Open letter to General Muhammadu Buhari

Dear General Buhari,

I sincerely believe you should not contest next year’s presidential election. Of course, if we are asking you to stay off, NOBODY should even contemplate mentioning the name of Gen. Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida. In a decent country, Babangida should be in jail or already hanged for multiple murders. So, this letter is just about you, who some of us still consider a very decent human being with some flaws.

You were an icon of moral rectitude and genuine patriotism until your sojourn with the late despot, Gen. Sani Abacha, as Chairman of the defunct Petroleum Trust Fund (PTF). While Abacha’s murderous regime lasted, not for once did we hear you insist that the right things must be done. You were there when Alhaja Kudirat Abiola was murdered. You propped Abacha up when Pa Alfred Rewane was murdered in the comfort of his home. And there were others like that including protesters who were killed for insisting that the results of a democratic election be respected and the winner announced.

As PTF Chairman, you were an ethnic champion with the way projects under your supervision were executed. The Lagos/Ibadan Expressway, Shagamu/Benin Expressway and their Ibadan/Ilorin counterpart became death traps because you deliberately ignored these national arteries of commerce and social mobilisation due to a myopic vision of ‘punishing’ the Yoruba Nation for standing up to Abacha.

The restiveness in the Niger Delta region would have been contained a bit if the funds under your supervision as PTF Chairman were used effectively to put in place good infrastructure in the oil producing areas, where you got the money from. Instead, between 80 – 90% of PTF’s activities were concentrated in the North-West sub-region, which is your home area. And in the South-East, the deplorable state of the federal roads there is more than enough proof that the PTF under your watch was more interested in other places. You did nothing there.

For a man who often takes on former President Olusegun Obasanjo as an ethnic champion, your record in office as PTF Chairman and Obasanjo’s eight years as president shows the Ota Chicken Farmer to be more nationalistic than you in every ramification. Obasanjo left the Yoruba Nation in 2007 as he met it in 1999. The federal roads around us remain the same. Same with other infrastructure, which is why residents along the banks of Ogun River continue to suffer from the negative fallouts of overflow from the Federal Government owned Oyan Dam in Ogun State.

Kindly note that one is not accusing you of being corrupt. No. We want a leader who is acceptable to all segments of our society. Such a leader must also be courageous enough to face the entrenched Oligarchy/Godfathers who thrive on corruption and impunity to perpetually put Nigeria in bondage. You have some of these qualities. But being an ethnic champion, you cannot be the new face of Nigeria that this country desperately needs. Hope you remember your ethnic trip to former Oyo State Governor, Alhaji Lam Adesina, while the old man was still in office?

And don’t think I dislike you because of your leadership of the Fulani cause across Nigeria and other parts of West Africa. No. My best friend, Ahmadu Adamu, is a thoroughbred Fulani from Gembu Town in Taraba State. If I die today, he is the first person who knows what to do about my immediate family. And in Kaduna, which is my second home, some of the key people I rely on in life are Fulanis. We are like blood relations. But in matters like these, emotions should not be part of it. You should rest assured that your candidacy will not fly in about 80 – 90% of Southern Nigeria.

General, you are a deeply religious person. And despite your failings during the Abacha days, you are one of the few moral icons Nigeria has today. I know the average Northern Talakawa holds you in very high esteem. During my recent sojourn in Kaduna, Katsina, Kano, Sokoto, Kebbi and Abuja, my usual destination for food was among these men who enjoy pap with beans cake (kose/akara) spiced with ground pepper early in the morning. You have a cult-like following among them. From my study, I know it has to do with your moral uprightness.

But in the same places, the very opposite is true among the upper class and majority of the middle class. A number of them believe it has to do with your original status in life, in which they claim (like the Indians) you should ‘know your place’. I do not agree with that at all. But as pointed out earlier, I am a realist who does not use emotions to take decisions. In your part of Nigeria, it is the upper class who directs things. The middle and lower classes always fall in line. These decision makers do not want a Buhari to be president for their own reasons.

However, the same people who are working against your candidacy, respects Mr. Nuhu Ribadu. Their major worry is that like you, he might want to stop their illicit running down of every segment of the Northern society and Nigeria as a whole. But till date, at least, from my findings, they have not been able to pin any negative ‘caste’ label on Ribadu. The only issue remains Ribadu’s uncompromising stance against corruption, which they fear could deny them their status if the man is elected president.

You have the same traits with Ribadu when it comes to work and orientation about what a decent society should be like. The only difference is that, Ribadu is very acceptable to Southerners and grudgingly so among the upper class in Northern Nigeria. Ribadu’s acceptability among the Northern middle class is also on the same level with the South. You control the Talakawas there almost 100%. But you and I know that on election day in your part of Nigeria, these downtrodden members of the society will vote and leave voting centres which could be hundreds of miles apart. It is the middle and upper classes who determine the results of elections in Northern Nigeria.

If you contest the presidential election, there is no doubt the ruling Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) will retain its stranglehold on Northern Nigeria given the fact that your supporters cannot do the needful on election day apart from voting and leaving the place. Of course, you should not consider getting much support from the South because of the reasons mentioned earlier. The fact is that you’ll lose! Unfortunately, if I read you correctly, there is nothing dearer to your heart than a replacement of the current corrupt and visionless Federal Government.

Given the above, I’ll strongly suggest you throw your weight behind Ribadu as Nigeria’s next president. He is young, vibrant and has the same orientation like yourself. What is more, he has enormous goodwill in Southern Nigeria. Beyond the issue of personal ambition, I sincerely believe you should not allow this opportunity to pass us by in 2011. You definitely cannot win. But you can assist another, who is like you, to win. It is like another battlefield. Soldiers often sacrifice themselves strategically for their colleagues to achieve a difficult objective. Those are the real heroes of war!

Wale Adedayo,

Okeliwo, Oke Ife,

Ijebu Ife,

Ogun State, Nigeria.

Journalism is my life

By Wale Adedayo

I have always been inquisitive for as long as I can remember. But the intellectual aspect of this urge to know what is hidden behind the screen was apparently nurtured by being made the Library Prefect of my elementary school at about 10 years of age.

I devoured virtually all the books in the small library of my village school, Oke Ife Baptist Primary School, Ijebu Ife, Ogun State, Nigeria. These were mainly adventure books for pre-teenagers, e.g Simbad the sailor and the like. Of course, a village Egbon, the late Mr. Kayode Otusanya (his dad is the current Baale of my village, Okeliwo), seeing my interest in reading, had introduced me to books written in Yoruba language earlier. These include D. O. Fagunwa’s Ogboju Ode Ninu Igbo Irunmole and Igbo Olodumare, which I read while in Primary Five.

There was a Miss Adekoya  from Ibadan too. She was my class teacher in Primary Four (1974). Despite one’s less than nice looks at the time, I was her favourite because of quality responses to comprehension and reading. I never starved all through the session in her class because the lady would always share the food she brought to school daily with me during break. My repayment was to do very well in studies. But the most outstanding was Pa Oyemade from Idofe, Oke Ife in Ijebu Ife. Oyemade regularly organises after school classes – free of charge – for a number of us. And the old man NEVER discriminated between pupils who went to the Moslem School, Idofe and the Baptist one to which he belonged.

