In Memory of the Christmas Truce By Olusegun Adeniyi

“It was December 25, 1914, only five months into World War I, German, British, and French soldiers, already sick and tired of the senseless killing, disobeyed their superiors and fraternized with ‘the enemy’ along two-thirds of the Western Front (a crime punishable by death in times of war). German troops held Christmas trees up out of the trenches with signs, ‘Merry Christmas’; ’You no shoot, we no shoot.’

“Thousands of troops streamed across a no-man’s land strewn with rotting corpses. They sang Christmas carols, exchanged photographs of loved ones back home, shared rations, played football, even roasted some pigs. Soldiers embraced men they had been trying to kill a few hours before. They agreed to warn each other if the top brass forced them to fire their weapons, and to aim high.

“A shudder ran through the high command on either side. Here was disaster in the making: soldiers declaring their brotherhood with each other and refusing to fight. Generals on both sides declared this spontaneous peacemaking to be treasonous and subject to court martial. By March 1915 the fraternization movement had been eradicated and the killing machine put back in full operation. By the time of the armistice in 1918, fifteen million would be slaughtered.

“Not many people have heard the story of the Christmas Truce. On Christmas Day, 1988, a story in the Boston Globe mentioned that a local FM radio host played ‘Christmas in the Trenches,’ a ballad about the Christmas Truce, several times and was startled by the effect. The song became the most requested recording during the holidays in Boston on several FM stations. ‘Even more startling than the number of requests I get is the reaction to the ballad afterward by callers who hadn’t heard it before,’ said the radio host. ‘They telephone me deeply moved, sometimes in tears, asking, ‘What the hell did I just hear?’ ”

“You can probably guess why the callers were in tears. The Christmas Truce story goes against most of what we have been taught about people. It gives us a glimpse of the world as we wish it could be and says, ‘This really happened once.’ It reminds us of those thoughts we keep hidden away, out of range of the TV and newspaper stories that tell us how trivial and mean human life is. It is like hearing that our deepest wishes really are true: the world really could be different…”

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The event captured in the foregoing story, culled from “We Can Change the World” by David Stratman, happened exactly 100 years ago today on Christmas day in 1914 when soldiers on the warfront decided to demonstrate the fact that whatever might have been their differences, they all belonged to a community of humanity. Essentially, what Christmas teaches, which was not lost on those fighting soldiers, is for us to see beyond ourselves, to connect with other people who want only to love and be loved and to demonstrate that virtually anything is possible when we work together and deploy our diversity in promotion of worthy causes.

I am sure many would argue that what those first World War soldiers did was merely symbolic in that they just suspended the killings for one day. That may well be true but the significance goes far deeper in that by their simple gesture, they also raised serious questions about the whole essence of war and whether it is really worth the trouble for one man to be killing another. But that is the subject of interrogation for another day as my brief homily today is centred on the desperation for power by the Nigerian political office seekers and their supporters that is tearing apart the fabrics of our society and may yet lead to an implosion after the February 2015 general election if care is not taken.

Apparently troubled by the looming signs of an impending danger, two respected former Foreign Affairs Ministers and eminent scholars, Prof. Bolaji Akinyemi, and Prof. Ibrahim Gambari have in the last one week made critical interventions. In a letter dated 16th December 2014, which he addressed to both President Goodluck Jonathan and Major General Muhammadu Buhari (rtd), Akinyemi recalled the 2011 post-election violence, against the background that the stakes seem far higher this time around.

Wrote Akinyemi:  “Now we are back at the same crossroads again, except this time is more precarious and dangerous than the last time…One of my low moments during the just concluded 2014 National Conference was when in an attempt to break an impasse, I painted a grim picture of devastation which would follow a breakdown of the Nigerian state, to which a delegate between 45 and 55 years old replied: ‘So what?’ I thought to myself, here is a man who would probably run away to a neighbouring country at the boom of the first gun but was callously indifferent to the fate of the youths, women and children who would be caught in the middle…The violence of 2015 is going to be horrendous and worse than the one of 2011 for the simple reason that the illegal, massive importation of weapons into the country has reached such alarming proportions that I really wonder which is better armed, the militias on one hand or the official armed forces on the other hand…”

