Winds Of Fire In The Niger Delta

Prologue:

Wicked people deserve to be shot.
Especially those who think they can escape judgment.
And I won't think twice before shooting them and face the consequences.
God said we should not accept the persons of the wicked.
God said we should get rid of the wicked.

Nneka could sense my fury as we sat in her aunt's Hot & Spicy restaurant on Bajulaiye Street in Shomolu, Lagos. She came closer to me.
“You know I can make you happy," she said.
I did not say a word.
She knew I loved her and for very good reasons. She deserved all my love. You would know those who truly love you in your darkest moments and not fair weather friends.
Nneka was my companion whenever I came to Shomolu. And we adored each other.
I composed a love poem for her during the Valentine, submitted it for a Valentine poetry contest on Rhythm FM, and won the prize. A cute white teddy bear I gave to her.
She knew how to comfort me. But I did not want her to know what I was thinking, because, I did not want her to change my mind.
My mission to Abuja had been a waste of time. The money the Federal Radio Corporation of Nigeria (FRCN) spent to accommodate me and my production manager in the Bolingo Hotel for three days and to pay for our return flight on Albarka would have been more useful if we spent it on a lucrative business venture.
That night I did not escort her home. I took an Ifesinachi luxury bus and left Lagos for the Niger Delta.
The die is cast.

I was in a very bad mood and I warned Shell International.
Shell said I should meet with Mr. Bisi Ojediran of the Shell Petroleum Development Company (SPDC) in Nigeria. And I met with him.
They wanted dialogue.
Even the most difficult problems could be solved in peace and not in pieces.
I was wondering if Shell thought I was in dire need of a shrink.
Even a shrink would fail to read my obscured mind.


It was as if the clouds were on fire as the gas flared over the darkened skies of the villages of Buguma and Eliama in the Niger Delta of Nigeria.

The fear-stricken villagers gaped and gasped, petrified by the hellish sight of the inferno above their heads. Whoever thought the winds could be set on fire as the white man has been doing since he struck oil in the village of Oloibiri in 1956. The villagers have been living in fear and trembling, with their hearts in their mouths, harrowing and sorrowing in the nightmares of oil spillages, fire outbreaks and gas-flares worsened by the bloody gun-battles between feuding natives, rival illegal oil “bunkerers” and corrupt operatives of the armed forces of Nigeria and their foreign accomplices. Their tales of woes are endless. And the epileptic interventions of both the foreign oil and gas companies and the government have been far and in-between in alleviating the plight of the poor masses of the villages of Buguma and Eliama. They have become mere pawns on the chessboard of their exploiters and only the Almighty God can save them from their perpetual predicament. So, they have been told by the itinerant Christian missionaries coming to preach the good news to them to comfort them and soothe their frayed nerves. So, they have been flocking to the churches and assembly grounds in their villages to pour out their lamentations and outcries unto God to intervene and deliver them from their wicked oppressors who seem not to fear God or man. But, while still waiting on the Lord, they cannot fold their arms and watch as industrial hazards and chemical pollutions of the crude oil and gas exploration and production destroy their rivers, streams, creeks, wells, ponds, waterways, vegetation, and their livestock.

“We cannot drink polluted water and we cannot continue to inhale the polluted air!”

“The oil spillages pollute our water and the gas flares pollute our air.  Poisoned water and poisoned air have been damaging our organs, reducing our lifespan and causing the loss of hundreds of innocent lives in premature deaths.”
They lamented.
They have been languishing between the devil and the deep blue sea.

“Look!  Look!  Look at the casualties of the hostilities in our villages as our hungry and angry youths fight over oilfields, oil wells, and pipelines.  See the Biafrians and the Busboys on rampage!  See the havoc they have caused!  Who will pay for the damages and who will compensate us?  See the mass graves!”
“The discovery of crude oil has brought us nothing but misery!”
Lamented Pa Wakama, an aged elder in Buguma village.  And the lamentations of the other villagers continued to echo in crescendo from the cockcrows at dawn to hoots of the owl at nightfall.  And what do they want the oil companies and the government to do to put an end to their misery?

“Until the winds of change blow over these winds of fire, we will continue to harrow in sorrow in misery till tomorrow,” concluded Dukena Fubara, a gangling young man who can no longer continue his fishing, because the oil spillages have polluted the waters of their rivers, streams and ponds.
“Until the winds of change blow over these winds of fire…”
The words echo in the air even as the dark clouds gather above our heads as the gas was still being flared like winds of fire blowing over the skies.
Until…

The agitations, contentions, and disputations over crude oil resource control have been the chronicles of the tragedies in the annals of the history of the Niger Delta of Nigeria.  Their history is the story of their misery.
“Our history is written with our blood as it is shed in the waters as we bleed in the bloodletting ethnic conflicts in our villages,” said Dukena who said he has learnt so much from the writings of Ken Saro-Wiwa, the legendary martyr of the Ogoni people. Saro-Wiwa was hanged by the draconian military junta of the late Nigerian tyrant Gen. Sani Abacha in 1995.Because Saro-Wiwa mobilized his native Ogoni clan to fight for their human rights and resource control. Saro-Wiwa woke up his people from their slumber. To get over their sleeping sickness caused by the tsetse flies of the swamps polluted by the oil spillages.  And since then, his ghost seems to be haunting the foreign oil companies that were implicated in the conspiracy to kill Saro-Wiwa.  The oil companies and the natives themselves are no longer at ease in the Niger Delta.
“And they will never be at ease until…”
Winds of change blow over these winds of fire.

