. We used to have a Commissioner of Police
called Muhammadu Gambo, who later became the Inspector-General of Police. We
also used to have Mamman Nassarawa, Deputy Commissioner of Police, they used to
come to promotions board; they always insisted that my father should send me
back to Police College to continue where he left. They never felt at ease with
my foray into the Nigeria Police Force. That was why, when I was in the police,
I was one of the A1 cadets. But then, they always felt that there was a hidden
agenda. The ghost of Biafra haunted me throughout and I kept on trying to
disprove it.
That is the very funny thing between my father and me:
people won’t allow him to perform, they condemned him. They called him a rebel
and other names. But he was the most nationalist man I have ever seen. He loved
Nigeria more than any other thing. People didn’t understand that. It played out
when I attended Course 1, Nigeria Police Academy. And part of the reason I
attended the course was based on that fear. That was why when I finished from
the university, they insisted I must go for that course, to delay me, because I
was very fast. I was very fast in the sense that when I was the same course
mate with the present IG (Hafiz Ringim, before he was removed, last month),
none of us was a graduate. But I checked into Nsukka to read Law and that gave
me a leap over my course mates and they knew where I was headed.
So, I became a marked student. That was why they insisted I
should go back and do another 18 months course. So, when I finished the Course
1, Police Academy, I became the best all-round student. The problem now became:
how can we make an Ojukwu the number one of the Police Academy? Then, they
began to toy with so many things. Usually, the best all-round student normally
delivers the passing-out speech. But they didn’t know how to deal with me. They
were afraid I could go to the podium and begin to shout “Hail Biafra”. They
nearly didn’t allow me to deliver the speech. At a point, they insisted I
should bring my speech for vetting. I refused. I refused because essentially, I
deliver most of my speeches extempore, off the cuff. But Fidelis Oyakhilome
became the saving grace that day. He said, “Look, I’m a product of education
and merit should be uppermost. Let the young man be”. That was it. They allowed
me. I got to the stage and delivered the speech for 45 minutes off the cuff.
The strand that ran all through the speech was the goodness and betterment of
Nigeria.
The point I’m trying to make is this: an Ojukwu needs to be
given the chance. We are more altruistic and nationalist than most people
ascribe to us. And trying to downplay an Ojukwu is very mischievous. Situations
bring Ojukwu up. When there is normalcy, Ojukwu is there. He is the warmest cat
you can have in the society. But when challenges are thrown up, he doesn’t run
away. We don’t run away from challenges.
How old were you when your father declared Biafra?
I was 10 years old. I was born August 3, 1956. So, anything
happening in 1966, I knew about. Biafra was declared May 3, 1967. And the war
broke out July 6, 1967. The first shots were fired at Gakem, near Ogoja.
Were you able to comprehend what was going on then?
Well, I’m a precocious child. I reason ahead of my age. That
was why I grew up to play a role during the Biafran war. I followed it. I even
joined the Boys Company.
Moving to the East at the onset of the war, how did that
transition affect you?
It affected me a lot. First, I never took second in my
class. I was always first. I passed King’s College at the age of nine. I was
always moving. But the movement to the East arrested my development. Because of
the war and all that, most of us lost three years. When we came back in 1970, I
felt out of sort. I had expected that by 14, I should be done with secondary
school and by 17, my university education should be over too. I didn’t do that.
And that was what led to me attending Government Secondary School, Afikpo. I
was to have gone to Oxford or Cambridge. I would have gone to Harvard but those
things were the limiting factors.
So, you eventually attended UNN. What year was that?
I was there from 1981 to 1985.
Despite being so brainy, you didn’t come out with a
first-class…
No, I didn’t come out with a first-class because a lot of
people did not allow me to read.
How do you mean?
The pressure was too much. There used to be a horde of
people following me wherever I went to. I never had friends. My only friends in
the university were the white lecturers because they saw me as a human being.
The others saw me as a mini god. Because of the pressure, I never read in the
classroom. I only read in the room, and at night too. Most of the time, I was
always in my room, reading, because once I was out, it was like a clamour, a
fanfare. And personally, inwardly, I didn’t like those distractions but people
didn’t know. They taught I was enjoying them. Personally, the only thing I
crave is my privacy. But those incursions robbed me of my privacy.
Even at 55, you are still a handsome guy. I can imagine
what you looked like way back; you know, the Ikemba charm, and all that. How
did you handle the girls?
How could you ask me such a question? Do you remember my
wife is around here? (Roaring laughter). Because when you say “girls”, perhaps
she was one of them.