However, Gambari, a former United Nations (UN) Under-Secretary General, has decided to be more practical on the issue. On Monday, he inaugurated the ‘Council of the Wise’ by the Savannah Centre for Diplomacy, Democracy, and Development (SCDDD) which he founded. These eminent Nigerians are “to engage with key state and non-state actors to promote consensus on issues likely to drive violence in the elections,” he said. Chaired by Justice Mohammed Uwais, to be assisted by Gambari, other members include Sheikh Ahmad Abubakar Lemu, Archbishop Josiah Idowu-Fearon, Ms. Joke Silva, Amb. Brownson Dede, Amb. Gaji Usman Gaitamari, and Prof. George Obiozor. SCDDD is a non-governmental think-thank for policy research, advocacy, and training in the areas of diplomacy, democracy, and development.

I am sure many Nigerians know both Akinyemi and Gambari enough to understand that they are not the kind of people who would raise fears that are not founded. In any case, what they have put down for the record is what most people are saying on the streets: that the 2015 election could descend into violence whichever way the result goes. The question to ask therefore is: why should that be so? The answer is simple: public service in Nigeria is really not about the people who are often turned to mere canon-fodders by self-seeking politicians for whom every election is a zero-sum game. I therefore hope that the critical stakeholders, especially those listed by Akinyemi and Gambari will take seriously their assigned roles and work to ensure that there is peace in our country after February 2015.

Now to come back to the story with which I opened the page. I have been made to understand that by Christmas 1969, combatants on both sides of the Nigeria-Biafra war had reached the point which the World War combatants got to a hundred years ago today. On that day 45 years ago today, cigarettes were exchanged, shots were fired into the air, flares of an undeclared ceasefire lit the skies as soldiers on both sides in the Onitsha and Abagana fronts exchanged visits. As the story goes, fighters on both sides of the divide compared notes and informally agreed that they would be cautious about killing each other on the orders of “big men”. Thereafter, the war lost venom and by 15 January 1970, it was all over. Troop morale on both sides had reached that critical equilibrium of stasis beyond which no war is possible.

But we do not even have to reach that point and that is the message of Akinyemi, Gambari and indeed many others. I recall that last month, at the public presentation of his book, “Writing the Wrongs”, Dr Chidi Amuta had sounded a similar note of warning in his presentation titled “Order and the Trembling State”. The central kernel of his thesis is that the forces of disorder are today better armed than the state and that we are ripe for politics by “other means” since these free-range actors are ever ready to do the bidding of desperate politicians.

Therefore, beneath the sabre-rattling that is fast replacing an issue-based campaign in the countdown to the 2015 election is a certain mentality of politics as warfare which must not be allowed to play out. At the end of the day, no matter which side of the divide we belong, nothing is ever resolved in crisis or by the barrels of the guns. It is a message that those soldiers taught us a hundred years ago today, a message the world ignored to its own peril. I hope Nigerian politicians will get the message this time around and begin to act responsibly.

I wish all my readers a merry Christmas.

Remembering Sam Mbakwe

I was scheduled to be in Owerri, Imo State last Saturday to review the book “My Father and I: A Daughter’s Intimate Account of Dr. Sam Mbakwe’s Life” written by Mrs Helga Mbakwe-Nosiri, an assistant director with the National Agency for Food and Drug Administration (NAFDAC). As it would happen, I was marooned in Abuja because Aero Airlines, not for the first time, decided to play pranks with their customers, leading to serious security breaches at the airport. Because the flight to Port Harcourt that had been delayed until late in the evening could not land the day earlier (last Friday), Aero brought the passengers back and practically dumped them at the airport. With no plan for them, many of the stranded passengers eventually found their ways to the departure hall where they slept.

On Saturday morning, as I awaited my flight to Port Harcourt, I did not suspect that trouble was already brewing until the announcer asked passengers on Aero flight to Lagos to proceed for boarding. With that, there was commotion as the stranded Port Harcourt passengers of the previous day bombarded the Aero counter and in the process, there were scuffles and with the security men on duty eventually overpowered, everybody rushed to the tarmac. When I say everybody, I mean everybody, including all the passengers for other flights and perhaps those who were not on any flight at all.

