Ojukwu and the spirit of Moses

It was my first year in secondary school in 1990; a quiz had been organized for the seniors, a literary quiz for the form five students. The most brilliant seniors in my school then graced the podium of the Hall of Ilesa Grammar School, my alma mater. Both competing sides answered the questions thrown at them by the moderator, then HOD of the English department, Mr. Femi Adesanmi, now of blessed memory, both sides fought gallantly and had tied. To determine the ultimate winner, a final round of questions was introduced, and one question was thrown at the quiz competitors by the moderator. “Who wrote the book ‘Because I am involved’?”, I was seated somewhere near the front rows in the hall, up shot my hand, as though I had wished none of the seniors to whom the question had been thrown would ever know the answer. Funnily, they didn’t, they chipped in name after name, but could not find the right answer, my tiny hands remained up in the midst of the school hall with all my friends looking at me in consternation. “Chinua Achebe” “Flora Nwapa” “James Ngugi wa Thiongo” “Wole Soyinka” quipped the competitors from both sides as they struggled to mention the right name, on the long run, the moderator recognized that both teams had reached their wits end. He pointed to me and asked me to stand up and tell the answer I thought, “Ojukwu” I shouted at the top of my voice. Mr. Adesanmi was impressed, “Clap for him” he roared, and the whole hall burst out clapping. I was such a star that day, my friend Bukola Elubeku gave me a hug at the end of the competition, “J1!” he said, with a sense of pride.

As the quiz came to an end and we trooped out of the school hall, the moderator, Mr. Adesanmi called me up, “Anjoorin”, I rushed up to the podium to meet him “Yes sir”, he asked me how come I had known the answer to the question which all my seniors did not know, I told him that my father had just bought the book a few months earlier, I had picked it up and read it, as it made an interesting read. He nodded and smiled, I was to become one his most favorite students throughout my days in Ilesa Grammar School because of that singular event. It was such a timely event, as the book had left a huge impression on me as a little child, and even so till today. My ideology as a man has been greatly influenced by the stories I read in that book, and some of the stories remain etched in my memory forever. The writer, the late Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu was to remain one of my biggest Pan-African heroes after reading his biography “Because I am involved” as a little boy in JSS1.

In the book, Ojukwu had written about his childhood and the circumstances that saw him become a soldier. His father was one of the wealthiest men in Nigeria at the time and by far the wealthiest man in Eastern Nigeria; hence he grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. At the young age of 23 he had graduated from Oxford University in London, a rare feat for a black man in those days. Upon his return to Nigeria, his father wanted him to take up a place in the family business and ultimately become the future of his huge business empire, but the young Chukwuemeka was not interested in such a plan, instead he had chosen to join the civil service and later the army. His father would have none of it and had used his influence to make the army reject his son’s application. Realizing that his father’s influence was everywhere in the east, and he could never live his life without people fishing him out as the great Ojukwu’s son, he fled to a distant location where he got conscripted not as an officer, but as an ordinary army recruit. His will and sense of destiny pushed him that far. An Oxford Masters graduate, holding ranks with lowly uneducated folks as an army recruit! Somewhere in the book he even wrote about how he had corrected the uneducated British Sergeant who was required to train his platoon. Showing them the different parts of a gun, the Sergeant had showed them a part of the gun and said “dat am sapli ka” and asked Ojukwu to repeat it after him, however the more educated Ojukwu replied in the queens English “Actually, it is pronounced ‘safety catch’” to the embarrassment of the Sergeant!  Ultimately, news had reached his father that his rebellious son had finally joined the army at the lowest cadre, his resolve was broken and he let go of his stance on his son stepping into his business and the younger Ojukwu found his way back as an officer in the Nigerian Army where he rightfully belonged as a graduate.

What could have propelled the son of the wealthiest man in his time, a young man who had attended one of the best schools in the world, who drove the best cars of his days in England, to come back to Nigeria and refuse a place high up in business and society but instead chose such a lowly place as the rank of a recruit? That was nothing short of a sense of destiny. There must have been a silent voice in the spirit of the man nudging him forward and telling him he had a destiny and role to play among his people. It was the same silent voice which pushed the Biblical Moses towards his destiny, the same spirit which made Moses leave the palace of Pharaoh where he grew up and lived as a crown prince with all the wealth and splendor only to move away to live among his people the Jewish slaves and to ultimately flee to become a simple lowly shepherd in the wilderness. This, I believe was the same spirit of sacrifice which made Chukwuemeka turn his back to wealth and embrace his destiny though laced with hardship and uncertainty. The lesson was to be imprinted on my young mind forever, that this life was not all about money, that the pursuit of destiny was far more important, and that one must stand firmly on the nudging in one’s heart, for so speaks the voice of destiny, more often than not.

A second story from the book that remains etched in my memory was the story of an event that happened between Ojukwu and a white man in London. In those days, blacks were not respected much; in fact there still existed racial segregation in America, and perhaps an unofficial one in England. Blacks, even though free from slavery were systematically reduced to the bottom of the socio-economic ladder by making sure that they could not get anything more than blue-collar jobs. Black community schools did not receive proper funding hence very few blacks proceeded to college to compete with their white counterparts for the better paying white-collar jobs. Hence it was common place to find blacks working in the bars, as shoe-shiners and doing all such manner of odd jobs at the time. According to the book, it so happened that Ojukwu had met some white man somewhere and had done him some kind of favor, he had done it without expecting any compensation from the white man, of course, Ojukwu had grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth and could probably buy the white man many times over, but the white man did not know this and simply thought this young black dude was just one of the many impoverished black men in London who had helped him in the expectation that he might get some little tip. The white man, rather than saying thank you for the help Ojukwu had rendered him, simply searched inside his pockets for some old pound notes and arrogantly slid it into the palms of Ojukwu, expecting the “nigger” to thank him excitedly. The irritated Ojukwu looked at the man with disdain and squeezed the note into a rumple and threw it back at him, saying to him “this time, you’ve got the wrong nigger!” The white man had never seen such a show of confidence from a black man and almost went into a state of shock!