So, was she one of them?
You see, I told you one thing; I cherish my privacy. Next to
that is my security. If you start asking me this kind of question, you will go
home and you wouldn’t know what I would be facing.
Okay, what informed your choice of reading Law?
It was to complete a circle. My grandfather sent my father
to Oxford to read Law. He didn’t read Law, he read History. Somewhat, I looked
at it and felt he should have read Law.
Why?
I was so much in love with reading Law. The old man wanted
my father to read Law, and when he didn’t, I felt reading Law would complete
the wishes of the old man. What again spurred me into law was that I had been
in the force and was romancing law enforcement, and I needed to go there to
sharpen my knowledge in law. That I did, and it helped me to do my job well.
Your father was, for about three years, Head of State of
the defunct Republic of Biafra. How did that also rub off on you?
Unfortunately, it didn’t affect me the “normal way” people
would have thought. It didn’t rub off on me in any way because it was a very
tough time. Besides, I was all the while with my mum, and so, it didn’t affect
me. But as I also told you, I was always contending with removing that gap of
being the son of this and that. I just wanted to be me, even as a boy. That was
why, most times, you hardly saw me with my dad. He used to quarrel with me
about that. And I used to tell him, “Dad, I’m your strike force; I’m your
mobile police, and mobile policemen do not live in the same barracks with the
regular police, because if we are all in one place, and suddenly we are
attacked, we’ll both be lost.” That was my reasoning. So, being away from him
helped me to develop at my own pace. I was a very big challenge to him because
this was his child he did not spoon feed, and yet he was on his feet.
You said, during the war, you were in the Boys’ Company?
Yes.
Did you fight in the war then?
In the Boys’ Company, there are certain things you do. You
do what is called reconnaissance. That means you will go behind the enemy line,
ferret information and then, you feed your own soldiers with what you gathered.
Yes, I was not in the forefront of the war but there were certain things I
observed.
Could you recall your first reconnaissance assignment?
There is a place they call Ngbidi, near Agwu. When Enugu
fell, there was the movement of the federal troops. Then, they were moving
towards Arochukwu after which you go down and then get into Agwu. Something
drastic happened. When they got to Arochukwu, they stopped their advance and
then, moved to the right. They followed Udi to enter through Achi, cutting off
those in Arochukwu and Iyen. So, the people in Arochukwu and Iyen had to
withdraw. So, it was there I saw the first casualty at the warfront. I saw some
people with their thighs ripped open. After that, the Biafran troops withdrew
to as far as Iyen. So, the warfront was in Agwu, and we had to come and survey.
Then, the federal troops were so scared that they could not advance. So, they
dug in. They went into the trenches and were carrying their guns up, and
shooting into the air because they were afraid of the terrain. So, in
reconnaissance, you come, observe it and then go back and give your people the
information.
That also means that, in the process, you may have had
one or two brushes with death.
No, it didn’t get to that. I was with a top commander and I
was well protected. The closest I would have gotten to was in firing the heavy
artillery.
You fired it like a gun?
Yes, you fire it. It doesn’t take much, it’s just a rope,
and you just draw it, and it goes off. We had about nine people firing it.
So, you actually fired it?
Yes, of course.
It also meant you killed…
(Cuts in…) No, it doesn’t mean that I have killed before. It
means that I fought to scare away the enemies.
But what you fired had a mission…to kill.
It doesn’t mean that each fire would kill.
Can you answer this question straightforward? Have you
ever killed?
I’ve never killed. God has always directed me properly
because I am very particular about human blood. Human blood is strong. There
are laws that go with human blood. If you shed human blood, you will never rest
until you atone.
But there is also this saying that all is fair in war…
No, you don’t do that. Even if you found or captured a
soldier, a soldier who has shown signs of surrender, you take him prisoner. You
don’t kill him.
Did you have any secret fear when the war was raging?
I didn’t have fears. I didn’t fully appreciate the magnitude
of what was happening then. You only begin to nurture fears as you grow old.
You know, the older you grow, the more petrified you get. What makes you to be
afraid are earthly possessions. But when you haven’t any attachment to
anything, you fear nothing. I was doing all those things then without fear
because I didn’t find or have any attachment to anything. But when you start
acquiring houses and cars, you will be afraid of dying.
When your father had to go on exile, how did that also
affect you?
Did you go with him?
No, I didn’t go with him but I always went to visit him in
Ivory Coast.
The day he left, where were you?