At the tarmac, there was further confusion as the Port Harcourt-bound passengers rushed one plane and other people joined in a scene reminiscent of the ‘Molue’ days in Lagos. It was a real shameful spectacle to watch as men and women fought and bruised one another to enter the aircraft. Having lost control, the airlines officials could only watch. While the rushing and pushing were going on, I noticed that former Rivers State Governor, Dr Peter Odili and his Supreme Court justice wife, Justice Mary Odili, had also joined the crowd at the tarmac. They were also going to Port Harcourt and were witnesses to the ugly scene as Odili kept shaking his head.

At the end, I could not travel to Port Harcourt from where I had planned to connect Owerri by road so I missed the book review. However, since the management of Aero airlines has become notorious for such irresponsible behaviour, I am still going to write about the issue, especially against the background that efforts by the Consumer Protection Council to redress the recurrent situation are being thwarted by the FAAN authorities. However, for today, I leave readers with the review I could not personally present in Owerri, which says something about both the author and her father, the late Dr. Sam Mbakwe, one of the most respected Nigerian politicians of his era.

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A curious young girl went to her father one day and asked: “How did we come about all people in the world?” and the man replied: “Adam and Eve made babies, then their babies became adults and also made babies and when those babies became adults, they also made babies and on and on it goes until we arrived at the current population.” The little girl then went to her mother and asked her the same question. And she told her: “We were monkeys then we evolved to become like we are now.” The girl ran back to her father and said, “You lied to me!” explaining what her mother told her. But the father replied: “No, my darling I did not lie to you. Your mother was only talking about her side of the family.”

Distinguished ladies and gentlemen, considering that I have two daughters and a son, I am in a position to attest to the special relationship between a girl and her father. Therefore, when I got an email from the author some few weeks back asking whether I could be the reviewer of the book being presented today, I did not hesitate to say yes once we could agree on a date acceptable to both of us. However, my acceptance was not only because of that special bond between father and daughter but also because the subject of the book for which we are gathered here today was a man for whom I had tremendous admiration and respect even though I never met him in person.

By whatever yardstick, the late Chief Sam Onanuka Mbakwe remains one of the icons of the Second Republic. For that reason, I am very much delighted to be here today as we present the book, “My Father and I: A Daughter’s Intimate Account of Dr Sam Mbakwe’s Life”. Broken into parts, rather than chapters, it is a fascinating account of the life and times of one of Nigeria’s most respected politicians of the last century, written by his daughter, Mrs. Helga Mbakwe-Nosiri, whom I am meeting for the first time today.

Part one is particularly very revealing as the author traces the story of her father from birth through his education both at home and abroad to his marriage and the beginning of family and professional life as a young lawyer in Port Harcourt. While the narrative is compelling, the notion by the author that her father’s journey into polygamy was accidental is not supported by any empirical fact because Mbakwe, though the only child of his mother, was himself a product of a polygamous family.

However, what would interest not a few people is that Mbakwe actually had a twin-sibling he never got to know because they ended up in the evil forest at a time twins were endangered species. It is indeed a most revealing opening to the book which would no doubt interest Helga’s American friends though as an aside, I am not sure that former Anambra State Governor, Chief Jim Nwobodo would be happy to be reminded of anything to do with him and his first wife (as the author unwittingly did) especially given a recent family feud over the burial of his late son.

Part two begins with the birth of the author and the hospital drama that speaks to the obsession with the male child. By dramatizing the story in the manner she did, Helga has brought out a very important gender issue that should generate serious debate. For diverse reasons, from the cultural to the ridiculous, male child preference has become a common feature of life in many corners of our country today and especially, from what I hear, in Igboland. But if we will be honest, it is really a universal phenomenon. For instance, Chinese tradition says most parents want their first child to be a male.