Their lamentations will continue to pierce into my ears as long as their tribulations continue.  And I am bearing the throes of their woes, because I am one of them.  I am a son of the soil.  I am from Buguma.  And as they say, “blood is thicker than water”.

They have not allowed me to rest since I returned home from Abuja six days ago.  Abuja is the capital of Nigeria and I work there as a clerk at the National Assembly Complex.  But my kith and kin assume I work in the corridors of power, because Abuja is the seat of the Federal Government.  So, they expect me to echo their lamentations to the government in Abuja.  I am writing down their pleas for the interventions of the government and the oil companies to address their contentions and redress their distress, lest their SOS distress calls will continue to echo in crescendo. And I must not disappoint them. Even, my own beloved Somina will be heartbroken if I fail to carry their distress calls to Abuja. She is ill. And her illness, an inflammation of the skin, they told me was caused by an air-borne disease attributed to the emissions of poisonous gas from the oil and gas installations in our villages. She was even ashamed to visit me in the broad daylight. She was hiding from me until I visited her. And she only came to see me in the night under the cover of darkness. So, I cannot ignore the predicament of my people. They are my heart and soul.
“Wakama, see my body. Sores are all over my body. I can no longer step out in the sun, because it is more painful in the heat of the sunlight. So, I am resisted indoors. How can we wed when I cannot be seen in the open?”
Somina sobbed.
“Don’t cry my love. The doctor said it will heal,” I said with my arms around her shoulders.
The medicated powder she rubbed on her body stained my arms and my tunic. But I did not mind. I was heart broken for the pains my beloved Somina was enduring.
“The wounds will heal, but the scars will remain,” she said.
“The scars will disappear later,” I said.
“But, it has delayed our wedding,” she grunted.
“But, I still love you. And no matter the delay, I will be there for you,” I said affirmatively.
I kissed her lips regardless of the sores on her face. And I used my palms to wipe away her tears.

Somina’s brothers and sisters were seeing some lawyers. They wanted to sue the multinational oil company operating in our area. I did not join them in the suit. I have lost confidence in the law courts in Nigeria. If the judiciary couldn’t save the life of Ken Saro-Wiwa and the other Ogoni activists who were murdered by hanging, what can the judiciary do for us? I did not want to waste my precious time in going to court where there is no rule of law.   
“Until winds of change blow over these winds of fire.”

Then Tamunokuro drove into Buguma in his brand new white Toyota Land Cruiser jeep. And the village kids milled around him in excitement.
“Tamunokuro LNG! Tamunokuro LNG! Tamunokuro LNG!”
The children chorused and Tamunokuro distributed packets of goodies to them.

Tamunokuro is my kinsman whom the Nigeria LNG trained overseas and returned to work as one of the LNG operators on Bonny Island. He comes home to Buguma every weekend to visit his parents and to distribute some provisions to the poor and needy ones in our midst.

His family was very poor until the Nigeria LNG employed him and they are now very comfortable.