In addition, till date, I do not know where the old man got the energy from, because he was old at the time. Oyemade will take a gong, gather a few pupils around him, and walk the length and breadth of Oke Ife on Saturdays singing about the need for education to parents who were mainly farmers and never wanted their children to leave the farm and go to school. He would stop and engage some in one-on-one discussion sometimes.

I shed tears each time I remember his selfless service, which was one of the reasons that made me return to the same Ijebu Ife in December 2004 to give back to the community given the opportunities at my disposal till January 2009. And as our people would pray, Olodumare a de ile ure ri Baba Oyemade. Owon omo re a ri alaanu. Aanu Olodumare, iyen ma yin won nu. Dede owon Osi  Ijebu Ife re ma duro ti won. Ni agbara Osi, ni agbara ore, dede oore ri Iba won se ri Ulu Ijebu Ife, ohun ne ri owon omo Oluko Agba Oyemade ma je ere re. To!

Being a mission school (it was free, we did not pay a dime as school fees), story books based on Biblical character were also in abundance. I read all these with keen interest as well. It was later in life, especially when I began a professional journalism career at the prestigious The Guardian newspaper in Lagos (April, 1992), I realised that these books were the foundation of the strings of words which I unusually tie together to create a gripping narrative or features.

But my two years stay in Zumratul Islamiyyah Grammar School, Igbogbo, Ikorodu, Lagos was also a blessing. As one of the first set of students taken to Igbogbo from the former Railway Line, Yaba, Lagos site in 1979, my first year in a high school was almost like a continuation of that in Ijebu Ife. The previous year spent to repeat Primary Six at Faz-l-Omar Ahmadiyyah School, Okesuna, Lagos (1978 – 1979) was not particularly fantastic in terms of new things in reading. 

But it was a welcome development since one could not secure High School admission after leaving Primary Six in Ijebu Ife in 1977. Zumratul Islamiyyah Grammar School Library featured books and magazines I later encountered in Ogun State University Library in 1996. It was in the school, tucked away in a remote part of Igbogbo at the time, that I saw my first copy of Time and Newsweek magazines in 1979.

As a Form One student, it was fascinating reading about the Iran-Iraq war, especially the very high casualty rate among the Iranian citizen army. The school regularly stock its library with different books and magazines. But friends, especially Muyideen (we call him, Obinrin – he looked every inch like a girl, and were in Form 1A and 2A along with Lateef Dosunmu), whose surname I’ve forgotten now, introduced me to Comics. Richie Rich, Spiderman and the Fantastic Four were my favourites till 1981, when I switched to novels, especially James Hardley Chase. A friend that we grew up together in Idioro, Biodun Akanro, eventually became an endless supplier of James Hardley Chase novels to me.

But a baptism in early morning newspaper reading was done for me by my immediate elder brother, Dayo. Beginning from 1981 when he left High School, Egbon would always buy Daily Sketch and Nigerian Tribune from his meagre Agege bread and ewa Aganyin feeding allowance. Once he finished reading, it was my turn to devour the newspapers and was like that till he went to the School of Agriculture, Moor Plantation,Ibadan, Oyo State for his higher education.

My Uncle, Engr. Joseph Bejide, indirectly introduced me to bookss about Eastern religious beliefs. It was in his small but well-stocked library at his Ogba, Lagos home I first read all the books by Lobsang Rampa and the crisis in the Chinese-occupied Tibet shortly after leaving High School in 1984. This was the same year that Major Adewale Ademoyega had swept me off with his fantastic narration of how the 15 January 1966 coup was executed.

Other American authors were also well represented in my uncle’s library. Thus, when I was introduced to the Grail Message (I finished the three volumes in my 100 level in Ogun State University), I felt it was not different from Guru Maharaji or Awolowo’s Rosicrucians, given what I had learnt reading from my uncle’s library. But despite the fact that I did not continue with the Grail Message (i.e become a full member), it was the books that gave me a better idea of relating with the Christian message, thus making my conversion to Christianity easier.

In explaining how Jesus Christ could be Son of God, my Ijebu traditional beliefs and Muslim one were taken through how the Abiku and other less desired children often get into a woman. Being spirits, there is no physical boundary that can deter them. But they need a physical body to manifest in if they have an assignment on this side of the divide. More on that for another day because one had a little baptism in traditional beliefs while growing up in Ijebu Ife, where the wise ones, well versed in esoteric words (Oro Ife or Oro Ijimji), still practise their vocations.

But shortly after the experience at my uncle’s in 1985, before I found myself at the Selection Board interview of NDA’s 37^th Regular Course. And despite the Commandant’s special commendation given to me for honesty and exemplary behaviour, I left Kaduna for University of Ilorin and from there to Ogun State University, where the library under Mrs Wole Soyinka welcomed me with open arms. Instead of staying in class with fellow medical students in my 100 level days, I was either reading one non-science book or magazine, or writing the latest story in Yankari Girls Reserve (female hostel in Ago Iwoye, very close to the mini campus). It was in Ogun State University Library the idea of Trends magazine first came to me.

Being a Science graduate – Zoology , my friends had expected I would end up on the Science Desk of The Guardian newspaper. But as fate would have it, the Desk had been suspended before I joined in April 1992. It was on the Foreign Desk of The Guardian that I cut my teeth as a professional journalist. Head, Foreign Desk, at the time, Hugo Odiogor, was a hard teacher and one of the best hands in Foreign Affairs reporting in Nigeria. And I doubt if he can ever survive outside a newsroom or classroom (teaching journalism). But till date, I cannot understand why he left journalism for good.

The News Editor at the time I was employed, Ogbuagu Anikwe, stands out for one thing: “I don’t care how badly you write, just go and get the story for me. We’ll do the re-writing here.” The fear of a fresh blood is that your material will be rejected and you become a subject of ridicule because of inability to measure up to standards. Not so with Anikwe and his crew. The first law is to get the story. He will sometimes invite you to explain certain things. Thus, in my first week as a test candidate, I had two page one stories, which was a feat for even those who have spent years with The Guardian. Colleagues began peeping into the small office beside the Editor’s, Eluem Emeka Izeze, to ask who Adewale Adedayo is. I began to feel like a journalist from then on.

Izeze was almost always like a Pastor from the very first day I met him. In an instant, his shouts of “mooooove” will almost confuse you. And he will be banging the table where you are writing in long hand (‘Move’, in the Izeze parlance, means “Write fast and give me the story”). In another instant, he’ll look at you with the kind-heartedness of a credible Pastor and ask after your welfare. Sometimes, you’ll be shocked how he got to know certain personal things. He will not allow any editorial staff to resign until he was sure of where you were headed. And it was not being done on behalf of the Management. I believe it was the Pastor in him. Izeze is a member of the top echelon of Deeper Life Bible Church. But it took me a while before I knew this. My first impression was that of a firm, but kind-hearted Editor.

Up till now, it awes me when I look back and realise that nothing brings pleasure to me more than writing a critical analysis of something I observed. It goes beyond writing a captivating copy for my newspaper. It could even explain why I have found it so difficult making a change to broadcast journalism despite pressures from friends to join the initial wave of entrants to the early boom of independent television in Nigeria.