This story was to remain etched in my memory as I grew up and remains on my mind till today. The age-long perception of the black man as a lesser human being than his white counterpart, and the categorization of black nations as beggar nations who had to depend on Foreign Aid from Britain and America to survive. I grew up hating these perceptions. As a young man I listened to a lot Fela and Bob Marley, my father had several record plates of these two iconic singers, who dedicated their lives and music to the fight against imperialist arrogance. I read the stories of Nyerere, Sankara, Lumumba and other African greats. I ultimately became who I am today, a passionate Pan-Africanist. And I have chosen my path; I will speak, write, and do everything within my power to educate the minds of black people all over the world, as long as the breath in me remains, until Africa begins to rise up from this current state of extreme backwardness which has been our lot for centuries. I have coined my ideology, and that is, if we ever wish to turn racism on its head and ultimately kill racism and racial prejudices against the black man, the black man had to rise up and achieve great things for himself, for nothing inspires confidence and commands respect like success. African nations must grow beyond the current bickering over land and resources, and put the people first, develop first world nations, self-grown first world nations, like Chairman Mao guided China to become, and like Lee Kwan Yew guided Singapore to become. Only when this happens, can the black man raise his head everywhere with pride and by our achievements declare that we are no less than any specie of humans anywhere, if we make our own cars, make our own ships and run our own prosperous and independent states. We can say “To hell with foreign aid” and the likes of James Cameron will not have the guts to threaten us with the removal of foreign aid for choosing a culture of our own in our own democratic way!

A third lesson I learnt from Ojukwu’s story, I believe was written in the book “Emeka” written by Frederick Forsyth, a close friend of the late Ikemba. I believe Ojukwu himself wrote the epilogue in that book, and he had stated some illustration that I will never forget. He wrote that one of the fundamental differences between the African and the white man was our thinking system. He then gave an illustration thus: If for example an African was taking a walk and suddenly encountered a mountain on the way, the thought that would come into the African’s mind was that of fear and reverence. He would deem that perhaps some gods were living in the mountain. He would offer a sacrifice and begin to worship the mountain, totally overwhelmed by its size. But he wrote, if it was a white man who came across this mountain, his thoughts would be totally different, he would question how some mound of earth grew to become so big, his inquisitive mind would begin to question how tall and huge this mountain was. He would begin to seek to climb it, and he would not stop until he had climbed it to the top and planted his nation’s flag on the mountain.

This is the third Ojukwu storied etched in my mind. For it rings true! We Africans are a superstitious people, more inclined to worship than to inquisition; more inclined to sycophancy than to challenge things. A verse from scripture captures Ojukwu’s illustration above in a conclusive way “As a man thinks in his heart, so is he.” There is a need for a paradigm shift in our thinking system in Africa. The perverse and deep seated corruption in African states is an indication of our thinking system. The sit-tight leadership system of African rulers is a product of our thinking system. Before we can be free from the clutches of poverty and backwardness, our thinking has to be changed, restructured, and totally revamped. It will take deliberate and sustained affirmative action to achieve this, once our minds are liberated, our world would be liberated in Africa.

Odumegwu Ojukwu has been one of my childhood heroes, and he remains so until today. After his death a few weeks ago, a huge online debate had ensued among Nigerians of my generation asking if he was a hero or a villain. As these arguments raged, I read silently but did not comment. A lot of young Nigerians thought he was not a hero because he had fought a war against his country, a war in which millions of his Igbo people had died, and then he fled leaving them in great suffering. This seemed to be the grouse many had with him. I considered the facts, re-read the history again, and made up my mind that Ojukwu remains my hero. The circumstances that led to the civil war were clear, the Nzeogwu/Ifeajuna coup of January 1966 was the first blow, Ojukwu was not part of it, and as a matter of fact he helped to destroy the coup. Despite the fact that the coup was led by Igbo Officers like himself, Ojukwu remained the nationalist with unflinching principles he had always been. The counter-coup of July 1966 occurred, this time led by Northern officers, by this time Ojukwu was in command of the Eastern region and ensured that the coup did not succeed in that region. And despite that many southern officers had been slaughtered in the coup, Ojukwu ensured that all Northern Officers under his command be returned to the North where they would be safer. 

The ensuing northern pogrom which saw the death of over 30,000 Igbos led Ojukwu to declare the sovereign state of Biafra, this after he had made many overtures to the Gowon-led federal government to stem the tide of killings of his kinsmen all to no avail. Again, the spirit of Moses in him came to the fore, for after Moses  had discovered who he was, he had witnessed the scene of a fight between an Egyptian and a Jew, and looking right and left seeing no other person around had helped the Jew kill the Egyptian, before he fled the country. Ojukwu could not stand the killing of his brothers and declared war, again, I search my conscience and I do not judge him guilty in any way. Of course, war is not always the best option, but he was a vibrant, young soldier, he reacted the way he knew best.

Ojukwu’s intelligence, passion, dedication, ideals, sense of service and sacrifice, will always endear him to my heart. He is one of my African heroes, one of the few African heroes of Nigerian descent. He was a man true to a cause. He believed in fairness and justice and he fought for it in the way best known to him. Rest in peace, Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, Ikemba Nnewi, Eze Igbo gburugburu!