KEN SARO-WIWA: A DEATH FOR THE LIBERATION OF NIGER DELTA (My Personal Experience)

Here comes another anniversary of the murder of Kenule Saro-Wiwa and the Ogoni 8: It has also been a period for sober reflection among the people and indeed the minority Ethnic group of the world. It is November 10th exactly 29 years after the judicial homicide of the Niger Delta Heroes.

This year, as I did in 2010, I have decided to have a slight departure from my usual recap of how Ken Saro-Wiwa and others were hanged or tortured and brutally or violently exterminated by agents of darkness of Dictator General Sani Abacha.

By November 10th, 1995, I was already a young Secondary School leaver. When Ken Saro-Wiwa was arrested in 1994. I was in S.S. 2 and was going to school early in the morning of 27th May of that year as the Chapel Perfect Boys when Soldiers invaded my innocent country home, shooting all sorts of weapons that only my parents who experienced the Nigerian Civil war could fathom. Before then I had not heard such sporadic shooting and bizarre of Marshall music in my life, it was indeed a sorrowful experience.

Before I ran home to join my parents, my compound was already as quiet and deserted as a cemetery, I met my Dad who was only waiting for me so that I would not miss my family members as according to him no one knew where the journey would take us and when exactly the soldiers would end their senseless rampage. He was talking from his Biafran experience.

As I joined my Dad, we started escaping through the bush not without one of my Dad’s pet goats which my Dad could not leave behind. But it was surprising that the goat also saw the danger and did not behave like goats that day. So that the three of us, (myself, my Dad and the goat) all escaped the furnace of the fire power of OKuntimo’s wild men.

The following morning, I and my cousin, Barylex (Barileela Festus Badon) were hurriedly billed to go to Eleme and later Port Harcourt.

My Mum (now of blessed memory), gave us food items including pineapple and pawpaw and some money and next, was my Dad to train us somewhat militarily on how to go through the bushes from my hometown to Nonwa/Gbam where we would eventually board a cab or bus enroute to Eleme to live with my cousins.

My Dad lectured us on how to cross major roads or routes in the jungle to avoid being caught by the mad soldiers, who were killing at sight particularly men or boys. I was in the jungle when they brought the remains of Mr. Charles Nyone, a Reggae star.

I also saw Mr. FubNeedom and Mr. Friday Nii-eeni both rushed into the jungle in the pool of their blood having being shot by the Okontimo’s.

To be honest, I became jittery as a teenager wondering how only me and Barylex would walk the miles to Nonwa Gbam in the jungle to travel to Eleme. But I remembered what Adewale said in Ola Rotimi’s “The gods Are Not To Blame”Adewale had said,“not to do something is to be crippled fast”.

What is more. If we remained in the jungle near my hometown we were not safe. Afterall we could not return to the village since the Soldiers came shooting and killing, raping and maiming. We had turned the jungle into our homes, if we decided to go to Eleme through the jungle, it was still the same experience. If the Soldiers had met us in our nearby forest (the jungle) they would have killed us, if they met us trying to escape their venom, they would still kill us.

So what was different? At that point, I hardened my heart and remembered what my Dad had told me that during the Biafran War as conscripted Soldiers they were taught to know that “all die na die” whether at the front line or as a refugee in camp.

Now Soldier hearted, I became hardened; I and Barylex started our journey form the battle front between Major Paul Okuntimo and the un-resistant poor and wretched Ogonis. It was like a shooting range at Elele where only Soldiers shoot, jubilate, dine, wine and end at their leisure. Who was fighting Okuntimo if not only his conscience?

As we left, we decided to go with our books to read when we would arrive at our destination. One more wahala; my family left Eleme since 1986. In 1986, I was in Primary Three (3).In 1994, I was in S.S. 2. It’s been a long time but as it is characteristics of me, my Dad knew I would always find my way to my host. Indeed both I and Barylex have always been good gist-mates but that morning as we were going one could not cough.

Crossing the tarred road from the other side of the jungle took us rare courage and a tactical adventure. Though we were not talking, oureyes and hearts communicated and we eventually crossed. True, every sound of a vehicle was assumed to be Soldiers on patrol and so we did not take chances.

It was like the great trek of the Mfikans in the history of South Africa that Mr. J. K. Beema and Mr. Lezigha Baadom taught us.