I write with ease. And the appropriate expressions unusually find their way into my subconscious from where I pour them down. Sometimes, especially after checking the dictionary and confirming the genuineness of what I had written, it amazes me how such words got stored in my head. But given the benefit of being a pupil of that mission school (Oke Ife Baptist Primary School) in my formative years, I believe that the foundation was laid there.

Beyond writing, my values as a journalist revolve around what the former Chairman of the Nigeria Union of Journalists (NUJ) in Lagos State, Mr. Lanre Arogundade, would describe as Journalism with Social Responsibility. It is my belief that I have deliberately elected to be the eyes and ears of the average member of the public in the discharge of my work.  While, I would not like to describe myself as an activist, maltreatment of others by those in higher social or professional positions offend my sensibilities. Often I find myself making attempts to assist the ‘unfortunate person’.

But in the same vein, I also detest so-called oppressed people going to the extreme in agitating for what they believe is their right. During my university days, colleagues often find it difficult to understand these two aspects of my life. I was involved in student activism as a campus ‘comrade’ and campus journalist. I published a weekly magazine, Trends, during my days as a student in Ogun State University (1996 – 1990). But I would also be among the first set of students to organise opposition against any attempt to burn or destroy properties around the campus during protests.

The erroneous belief among most student activists in Nigeria at the time was that, any agitation that was not violent could not make a meaningful impact on the authorities concerned. But a similar experience during my student days at the University of Ilorin (1985 – 1986) produced fantastic results without a single incidence of violence. Thus, my answer, after the Unilorin experience, has always been that, whatever that is destroyed will have more impact on the ordinary people and students instead of Nigeria’s ‘Big Men’ and those in authorities. Unlike abroad, all the telephone booths destroyed by Yabatech and Unilag students along my street on Agege Motor Road, Mushin, Lagos during protests against IBB in the late 1980s have not been replaced till date!

This may also not be unconnected with my experience while growing up. I stayed with my grandparents in our village, Okeliwo,  Ijebu Ife (1970 – 1977), following the family’s return from Monrovia, Liberia in 1970. It was after dad’s death in 1972 that my elder brothers, Dayo and Ibrahim, left Children’s Home School, Ibadan, to join me in Okeliwo. But during those first six years in school, there was no electricity in Ijebu Ife. For us in Okeliwo, pipe borne water flowed once a week at the central tap for the community of seven villages that make up Oke Ife. I was opportuned to donate a borehole with generating set to the village in 2006. I also gave two desktop computers and a laserjet printer to my primary school in 2007.

But while there, what served us for drinking and other purposes was the stream (Eri Okeliwo and Odo Odosennuwa) that passed through all seven villages of the community as if it is a permanent bond trying to unite us. Passing of excreta and urine directly was disallowed. But we swim and wash clothes directly into the stream. An unwritten law, which could destroy native protection against bullets and machetes later made more sense to me when I remembered this village setting. If you have ‘eaten’ any of those things or have them on your person, you cannot urinate or pass excrement into ANY stream in whatever part of the world you find yourself. Our people were only trying to be environmentally friendly!

It was on getting to Lagos for high school education I discovered a different world. It was as if my village belonged to another time. Health, recreation, feeding and other matters received prompt attention unlike back in the village. The activities of my maternal grandfather, who we lived with, then began making sense to me. It was not punishment that we had to go into the bush far beyond Tirosogun before we can return for breakfast every Saturdays and Sundays. It was from the ‘Egan’ we often get meat from traps set for different animals including snakes. Wood for cooking was also from the same places. And we usually leave home about 6am shortly after the old man would have finished his early morning Islamic prayer, Subhi.

Apart from being a part-time herbalist, grandpa, Chief Sedun Adeeko, was also a village activist, if there could be anything like that. And more than once had entered the bad books of his colleagues on the village elders council. But he was pragmatic enough to know that compromise applied with a measure of diplomacy helps more than a rigid position in tackling issues. He was to later become the village chief before his death in 1988.

These early experiences have assisted me greatly in the course of my work. The books from the mission school have been of tremendous help for my vocabulary and understanding of issues. But the most significant has been the experiences with my grandfather in the village.

I prefer to do extra work in trying to understand a story than just rushing out to write it. These painstaking efforts to understand all the sides in a story could rile some in Nigeria’s often volatile socio-political climate. You are expected to support one side or go against them. And in a polity where the print media is the major beacon in directing the people’s political thoughts, this, to me, is unacceptable.

Above all, I am not given to being in a place for too long. I enjoy change, which is like an elixir to me. Journalism has afforded me the opportunity of enjoying this aspect of my life.

*This updated piece was first written on 27^th December 2000.

Bimbo Odukoya: Elegy for an uncommon Christian wife*

By Wale Adedayo

“My soul doth magnify the Lord, My Spirit praise His Name, For death could not hold Him captive, Even in the grave, Jesus is Lord!” – Pentecostal Christian song.

Pastor Bimbo Odukoya’s death, through last Saturday’s plane crash, shocked many, especially Christian brethren. A cynical friend at Jumlar Petrol Station, Ikorodu, Lagos on Monday sarcastically asked why she boarded a plane the Pastor should have known would crash. That is why the Yoruba would say, “May God not give room for critics to rejoice in our calamity”.

The Sosoliso Airline plane crash also claimed the lives of at least 70 youngsters and others, whose fate would have shocked many as well. And the questions that continue on as many lips as possible include, why did God allow this to happen? Why do so many innocent kids have to die? For some, despite prayers against disasters this month, it is as if God did not honour the requests of those who lost their loved ones.

The most interesting in all of these, for me, is the question on the lips of Christians: Why? Despite sermons and countless books about understanding how (not why) bad things happen, most Christians, naturally, still fall victim of despondency when such things happen. After all, John who baptised Jesus was also a victim (Matthew 10:2).

Unfortunately, almost throughout the history of the Church, tribulations have often been its life blood. This is mainly because we do not worship God because of the good things and protection offered to us. As with Daniel and his co-workers (Daniel 3:17 – 18), a Christian will remain one irrespective of what happens on this side of the divide with a firm conviction that God is sovereign.

The loved ones of righteous and worthy examples of true Christians occasionally experience such pains and anguish that many regret being who they are. On such occasions, individuals and groups that do not profess Christ, or even God, get their opportunity to display a crass ignorance of how the Almighty works.

Whether it was Abel (Genesis 4:8), Stephen (Acts 7:58 – 60) or those others, who faced untold tribulations (Hebrews 11:36 – 38), God’s people have a rich history of translations into glory that many do not understand. Even that of the Lord Jesus Christ was not different as Satan and his minions were initially jubilant when the Son of God was nailed to the cross. As the disciples scattered and the few valiant ones, especially the female brethren, wore long faces, the kingdom of darkness was happy it had been victorious.

The resurrection of our Lord on the third day of His crucifixion was the proof that later spurred the disciples into action about what the unsearchable ways of God were. Strengthened by the Holy Spirit, which was poured out without measure for the first time, the message of redemption that Satan and his admirers believed had perished with Jesus Christ on the cross at Calvary gained a momentum never witnessed before in the history of man.

There is no doubt that Mrs Odukoya was one of the builders of modern Nigeria . Along with her husband, Pastor Taiwo Odukoya, their ministry has been redirecting the lives of millions of Nigerians back to the path of right living. In a country where the average person believes that might is right and nothing can ever work, this Christian couple, especially Bimbo, joined other oases in our parched land to ensure that the rot in our society does not continue.