Tamunokuro has agreed to help the youths to acquire either the technical or academic skills we require for gainful employment in the oil and gas industry and other places as he did. And we are cooperating with him to work together in peace and unity to support ourselves to propel the momentum of the winds of change.
“One plus one equals to two. Wakama is in the National Assembly in Abuja. Yes, he is an office clerk today, but tomorrow he may become the President of the Senate,” Tamunokuro said to the gathering of youths at the village square.
I nodded with broad smiles. “Tamuno! You read my mind. Today a messenger, tomorrow a minister,” I said.
The others clapped in approval.
“From one acorn sown the oak tree is grown,” said Dukena.
“Dukena, the poet!”
We hailed him.
“Yes, from one we increase to one million!” Tamunokuro said.
‘My brothers and sisters, we must stop destroying our properties and ourselves! Because, only fools kill themselves and set fire to their homes, only to be weeping later in apologies and regrets.  Had I known will not bring back the dead and will not heal our wounds.” He stated emphatically. I heard groans and grunts. And some sighs.
I swallowed saliva.
“The oil rigs, flow stations, refineries, pipelines, depots, filling stations, oil tankers and the rest of all the goods and properties of the oil and gas industries belong to us. They are on our land. And the “oyinbo” white men and women working on our land cannot take or carry them away whenever they leave Nigeria. And those who do not belong here will one day go away, back to where they came from or elsewhere. And everything they leave behind will belong to us. By and by, the strangers will return to their own land. And leave all these oil and gas companies to you and me!”
Tamunokuro said and we all nodded affirmatively with a chorus of words of agreement and applause in one accord.
“Our children and children’s children will inherit them. Therefore, we should cooperate and support the white men to keep on helping us to develop our communities. And we must acquire the technical know-how and education we require to take over from them as soon as we can. We should take advantage of the scholarships they are giving to sponsor us to the universities, polytechnics, colleges of education and other schools in Nigeria and abroad to enable us acquire the skills we need to manage our abundant natural resources for our common good. So, let us thank God for sending us the white man,” Tamunokuro concluded. We clapped in approval and the drummers beat their tom-tom drums.
I stood up and cleared my throat.
All eyes were on me. All ears were erect in attention. The sun was setting.
I greeted them and they hailed me to speak.
“The white man is not our enemy!” I began.
“Our enemy is our fellow Blackman who cheats and steals from us. Who vandalized our oil pipelines and flow stations and who attacks us to kill us and set our villages on fire! The trouble makers and trouble shooters in our midst who collect money from wicked illegal oil “bunkerers” and corrupt politicians to cause trouble and riots, so that they can fish in the troubled waters of the Niger Delta. And you know them…the devils in our villages and towns and cities. From Buguma to Degema, from Nembe to Eleme, and from the Niger Delta to Abuja!” I said.
They nodded. I nodded. We concurred.
“Enough is enough!” I shouted.
“The time has come to call on all our elders, our fathers and our mothers in particular to go naked and swear that anyone of their sons that will not let us live in peace should die. They gave birth to these sons of the soil who have turned into demons and vampires on rampage. And they must REPENT OR PERISH!” I concluded.
Deafening choruses of agreement echoed in crescendo.
“Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!”
They shouted and nodded in unison. The drummers beat the drums aloud and we started chanting and singing our native songs of solidarity. Many of us began a native dance.  We shared drinks with different edible fruits and roots we ate with smoked fish and snails. We shook hands and patted our backs in peace and unity as we left for our respective homes. Clutching torch- lights to enable us see the way in the darkness of the nightfall.

Then, the good news came. That Asari Dokubo and Ateke Tom had gone to Abuja to meet with the President of Nigeria and members of the Executive Council who convinced them to disarm and disband their militias. And they agreed to make peace. Then they had peace rallies in Port Harcourt, Buguma, Tobia, Okrika and other communities. They swore in a ritual oath to bury the machete and live in peace and unity. Ateke Tom disarmed his militia and surrendered over 600 rifles and 800 rounds of ammunition to the government.  I was very happy to hear the good news and we all rejoiced in Buguma.

Tamunokuro and I met later.
“Our villages deserve to be developed as the other villages enjoying the social amenities and public utilities provided by Shell and the other oil companies in the Niger Delta,” I said.
“We must replace all the thatched huts with modern houses. And we must stop drinking brown water from the polluted ponds and rivers. And we must have power supply to give us light. Because, we cannot continue to live in darkness while other villages around us are living in the bright lights,” said Tamunokuro.
“We must petition them to extend the goodwill to us,” I agreed.


I met with the various leaders of the youths. All these efforts were meant to mobilize and sensitize our people to eschew violence and embrace peace. In fact, I spent all my money on transport fares, until I had to walk for miles on foot when I did not have any more cash on me. But, I was not discouraged. Because, we either live in peace or we shall perish in pieces.

In the night I had a strange dream.
I saw an elderly village woman in our native attire. She was appealing to me in our mother tongue.
“Come over to Tombia. Come and help us,” she said plaintively.
That was all. And I woke up.


Then, George Condition an officer in the Nigerian Army came to see me to follow him to meet with his own people in Sangana located in Akassa in the state of Bayelsa. And I obliged to meet with them in their town hall. Later, George took me to the banks of the sea to show me the oil on canvas painting he was doing.
“You know I am also an artist,” he said.
“Yeah. Let me see,” I said.
It was a large painting he was doing on the easel.
“It is called, Riches of the Niger Delta. It is my project at the Yaba College of Technology,” George said.
“It is good,” I said.
I did not want to waste time, because Tamunokuro was waiting for me in our village.
   
Tamunokuro has taken me to Eleme and Finima to show me the modern social amenities they are enjoying like the urban towns and cities of Lagos and Abuja.Finima was a jungle twenty years ago. But now see what the Nigeria LNG has done for Finima! The Residential Areas of the Nigeria LNG senior staff are like the replicas of the American and European towns I have seen on TV. It is like heaven on earth! And I look forward to the fine day when Buguma will look like this small London on Bonny Island.
“Tamunokuro, we must have schools, health centers, good water supply and power supply like Finima and the rest of Bonny Island. After all, what is good for the goose is good for the gander.” So, we agreed that we should cooperate and support the government and the oil companies to develop our villages in peace and unity without resorting to any acts of violence. Because, violence is an ill wind that blows nothing but destruction like the hurricane. So, let the winds of change blow over these winds of fire of gas flares and gunfire and let the winds of peace and unity blow over us in the New Dawn in the Niger Delta.

Thanks for reading.

The story is not fiction.