I was in Afikpo area.
Did he meet you before he left? Could you recall the
events of that day?
No, he didn’t meet me.
He never met you?
He didn’t. He left in a hurry. It was several years later
before we established the route to go and visit him. And I had to do that incognito.
Then, the Federal Government was always suspecting anybody that was going to
visit him. If you wanted to go and see him, you had to do that under cover.
But the man is your father…
Yes, but you know how people in government think. They suspect
and read meaning to every move you make, especially if you are an Ojukwu.
Okay, let’s come to the more recent. I understand you
were with your father during his last moments. What were those moments like?
He was a brave man and we saw his bravery even on the
hospital bed. He really fought his ill health but then his final moments were
also peaceful.
How did he fight?
He held on for one year. What he had was a debilitating
stroke, which most people don’t survive. In fact, the day he was being flown
out, we thought it was the end. He was in coma when he was flown out. But he
held on for one year. We spent four days in the hospital sleeping there at
Enugu. But he held on. For that I am most grateful.
What were the things he was telling you on his sick bed
any time you visited?
He couldn’t say much. The last time we had full
communication was when the first attack of stroke came.
When was that?
That was in October (2010). I was told by the wife (Bianca)
that he had been attacked. So I rushed down. On getting to Enugu, I saw him and
I was confused. I didn’t know what to do. I shouted in my fears. I said nothing
was going to happen to him. I was just trying to give myself a lot of
confidence. Then, I started massaging him from the left arm up to the neck down
to the right arm.
So, both arms were affected?
No, it was the right arm that was badly hit.
When did the second one happen?
About the second week
Was there a third one?
Yes, there was a third one, which led to him being rushed to
the University of Nigeria Teaching Hospital, UNTH. Then, there was a fourth one
that happened in London. And you know stroke kills at the first strike. But my
father never went from the first, or from the second, or from the third, until
after the fourth. That should tell you the type of person he was. And by
fighting it, he gave us a respite. That is why I am comfortable talking to you
now, because if it had happened last year, maybe I would have even gone on
exile.
Why?
He was a great man. He had a lot of followers. There were so
many things about him. The greatest one was how do you say he was no more? How
do you convey that message to the Igbo?
What were some of his unaccomplished dreams, failed
dreams that he intimated you with as his first son?
Well, I don’t think he had any. He finished all his dreams.
And he even did more than expected. He over-achieved. He died into his 79th
year. The Bible gave us 70 years. So, he stayed over that. He had me, I had
children and my two children are already graduates. He saw his grandchildren.
Perhaps, if he had given us a year or two, he may have seen his great
grandchildren. So, I think he overachieved. At 33, he was a Head of State of
the Republic of Biafra. There was one game I normally played. If I read so much
about him in historical books, I juxtaposed his achievements with what I
achieved at that stage, I found out that he did more than his mates.
So, he shouldn’t have any regrets?
No, he shouldn’t, because he knows that his destination
would ultimately be met. And what was that destination? It’s truth and justice
for his people.
Could you let our readers an insight into the size of the
Ojukwu clan?
It’s a very large dynasty or clan. It is not about the first
or the second or the third or the fourth generation. Conservatively, let’s put
it at the fifth generation. His great grandfather was Ojukwu Ezeogbonu. And
after that, you had Ojukwu Ezeokigbo. All these were fairy warriors. That is
why he was acting true to type during Biafra. People used to hire his
grandfather for local warfare. Anywhere you had some very tense moments, you
brought him and once he got there, he quelled them.
What about the size of his own family?
Moderate. Not anything obtuse.
You are the first out of how many children?
As at today, we are eight.
Just eight?
Yes.
From how many wives?
You could say from four or five wives. I’m the only one from
my mother. There are others from a different woman and there are others from
another woman. And then, you get to Bianca, the widow.
Why do you emphasise “Bianca, the widow”?
She is the only widow.
What about the others?
The others are dead, and I think she is the only widow.
What’s the relationship between you and Bianca?
Cordial. No problem.
Are you sure about that?
Yes, I’m very sure.
There were reports of a supposed feud between you two, and
that you never saw eye-to-eye…
(Cuts in…) The only thing is that there are so many things I
don’t agree with, and you know when you have one woman in the house, there are
so many things we may disagree with. But that is not to say we are feuding. We
are not feuding.
We even understand that she shielded you, the children, from
having access to your father. And your father conceded so many things to her
because he was truly in love with her.