Individuals are the components of any society. Along with each family in such a society, the future of the people is assured or doomed depending on the disposition of both groups to right living. Once these are compromised, that society is headed in the wrong direction with dire consequences for its well being. The Odukoyas ministry is to build lives based on right living, thus a nation destined for greatness. There is no better Christian service than this.

It is now time for those who have passed through the mills of the Fountain of Life Church, Ilupeju, Lagos, Nigeria to blossom and let loose a reign of righteous living in Nigeria. Fountain of Lifers should reach out into every nook and cranny of Nigeria with Christ’s message of redemption anchored on the need to change individual lives.

Irrespective of what the conscious and unconscious agents of darkness may say, Mrs Odukoya’s death should serve as a catalyst to spur those whose lives she has touched into action about the need to change our society. Who knows whose turn it will be tomorrow? We should be able to say with a heart full of thanks to God that we have done what He required us to do in our immediate environment before going home to join Him.

-----------------------------

*This article was first published on Tuesday, 13 December, 2005 to honour the memory of a Christian soldier, 

Pastor (Mrs) Bimbo Odukoya,

 who was called home .

Osun State: 2011 should be AC’s concern

By Wale Adedayo

With the manner the issue has gone on thus far, I'll personally advise the Action Congress (AC) gubernatorial candidate, Alh. Rauf Aregbesola, to cease all legal fireworks concerning the disputed April 14, 2007 election, which the Tribunal has given to Prince Olagunsoye Oyinlola. One is not a Prophet. But almost three and half years down the line out of a four-year mandate, even with a possible AC victory at the Court of Appeal, Oyinlola would have served out a full term.

It is also possible Oyinlola wins the appeal, that is, if Aregbesola insists on another round of legal battle. And given past experiences, this is very much likely to be so. I feel the AC should just go back to the drawing board and prepare better for 2011, which is around the corner. Against enormous odds, AC did very well in Osun State during the 2007 elections.

As it happened in Ekiti State, it fought a ruling party greatly assisted by a close affinity to Nigeria’s centre of power and patronage in Abuja. In addition, the party also fought a hand-to-hand political combat with former insiders, who because they were aggrieved switched sides to the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), giving Oyinlola’s men enormous advantage in knowing some of the tactics and key personalities that AC deployed for the election.

Osun and Ekiti states give a bird’s eye view of the self-inflicted deep wounds given to majority of those who belong to the late Chief Obafemi Awolowo’s School of Politics. In-fighting drove a number of them into different political parties when the Alliance for Democracy (AD) and Afenifere were allowed to self-destruct.

The old guard Afenifere led by Pa Reuben Fasoranti has almost all its members in the Democratic Peoples Alliance (DPA). A number of those who followed these old men also joined the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP). But those who believed in the Asiwaju Bola Tinubu-inspired Afenifere led by Senator Ayo Fasanmi went with Alhaji Atiku Abubakar into the AC. They formed the bulk of AD members as a number of them also joined the PDP, especially after the rancorous party primaries of the AC towards the 2007 elections.

AC’s nemesis in the South-West, especially Osun, Ogun and Ekiti states, is not the PDP or its core members, who are mainly conservative elements reminiscent of the Second Republic National Party of Nigeria (NPN). AC’s nemesis remains those who should naturally have been members of the party, but now belong to the PDP. They know AC members inside-out. Whether it is tactics, strategy or other things, these old AD members in PDP know how to contain their former colleagues.

And that is why kudos must be given to the AC members in both Osun and Ekiti states that despite the odds stacked against them – Abuja, incumbency factor and former colleagues working for the other side – they were able to stand tall with the number of seats they have in the Houses of Assembly in both states. It is a sure testament to political sagacity and acrobatic organisational abilities.

But despite all of the above, my advice remains. If the statesman attitude of former United States Vice President Al Gore is anything to go by, Aregbesola should adopt the same posture with moderation in that the AC should allow him to run without any stress of a challenger for the 2011 race. The interest of Osun State should be more paramount at this stage than individual or party interest.

Why? As long as the case continues to drag on, those at the helm of affairs in the state will definitely not be at peace irrespective of postures to the contrary. In our clime, ‘opposition’ elements within that polity will definitely pay for supporting ‘our enemies’. These would have had its debilitating effects on governance despite the brave face Oyinlola’s people have been putting up.

For a tenure that is less than one year to expire, I don’t see anything wrong in letting go, if only to ensure that appropriate lessons about why the 2007 loss happened have been learnt by the AC with a definite plan in place to make remedies. Winning almost 50% of Osun State was a feat by Aregbesola/AC using any known standard. It should be a veritable springboard for a 2011 rout of the PDP in Osun State.

Of course, it is possible that a campaign strategy has been built into this Tribunal cases towards sensitising the people of Osun State ahead of the 2011 elections. If that is the case, the matter should be continued. That is Ziggy raised to power something because with that, victory at the Tribunal is not envisaged, but positive PR generated from feelings of being cheated, which could galvanise the people to kick PDP out of Osun State next year.

Let me add an advice, which the Ogun State Governor, Otunba Gbenga Daniel, often gives to us in matters like these: “Whoever complains of being cheated after an election that he/she lost most likely deserves to lose. Don’t ever come to me with complaints from your area. I prefer that people complain about you than you coming here to whine about how badly you were treated and cheated. Let victory be your first and last thought. We don’t have plans for petition. Plan and work to win in your area. That is your duty.”

Aabo oro …

Umaru Yar’Adua: A man like us

By Wale Adedayo

His inauguration as President on May 29, 2007 was heralded with hope. Even the usually sceptical Nigerian pro-democracy community identified with him, despite a disdain for the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) that gave the man the ticket to run for office. His background as an activist during his academic years was celebrated in major Nigerian newspapers.

It was also the first time Nigeria would have a university graduate as president. The support was across the board to an extent that none of those praising his choice as president remembered to ask about his blueprint for ruling the country given the parlous socio-economic and political state of Nigeria at the time. It was as if the man had come with a magic wand to effect definite changes in the polity.

Not content with just praising Yar’Adua, the pro-graduate and activist president’s army descended on his predecessor, President Olusegun Obasanjo. There was no negative epithet enough to disparage Obasanjo with. As the charges against Obasanjo increased from the incensed pens and microphones of opinion moulders almost across the nation, it was praises galore for Yar’Adua, who six months into his tenure of office was just repeating a mantra to uphold the rule of law, thus encouraging due process in governance.

Issues about how the country would be managed were not addressed by this army of unpaid praise singers, some of who later descended on the same man in his dying days. An effective rupture was affected between him and Obasanjo, who was responsible for foisting him on Nigeria.

In a way, Yar’Adua, dancing to the popular rhythm of the encomiums being showered on him without any performance whatsoever, began to distance himself from Obasanjo and most of the reforms initiated by the former president. For Yar’Adua, who apparently did not have a programme of his own to implement before assuming office, it was a disaster.