When we finally got to Gbam junction and were waiting for a bus to board to Eleme I reminded my cousin, Barylex of the story of Eze, in “Eze Goes To School” particularly the chapter captioned “The School At Ama” where Eze had a long walk through the wood in company of his mother (and Eze carrying a heavy load on his head). That story Barylex appreciated because we both did literature in our J.S.S. 1. But he did not understand what I meant by the “Great Trek”. Of course, being a Science student that was a mystery to him.

So, we got to Ebubu in Eleme and I tried my best to locate our final destination. Our host did not find any difficulty recognizing me. They all call me, “Saro-te”. And seeing me all of them shouted, “Saro-te, Saro-te”, I quickly recognized “Nnanna” and “Wiate” his half-brother, Nneka, Obua and Baringor. The rest I did not know so well.

None of them knew Barylex so I did the introduction. Barylex being a simple person did not find it difficult to acclimatize. The best treat, they gave us. We were at home indeed, until the day my Mum came to see us and to tell me of my Dad’s failing health.

She said that my Dad had been ill and he was hospitalized in a Clinic at Kira-Tai but that she would be moving him to a better hospital in Port Harcourt the following day because the Clinic was rag tagged. She had smuggled her way to Eleme just to see us.           

From then, I could not eat very well anymore. I started getting sick. My Dad, my Mum, my siblings, my education, my hometown, everything became a source of worry to my small heart. What if those wild Soldiers ran into my sick Dad on his way to the hospital? God forbid!

One day, Mum came back to inform us that my Dad was getting better and that soon we would return home to continue our education. What about Okuntimo and his mad Soldiers? I queried. My Mum told us they were still there but that they have ceased fire. Ceased fire? Who was fighting them, I wondered.

The brilliant performance of the Nigeria’s Super Eagles at the USA World Cup gave us little peace of mind. It was always played in the midnight and because our boys were doing impressively well at the mundial, everybody observed a compulsory wake keep for our own. This depressed our agitations and pains.

But the other side was the quasi-secret trial of Ken Saro-Wiwa and others by the Justice Ibrahim Auta Special Military Tribunal. This was another great pain for me. Ken has become my role model and mentor. I have been attending his rallies as a teenager (MOSOP rallies) since 1993. The one at Kpor, Bori, etc. I would snatch away our sports bicycle, ride it to attend MOSOP rallies. I was already getting addicted to Ken Saro-Wiwa.

Frankly speaking, Ken was a great talker. He was an eloquent man, a wonderful motivator and an exceptionally intelligent man. Ken had a good command of English, Khana, Tai, Gokana and Eleme languages. He would sing Gokana, Khana, Tai and Eleme songs to drive home the message of MOSOP.

He was very cheerful. I noticed at G.S.S Kpor in 1993 that Ken was very humorous, could crack jokes and laugh a great deal. One Chief Nyone, a 2nd Class Chief was asked to pray to kick-start the rally and the way and manner he prayed titillated Ken and so he laughed and laughed and laughed even aloud. I did not close my eyes, I concentrated on Ken, I wished I was like him.

When he rose up to speak everybody looked at him as though he was a small or deputy God. That day, his father, Pa Johnson Saro-Wiwa was in attendance of the rally.

Ken had taken the campaign to the door step of Aso Rock and to the International Community. Yet, the government of Nigeria despised him, incarcerated him, tortured him and finally on the 10th of November, 1995 (a Good Friday) Ken was gruesomely crucified while 5 gallons of acid was poured on his remains under the supervision of Lt. Col. Dauda Musa Komo (Milad, Rivers State), Justice Ibrahim Auta and some ministers and top government officials flew from Abuja to monitor the sad execution.

They videoed the hanging and extermination of Ken and took the movie to Abacha as his home video. Perhaps, Abacha is now watching the home video in hell.Ken left a prophecy behind, “You can only kill the messenger and not the message”. He said one day Nigeria and Shell would be on trial.

Today, all his prophecies have come to pass. A Niger Deltan later became the President of Nigeria. Who would have recognized a Niger Deltan in Aso Rock if not for the Niger Delta struggle by KenSaro-Wiwa and Isaac Adaka Boro?

The Niger Delta Youths have shown Nigeria and Shell that Ken Saro-Wiwa and Isaac AdakaBoro did not die in vain. Though the messengers have been slaughtered, the message prevails. And without mincing words, Nigeria may not know peace until the Niger Delta issues are resolved. This is because Nigeria has murdered peace: of course, Ken Saro-Wiwa and Isaac AdakaBoro did not die a natural death. I salute Ken Saro-Wiwa and other Ogoni Martyrs – for they fought a good fight of faith and courage and their traducers have been put to shame.