My father was in love with everything that was his, and most
especially his children. So, nobody could hinder his children from seeing him.
He was very close to his children irrespective of anything anybody had to say.
He loved his children.
What honour would you love Nigeria to accord your father
at this point in time, especially when you view the way heroes are buried in
other countries?
Well, I wouldn’t think of honour in terms of monuments. It
would be more gratifying to me if his passage brings all-encompassing peace to
Nigeria. If Nigerians can say that because of his passage, let us now resolve
our issues and live in peace. The most annoying aspect of this funeral rite is
that I am planning for his funeral rites and they are slaughtering some people
somewhere. So, my first appeal is that peace should reign everywhere,
especially during this period. That is why if I were to constitute a burial
committee for him, I would include a representative of Boko Haram. They should
come.
Why?
They should come. Engage them. They can be part of us. You
see, when you exclude them, you invite violence. We need to find out what the
problem is. We can do without this carnage. That is why if you bring out the
burial committee of my father and I don’t see a Boko Haram representative, I
don’t see someone from Oodua People’s Congress and the Arewa People’s Forum, it
is not complete. It should be a synergy because that is what he represented.
You are talking about Boko Haram and I’m sure that you are
aware of attempts by the Federal Government to engage them in dialogue. But
none has held. Even the one that former President Obasanjo brokered ended in
another tragedy. The next day, Boko Haram killed the man he spoke with right in
his home…
Still, we must continue to do that because two wrongs do not
make a right. It’s either the messenger was not right or the message was wrong.
And I’m sure if my father were around today, he would have walked into the Boko
Haram camp, unarmed, (and) they would give him a guard of honour. That is the
man we have lost.
You are talking about Boko Haram as if it were a nationalist
body. This is a body that has announced itself as a terrorist group with the
way its members plant bombs everywhere and blow up innocent people.
The problem with us in Nigeria is that we always cast people
into stereotypes. You now used the word “terrorists”. I feel it’s too harsh a
word for us to use on them. You have to meet with them and know why they are
agitating. It’s too far-fetched to write them off. Except we are saying they
are not Nigerians. Yes, they may be sponsored by some people, but who are they?
Let’s find out, and let’s know what their grievance is with the Nigerian
establishment. The other time, it was the Niger Delta Volunteer Front, and they
were blowing up oil establishments and we thought that was the end of the
world. Today, they are dignified human beings. They have been rehabilitated and
there is quiet in that area now. Why can’t we do the same for these people?
Instead of condemning and calling them names, let’s find out what the problem
is.
Do you see Nigeria at the fringes of extinction as
predicted by an American group a few years back?
The dangers are real but it is not beyond salvation.
They are real because if we don’t arrest the drift, we might end up playing out
the script that has been written.
What do we need to do to get out of this situation?
One popular abuse is, “you are mad.” Let us refuse to
be mad. Let us refuse to break up.
But somebody as nationalist as Chief Obafemi Awolowo once
said that Nigeria was just a mere geographical expression. Many people have
concurred with Awolowo since he said that statement, saying that what Nigeria
is suffering now is that artificial amalgamation of 1914.
But that if we must part ways, let us do it
peacefully. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be a fusion.
How can we achieve that without carrying arms?
By dialogue. Sit round the table and talk,
eyeball-to-eyeball.
Since this interview is all about your dad, let us
end with him. In paying your final tributes to him, what would you write or
that he has asked you to write as his epitaph?
No, he didn’t ask me to write anything. But like the
tribute I wrote for him, I said: “I sat ensconced in my coin while you
straddled and dominated the world”. When you check his height and his towering
height, my abject status pales into insignificance. “But then, father, I was
very comfortable in my own corner because your presence shielded me from the
harsh realities of the world. Now that you are gone, I am exposed because my
cover is blown. I am only left with memories and teachings and memories of the
quality times that we shared together, father to son.”
That’s my tribute to him. When he was alive, I didn’t feel
dwarfed by all of you (journalists). When he was alive, I could go to the
market and buy booli (roasted plantain) and eat but now, it’s not even up to
one month he left, I’m having hordes of journalists pursuing me. But when he
was alive, he shielded me from all this. I had my privacy and I enjoyed it.
What is the best advice you ever got from your
father?
We shared many moments together and he used to give me
snippets. For instance, there is one about being conscious with friends. He
told me that if you are sitting with your friend, and suddenly you bend over,
trying to lace (your) shoes, and before you could raise your head, you suddenly
see a knife behind your head, he would give the friend a safe distance, because
if that friend