A so-called called seven point agenda was hastily put together by his kitchen cabinet almost one year after he was sworn into office with a lot of noise in the media about how this was going to transform Nigeria into an Eldora do. But the seven point agenda avidly promoted by Yar’Adua’s government was obviously a very poor response to accusations of lack of vision by his erstwhile admirers who had by then realised the folly of singing the praises of a leader whose agenda in office nobody knew about previously.

But despite the sycophancy occasioned by political myopia which led Yar’Adua straight into the arms of praise singers who later smothered him in their embrace, nothing appears to have prepared his genuine admirers for his last days. Were it not for the grace of the death that took him away on Thursday, it was almost certain the man would have been removed from office through an impeachment as it was clear that the cabal around him was only using the vegetative Yar’Adua as a bargaining chip for their survival.

Thus, despite the man's vegetative state since last year, I felt very much for him in death. He was a pawn in a contrived political game, which he had no control whatsoever over. And it could have been any of us. Despite his privileged background, Yar’Adua was an activist right from his university days through his period as a lecturer. He was also one of the very few who stood against the Northern feudal lords and sought to fight for the downtrodden in that part of Nigeria.

But on getting into a political office, which he could have used to put what he has been preaching as a young man till his current age into practice, he developed cold feet. I cannot fault him. I do not know the weights of the militating conditions around him. Political office changes different people in different ways. One has been there before and certainly understands that hostage-takers are more in the corridors of power than in the whole of the South-East and the entire Niger Delta.  

Yar’Adua was almost our ideal president in many ways than one. In terms of past associations and groups he belonged to, you can conveniently put him in the same club with Chief Gani Fawehinmi, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, Senator Abraham Adesanya and Chief Bola Ige, etc. He was a man who believed and fervently spoke in favour of the dispossessed and the downtrodden.  

But he was a monumental failure in office because he did not practice those things which he so passionately supported and advocated in his younger days. Nigeria became a laughing stock among the comity of nations under his watch.

Words fail me as I feel so much compassion for this man who was used and abused by those I prefer to describe as Nigeria's Board of Trustees members. They are the hostage-takers holding our collective destiny in their blood-stained hands.

May Allah (SWT) forgive Alhaji Umaru Yar’Adua his sins and grant him Al Jannah Firdaus. Amin.

Micro-seconds from death (II)

Chapter Two

The Encounter

* The car in my Ijebu Ife country home on the Sunday morning after the attack showing the bullet hole to the windscreen. Photo: Wale Adedayo

* The second bullet hole, which penetrated the bonnet of the car. Photo: Wale Adedayo

* The road in Ilishan where the attack took place. Photo: Wale Adedayo

An SUV, most likely a Toyota Landcruiser, slowed down as it almost got to my right side on the bad sector of the Ago Iwoye/Ilishan Road. The road was being dualised at the time, with a section of it bad. I was about to enter Ilishan on leaving the last portion of Irolu on my way back home in Abeokuta, the Ogun State capital. I was alone in the car, having left Ijebu Ife through Atan, Ijebu Igbo and Ago Iwoye earlier.

As in previous nights, the glass windows were wound down. And music from a Cherubim & Seraphim Church Ayo Ni O! Compact Disc was fairly loud and blasting from my car. But unlike previous nights, I did not have the usual bottle of Hennessy to sip from in the car. Not that the usual stockist at Total Petrol Station, Ijebu Igbo roundabout, did not have one. But the voice which often warned me in dreams and other situations was at it again.

As I approached the petrol station opposite the roundabout where the major market in Ijebu Igbo is situated and almost made the right turn into the place, the voice was very firm as almost shouting in its usual inaudible manner for me to move on without taking any alcohol that night.  What is this? There are times you hardly can distinguish between that voice and your own. But each time I disobey what it tells me, something negative often result to my regret. As I slowed down, it came forcefully again, making me realise that indeed, the voice was at it again. I took off and dutifully made the normal left turn at the roundabout to face Ago Iwoye.

The interesting thing was that I had a half filled bottle of Hennessy in the car with me from Ijebu Ife when I left my country home in Okeliwo. The bottle was taken by Otunba Leke Adekoya whose Oke Agbo, Ijebu Igbo country home I had left earlier as he had a number of people with him. I was there to briefly say hello before continuing with my journey to Abeokuta. He gave me a bottle of red wine, which I kept in the car, in exchange for the Hennessy.

But in keeping with my social tradition, I did not drink the wine in order not to offend the ‘purer’ Hennessy. It was a rule among my close friends that diluting Hennessy or Remy Martin, our favourite drink, with any other kind of alcohol should not be encouraged. Once you taste either of the drinks in any particular day that should just be it until the next day when you can take another different type of alcoholic drink. So, when the voice insisted on my not buying another bottle of Hennessy, it was not as if I had not taken a few sips earlier or that it was a plan to ‘pollute’ the ‘pure’ drink with another. In any case, I obeyed the voice and moved on towards Ago Iwoye and from there towards Ilishan.

The jeep that slowed down was going in the opposite direction towards Ago Iwoye. I was not too certain, but it was as if the vehicle had made a sudden U-turn earlier as I observed in front of me. It was a ‘one-way’ driving for me because the other side was still under construction. Driving slowly on that bad portion was often advisable given the bumpy nature of the road, which could mess up one’s car if care was not taken. Even if the shock absorbers of the car are good, deflation of the tyres remains a possibility all through. But at about 10pm during a period many were scared to travel at night because of night marauders, driving slowly could be an invitation to armed robbers to block your car, except you are driving a four wheel like the jeep in question which can move over that kind of surface with ease without discomfort to the occupants of the vehicle or the automobile itself.

Initially, I was curious. Why should a jeep, which appeared to have turned back earlier, slow down the way this one was behaving? On getting to my right side, it slowed down the more, almost to the point of stopping, as I observed two faces from the jeep peering into my car as if to confirm who was there. I know that armed robbers along that portion of the road and the adjourning Shagamu/Benin Expressway often use such exotic vehicles to snatch other cars. But in my encounters with them, I’ve always been confident that as long it was only one vehicle, I could hold my ground against them. My licensed Pump Action Rifle was in the car with me. Certain native ‘insurance’ were also in the car and on my person making it certain that one could not be overpowered. These had worked in previous encounters, and I was always ready to test it to its limits given my sceptical nature as a journalist.

Driving past the jeep that was slowing down, I covered the short distance that took me to the already tarred and dualised portion of the road right inside Ilishan town in a matter of about two to three minutes. The asphalt felt good compared to the bumpy jumpy portion which I had passed through that was under construction. The jeep continued on its journey towards Irolu, and possibly towards Ago Iwoye, because I did not notice its lights in my rear view mirror again. But shortly before getting to an opening in the median that took me to the right side of the dualised carriage way, the sixth telephone call from a friend came through.

Biodun Odusanya and I were students of the Zoology Department in Ogun State University about the same period. He is also a member of the National Association of Seadogs (NAS), which we joined on the same day. But he is an official of the Reformed Ogboni Fraternity (ROF), which till date I have refused to join given my late maternal grandfather’s admonition against such a move. I had ignored previous calls from him, which began shortly after I left Adekoya’s country home in Oke Agbo that night. Picking it, my friend’s first words were, “Are you still in Ijebu (Ife) or you’ve left?” He dropped the phone after I had told him I was on my way to Abeokuta already without saying anything again. As I made to move to the right side of the road through the opening in the median, I dropped the mobile phone.

On getting to the other side of the asphalted portion of the road, two vehicles were in front of me. I normally wind down my window at night because I wear glasses. Experience has taught me that if you put the car air-condition on at night, when you wind down or open the door, the first 30 seconds might be your last in case of trouble. Mist would cover the glasses. And in situations like these in Nigeria, your first response matters a lot, because it could very well be the last.

I sought to overtake the vehicles, only for the one directly in front of me to move to the free lane, thus blocking my passage. Initially, I naively believed he was about to overtake the car in front. But it soon drew level with the first car, which I discovered had an Ogun State Government licensed plate number. I am not good at cars. But I also noticed that the car was fairly new and looked like one of the cars we (Ogun State Government) just bought for our officials. I relaxed a bit, thinking both drivers wanted to discuss briefly without stopping, which is a regular thing in this part of the world as long as you are side by side. But doing so at this time of the night was not comfortable for me.

So, the safety instinct in me flared up when both cars slowed down. I instinctively removed my seat belt. I have a simple rule for friends, who often get robbed while in traffic in Lagos. The seat belt is a hindrance to quick reaction in case of danger. I wear a belt ONLY when traffic is free flowing. Once cars slow down in front of me, I remove the belt.

All of a sudden, the car bearing the government plate number, which was directly in front of me, stopped. The second one stopped about a second or two later. Almost immediately, the left passenger door of the government vehicle was flung open with a man clutching an AK47 rifle coming out. Of course, immediately the car stopped, I had moved my pump action rifle from the floor by my left to the right on the passenger seat beside me. Immediately I saw the AK47 with him, I switched the PAF from safety to firing position. But I left it where it was so that the man and his colleagues still feel they have the element of surprise.

As this man moved towards my left, two others with the same type of gun got down from the right passenger side of the vehicle in the back and started taking positions. One moved to the front of my car in between their vehicle and mine, while the third guy moved to my right. He was to later face me from the driver’s passenger side window. In the interim, I just told myself that if this was it, then it will be nice to, at least, get one of them so that they can be easily traced. These thoughts calmed my nerves, because it would have been painful to end up like the founding Editor-In-Chief of Newswatch magazine, Mr. Dele Giwa; former Attorney General and Minister for Justice, Chief Bola Ige; Afenifere/NADECO Leader, Papa Alfred Rewane; wife of the presumed winner of Nigeria’s June 12, 1993 presidential election, Alhaja Kudirat Abiola; Ogun State PDP gubernatorial aspirant, Mr. Dele Arojo; and Lagos State’s Engr. Funso Williams, who were cut down in cold blood without any trace of the killers.

The first guy, who had by now positioned himself did not utter a word as he tried to lift up his rifle to level with me on the driver's seat. Initially, when he was coming, the prayers that came with my thoughts were that he should be close enough for my rifle. Pump Action Rifles are notoriously weak on impact with increasing distance between the gun and the target. If the target is not close enough, PAF cannot knock it down for an outright kill. But as the gunman to my left tried to get a level, my prayers were already answered because I got him straight to the face. In agony, he shouted in Yoruba with a hand to the face and the other hand clumsily clutching his rifle as he went down: “O ti yin ‘bon fun mi l’oju! (He has shot me in the face!).”

The second would-be-assassin was well positioned directly in front my Toyota Camry LE 2008 Model car. As in the case of not wearing seat belt in places I consider dangerous in Lagos while in traffic, it has been my driving habit in any suspected crime prone area to leave enough room between my car the one in front of me. This rule of mine was effected when both cars stopped in front of me. Another rule that has always paid of for me apart from enough space between our cars is that I do not put the engine off. My car was an automatic. So, I just put the gear in parking mode, with the head lamps fully on and the engine running. Even without a gun, once you establish the vehicle in front is that of robbers or assassins as in my own case, you can hit their car in a way that will draw serious attention from people around before they strike. Or if you are lucky, like me, you can still manage with or without injuries to escape by bashing your car against anything around. Without enough room, there is no way you can manoeuvre your car.

Almost simultaneously the first gunman got his face filled with bullets from my gun, the assailant in front who was well positioned took two shots at me. I felt a very sharp pain as if one was bitten by a large soldier ant between my chest and right shoulder. I thought the bullet had torn through to make its mark. But there was nothing like that. The bullet tore through the windscreen, no doubt. And it was very well aimed like a professional assassin targeting my heart. But it appeared I bent slightly to face the first assailant on the left through the window while taking my shot at him. It was almost like a fresh driver making a round through a steep bend in the road. You often bend with the car. I laughed at myself several months later since one is not a professional soldier or policeman for bending with the gun to take aim at the man that was about to kill me. If I had not bend slightly at the time, the bullet as it were was meant for my heart! The guy in front was a professional, no doubt about it.

But why did the bullet not penetrate my body? Could it be true that all the traditional ‘insurance’ against bullets and the like that one had been taking since childhood really works? The account (traditional diary of how to prepare ‘insurance’) inherited from my maternal grandfather, Obojo, contained different items like that, which I also benefitted directly from him before his passage to join our ancestors in 1988. But I burnt it after my conversion to Christianity in 1994. In my relationship with the Oodua Peoples Congress (Gani Adams faction), one also got a number of such ‘insurance’, despite the fact that I refused to join the organisation till date. Or was it the fasting, prayers and igbele in the last three days of December 2008, which the Pastor of a Celestial Church of Christ (CCC) recommended for me?

So, immediately after scoring on the first guy, I drew myself up on the car window and gave the guy in front a shot, which happened shortly before the report of his second shot at me. He too shouted and took cover. But I could not make out the language he spoke. Till today, I do not know where the strength to sit on the driver side window came from or how it was that possible for my hands to be steady in taking the shots one after the other calmly, but fast enough, before my would-be-assailants could do any damage to my body or kill me outright. I was not injured at all. My cloth was not torn in any way, despite the fact that the first bullet hit me. We could not trace its path in the car as well, because unlike the second one that hit the bonnet and lodged in the hydraulic pipe which was damaged, we could not trace the first bullet.

As I climbed down to my seat, I was convinced of death, because the guy to my right had all the opportunities in this world for a clean and clear shot(s). Pictures of my wife and the children flashed through my mind. How will her pregnancy be? (She has since given birth to Akintomiwa on 2 July 2009). How would she cope, knowing fully well our precarious financial position? How will my mum, Iya Seri, take it? It is a fact that of her five children (Doyin, Ibrahim (Aye Baba), Dayo, Myself and Seri), she dotes on Dayo and I most. It would have been a terrible blow after losing her husband in her early 30s. But how the children would take the story of my confrontation with the assassins was very important to me because the charge I’ve always given to them was never to be afraid of anyone. In an ironic way, not that I smiled, but something close to that came to my heart as I waited for death to come through the gun of the third assassin. I was pleased that they will be happy that their father was able to take out two of those sent to kill him. Till now, I still shiver when I remember what could have happened.

After a few seconds that seemed like eternity that I did not hear or feel the report of any gunshot, I stole a very careful glance using only my eyes towards the driver’s passenger side to the right of my car. What I saw made me turn my head to that side and a small portion of my shoulder to take a good look at the miracle showing itself right before my eyes! The assassin was bent over and instead of facing upwards seemed too busy struggling with his gun, which appeared to have jammed. He was really struggling with it. Meanwhile, in turning the head, my right hand had instinctively began to lift the PAF on my laps before the left one joined after seeing the spectacle before me. As I marvelled at the works of the Almighty wondering how on earth the assassin’s gun could have jammed, I lifted the gun and took a direct shot at the centre of his head which was presented to me through the window. He emitted an animal cry as he went down, finally.

Naively, I had believed the worst was over because the second car had been motionless without any activity or anyone coming out of it throughout the encounter I had with the three men from the first car with the Ogun State Government licensed plate numbers. In that instant of taking out the third assassin, a crazy thought came to me. I’ve often toyed with the idea of taking an AK47 from any dead armed robber who’s had an encounter with me. But in that very instant between the third assassin being hit and my thanking God it was all over, the two back doors of the second car flew open almost at the same time with a force that seemed as if the devil himself was in that car. Three men clutching the same AK47s alighted from the car and made straight for me. I knew it was like a back up team. In that micro-seconds, the voice that had spoken to me earlier in Ijebu Igbo insisting I should not buy another bottle of Hennessy that night came in the same firm manner saying, “Wale, move!!!” The voice has never mentioned my name before in all previous experiences with it. It was the first time, and my body responded instinctively as if a spirit was in charge of me.

I don't know how the decision came. But in that split instant, something moved in me that it was time to escape. All this while, my car engine was still running. But it was stationary with the two headlamps on. Only that the automatic Camry 2008 model had its gear in parking mode. I changed to D (drive) from P (parking) and squeezed between the median of the dualised road and the government plated car in front of me with a momentum that seemed as if one was involved in car racing. It was a flight for dear life! Almost within the same instant, the second car that had just disgorged its merchants of death roared to life and sought to block my passage by moving to cross my path right across the Ogun State Government licensed car which was by now at my right side. Pressing down very hard on the accelerator, I hit the assassins’ second car viciously. The driver desperately sought to pin me to the median. But despite his efforts, I broke loose and headed straight for the Shagamu/Benin Expressway, instead of passing through Iperu town to the right as I would have done if there had not been any incident.

It was the car that was trying to block my passage I first saw in my rear view mirror coming after me in hot pursuit. The second car soon followed. God was really at work that night because I would have had an automobile accident on linking up with the Shagamu/Benin Expressway. A lorry on its way from the Ijebu Ode end of the road was almost at the Ilishan/Ikenne Junction when I approached. My first instinct was to wait for it to go in order to avoid an accident that would have also claimed my life. But the same voice insisted that I should move. By now the lorry was even closer. Well, in that split second, I told myself, maybe God does not want me to die in the hands of these assassins as He seems to prefer an automobile accident instead. It seemed good to me too that the killers should not claim the credit for my death, and I hit the road with that top speed and turned towards Shagamu. It was really God at work. I almost lost control of the car in that instant. In getting back towards Shagamu, the car made straight for the end of the concrete median on the expressway. If my hand had tarried for a second in changing course towards Shagamu properly, it would have been a head on approach straight into the concrete. The car changed course in a zig zag manner towards Shagamu as the lorry screeched to almost a stop because it was about to hit my car from the back.

It was this very dangerous manoeuvre that was the second and final act of grace for me. The heavy lorry formed a barrier between the assassins’ vehicles and mine. They were almost upon me. As I regained control and stepped up the gas to make a final get away from the killers, a frantic search for my official mobile phone was a disappointment. It had dropped to the floor of the car during the dangerous manoeuvres I made earlier. But a Blackberry Storm model I used with a Globacom sim card was still in the cup holder where I normally place it when there is no drink in the car. A cursory glance in the rear view mirror revealed my assailants were back on the trail.

But the lorry, which they had by now overtaken, had created enough space between my car and their’s. Irrespective of this seeming advantage, I pressed harder on the gas as I used one hand to place a call to the Chief Detail to the Governor, who is a staff of the State Security Service. I am sure my voice was shaking as I spoke with him, explaining in unmistakable terms that I have just escaped an assassination. As a student of security and strategic studies, I described in clear details where it happened, the vehicles involved and where I was and also headed. The man was with Daniel at the Awujale’s palace in Ijebu Ode at the time. The Governor was having a meeting with the Awujale of Ijebuland, Oba Sikiru Adetona. His phone was apparently on speaker, because some other security personnel with him heard my frantic call. In addition, he also told me that himself after the incident and I have no reason to doubt him.

The second call was to my wife, Ajoke, because it was something we had been expecting since 2008 (more on this later). A friend, Mr. Femi Davies, whose Pastor had assisted (more on this also later) late last year, was the third person I called. But shortly before I got to the first turning into Shagamu through Isale Oko, I did not notice the cars again. Shortly before I got to Shagamu, a call came through my BlackBerry from Alhaji Moibi Olufodun asking which Press Secretary of the Governor was under attack. I confirmed it was myself, and he immediately offered to move from his Ago Iwoye base to assist me. I was taken aback. How did he know, because I was yet to get to Shagamu? He said one of the ‘boys’ who heard the conversation among the security men in the Governor’s convoy alerted him. My brain went into a spin. If Moibi, who was in Ago Iwoye knew within five minutes of the incident and was willing to move with boys, what happened to the Police and SSS? Till date, I still felt like being set up again because he was asking for my precise position.

Moibi, who is the current Secretary to the Ijebu North Local Government Council, worked with me as Field Officer of the same local government during my service as Director of Organisation, PDP Ogun State. The Field Officer system was an initiative one borrowed from the defunct Soviet Union and the Chinese Communist Party in terms of micro-managing a volatile and complex political system or society during my sojourn in the party secretariat (more on this in a forthcoming book, “In the line of fire: Party organisation in a young democracy”). My response to Moibi was to ask certain basic security questions in terms of those coming with him and what they were coming with. His response was queer. But being a person I trust, a space for a benefit of the doubt was still left for him. I promised to call him back.

My telephone call to Imole, the Oodua Peoples Congress (OPC) (Gani Adams faction) Chairman in Shagamu Local Government at the time, who is also the defacto leader of the organisation in Ogun East Senatorial District did not yield the assistance required. He responded to my request for assistance with an excuse that he was celebrating his recent release from detention at a party in his place and that the boys who were not there had gone on out night patrol. And quite rightly, I could hear the noise of music in the background. Imole was in charge of security for pipelines of the Nigerian National Petroleum Company from Shagamu to Ore in Ondo State. It was a blow to me, because Imole is someone who had intervened in several armed robbery cases along the Shagamu/Benin Expressway before. He has had several encounters with the police as well for what they, funny enough, claimed was not his job, but which they were not willing at the time to do, especially when people were under attack. Once I call him, pronto he would be on the way with his men to assist those in distress. But on this night, I could not be assisted.

As in any battle, when a reprieve or ceasefire happens, you need to take stock immediately and weigh the options. This made me to reduce my speed as I made my way towards the last major junction along the expressway in Shagamu as one heads towards the old toll gate in the direction of Abeokuta. First, there was no attempt whatsoever from the Governor to send help despite the fact that my first call while the killers were still on my heels was to his Chief Detail. The only move to assist came from Moibi. As I was weighing my options, Julius, called back to ask if all was well and where I was. My answer was in the affirmative, but without an answer to his second question. I simply ended the conversation because I was angry. Why should this happen to me? Why was help not sent? In situations like these one often would not want to believe the obvious. Deep down in me, I knew an attack from within had taken place. But as if in a trance, my question remained, who dared to undertake this kind of assignment against me? My mind went to a warning given to me in private by a senior security official attached to the Governor in November 2008. We were in the Governor’s Shagamu residence on the day in question as he pulled me aside and spoke in a very low but concerned voice; “Babalawo, I know you are a very strong man. But my brother, watch your back. I like you and I wont tell you more than that.” Coming from a senior figure among the law enforcement officials around the Governor, it should have shaken me. But my friend was shocked to hear my response: “I know wetin dey. Make you no worry. God dey.” Briefly, I told him my suspicions and made him aware I was also planning my exit before anything untoward happened.

It was after these thoughts that I made a final decision. And shortly arriving at that decision, I called my wife who went hysterical pleading that I change my mind. My decision, as I informed her, was to go after the assassins who came for me. If they succeed in killing me, so be it. I will never run away from persons who seem to want to quietly put me down for an offence I did not commit after four years of selfless service to the system. As she was interrupting me, my firm instruction was what I had often told her: To be buried beside my dad in Ijebu Ife. And that no matter what, the children should be encouraged to know the place as home in case I did not make it. I subsequently cut her off. She tried calling back, disturbing an important call I wanted to make. She, apparently, alerted my immediate elder brother, Dayo, because his calls, which I ignored also came through. I just pressed the end button without accepting any of the calls. Eventually, I got through to the person I was trying to reach. But it was a very big disappointment.

The major blow of the events of that night of January 10, 2009 came from the state OPC Chairman, Mr. Musediq Jimoh, who is currently the Vice Chairman of Abeokuta South Local Government Council. I did not have his number on my BlackBerry. It was a senior cadre of the organisation in Abeokuta, who also doubled as my CSO when I was the Director of Organisation of the Peoples Democratic Party Ogun State, Tyson (nom de guere), that my call went to for onward transmission to Muse, as we call him. His response was to the effect that Muse claimed he was in Sango Otta for a family meeting, and not in Abeokuta.

Haba!, I complained to Tyson over the phone. “When did not being in town became a hindrance to sending some assistance my way given the explanations I had made about the attempt on my life.!” What I requested for was simple: Four tested cadres with the right equipment to join me in going after the assassins. I wanted to hunt them down that night. And since Imole was not favourably disposed to giving me assistance, Abeokuta should not be a problem. Ijebu Ode, where Akeem (Igwe) held sway as Chairman was out of it, not just because of distance. I suspect he was too close to the Commissioner for Water Resources & Rural Development, Akogun Kola Onadipe (more on the man later). In my haste to get assistance from Abeokuta, I forgot that Muse had been brought under Onadipe’s wing. Muse closed the discussion with Tyson henceforth, and I had to park the car by the roadside in frustration and anger.

If my driver, Kayode, had been in the car, I felt sure we would have tackled the six men or even if they had been more. He is from Ijebu Ife like myself and was a tested hand. A former driver, Rasak, and I had successfully tackled some armed robbers on the Lagos/Ibadan Expressway before. And it was about a few minutes to 10pm. A colleague, Siji Oyesile, was returning to Lagos for the weekend and my usual voice insisted I escort him up to the Redemption Camp before turning back. Despite the barricades put on the road by the robbers, I created enough room for Siji to escape with his car, while myself and Rasak got down and engaged the robbers. Similar scenes had taken place on the Shagamu/Benin Expressway between the men of the underworld and my car in the past too. It was not a big deal once you are prepared and the number against you is not up to 20. To me, only persons bent on suicide would wait after at least eight out of 20 of them would have died in an encounter. In addition, it is very doubtful if help would not have come in such a situation because it would have taken more time.

In the current case, what I needed was an additional hand like that. I simply needed one or two more people to get to the root of the matter. My plan was simple. Take all of them out to recover one or more dead bodies with which to trace who coordinated the attack and from there to get definitive evidence of the person that gave the order for my death. In arriving at a decision to call Tyson again, I had told myself that if the man should agree to come, I’ll drive toward the interchange on the way to Abeokuta to wait for him. Tyson agreed to come alone. There was nobody else willing to come. He also did not have anything on him, not even access to a vehicle that could fast track his movement to where I was so that the assassins would not get away. It was with a heavy heart I agreed to drive down to Abeokuta in Ake to pick him up from the state OPC secretariat. I drove like a mad person to make it back on time as my elder brother, Dayo also called persistently. But I did not answer the phone knowing fully well that my wife would have alerted him to the decision to go after the assassins.

Despite the late hour, Ake was busy. I had to turn and park by the local government secretariat instead of going to the OPC base to pick Tyson up. While waiting for him, a young acquaintance, who is a political appointee in Abeokuta South Local Government saw my vehicle and stopped. He wanted to share plesantries but was shocked to see the bullet holes: one through the windscreen and the other through the bonnet of the car. Initially, I was very rude to him because of my state of mind. But I apologised and refused to answer questions from him again. Tyson soon joined me. But there was no extra gun. However, we had two cutlasses, which he could use in case of a close encounter that one was trying to avoid. On getting back to the Shagamu/Benin Expressway, my instruction to Tyson was to concentrate on the traffic coming from the Ijebu Ode end in watching out for any vehicle with Ogun State Government plate numbers. I did same on our side of the road as well as we headed towards Ilishan junction. By this time, I had called Moibi back to ask that he joined us at Ilishan with his men.

Unfortunately, maybe we missed ourselves, but we did not see Moibi or his people till we drove back to Ijebu Ife through the same route I had taken earlier to pass the night. When we got to where I believed was the spot of the attack, we looked around without any physical sign whatsoever that anything happened there earlier. But I counted up to five local people who were watching from a safe distance in front of their houses along the road that night. Tyson pleaded we return to Abeokuta. But I responded with a firm no. I needed to complete the trail and also assure the young men of my home town who had heard about the attack from my driver to calm down.

As if Tyson’s premonition would come true, shortly before the first bridge after Irolu Town towards Ago Iwoye, the car engine suddenly stopped. It was the kind of scenario that happens when the engine is shut down by a remote system. A brand new car, which was less than a year old just packing up like that? Initially, I felt that a bullet may have pierced the engine. But no matter what, the promise I had from God was to see me through what was coming. Since He has given me the grace to do the needful, I felt certain the car would roar back to life. I turned the key in the ignition and it roared back to life. But Tyson was shaken and I pitied him. It was mostly in silence we rode back to Ijebu Ife, while keeping an eye out for the assassins who I believed might have deployed others to monitor my movements from the town earlier. Upon getting to my village, Okeliwo, I composed a text message which I sent to the Governor. He called back shortly after that, about a few minutes past 12 midnight. He asked if I was okay and I responded in the affirmative. That was all. It was in my house in Okeliwo we discovered the bullet lodged in the hydraulic system. In fact, it was God’s grace again because the steering of the car became stiff from Ago Iwoye onwards till we got to Ijebu Ife that night.