Research in United States also reveals that male preference biases the grieving process. An American study of 236 parents who had experienced the death of a child concluded that parental grief was greater for the male than the female child. The situation is worse in India where in a hospital documented by Ramanamma and Bambawale, in a sample of 700 women, only four per cent of those expecting daughters chose to carry their pregnancies to term. The remaining 96 per cent had abortions. By contrast, 100 per cent of those expecting sons carried their pregnancies to term, even when a genetic disorder was considered likely.

What I find rather interesting is that while most men care less about the sex of their child, and we see that very clearly in Helga’s account, every woman would want to have a boy child either for security of her home or for status. If many had a choice they would prefer all their children being male! If you have ever encountered a woman with all male-children and you asked for the number of her children, the response would most likely be “I have four boys” and not four children as it would have been if they were girls.

The quest for the male child has therefore become rather important in our society, indeed for many, an obsession beyond their control. By a simple recollection, Helga brings out the dilemma and has raised an issue worthy of further interrogation, especially in Igboland where I understand it is still a big deal for a woman to bear a male child.

However, what most readers would find fascinating in that section of the book is the salacious account of how the author came about her name. Helga is neither an Igbo nor a Christian name and those who may, like me, be curious about it don’t have to wait anymore. In the book, Helga tells her interesting story: “…Shortly before my christening, however, Papa returned from Dusseldorf and immediately switched my name to Helga, an imposition that could only be possible because he was the father of the home. Helga in German means piety. When I was much older, I asked Papa why he chose that name for me, he told me sincerely that it was the name of his German girlfriend in Dusseldorf but asked me not to tell my mother. But being talkative, I could not keep the secret. But when I told my mother, she only laughed it away, much to my surprise.”

Beyond the evident closeness between a curious daughter and a humorous and loving father, there is something about that account that arouses curiousity. My suspicion is that it’s either the story was made up by Mbakwe (in which case Helga’s mother already knew the real reason behind the name) or the late Mrs. Mbakwe had been told the tale before by her husband so the element of surprise was no longer there.

Reading Helga’s next chapter has set me thinking. There must be something about Aba that is nostalgic for those who were brought up in the rustic town. I remember an interview THISDAY once conducted with the former Nigerian Brewery Supremo, Chief Festus Odimegwu where he said rather proudly, “I am an ABU”. Since he didn’t say he attended ABU, we felt he could not possibly be referring to Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria; so we asked for what he meant and he interpreted it to mean: I am an Aba Brought Up! In the narrative in part three, Helga also romanticized about the city renowned for the enterprising spirit of the people. Of course there are also details about the death of her grandmother, the German experience of her father and his dexterity in managing his polygamous family.

Part four begins the story of the political journey of Mbakwe who was thrown into national limelight after the war when he challenged in court the Abandoned Property Edict enacted by the Rivers State military government headed by Mr. Alfred Diete-Spiff. The law was evidently targeted at the returning Igbo people. Mbakwe took the case to both the high court and the court of appeal before the federal military government eventually intervened with a committee headed by the current Senate President, David Mark. From that litigation, Mbakwe never looked back as he became the prime mover for the creation of Imo State. Then he went to the Constituent Assembly in 1977 before he contested and won the Imo State Governorship election in 1979 under the platform of the defunct Nigerian Peoples Party (NPP).

Although I have heard the name of Mbakwe mentioned in several discussions about the abandoned property saga after the civil war, I never knew he played such a prominent role until I read Helga’s book. Being a landmark development that speaks to our past as a nation, I believe it is an issue that should be properly documented by historians and I would imagine that there must be some records and documents that Helga and other family members would have that should help in such enterprise.

In part five we see Helga do a portrait of her mother in the way anybody would do of their own mother; after all, mothers can do no wrong. The story here also contains Helga’s education at a time her father was governor and the eventual death of her mother. While there is nothing dramatic about the account, it is still a worthwhile read in that it reminds us all of the roles our mothers played in shaping our lives.

Part six of the book is an account of the stewardship of Mbakwe as governor; the political battles he fought; highlights of his achievements and how he earned the moniker of “weeping governor” to which he is easily remembered till today. But while Helga sees nothing wrong in her father taking the laws unto his own hands by announcing himself as winner of the 1983 gubernatorial election in Imo State, there are people who would frown at such desperation no matter the justification for it.

However, it is not for nothing that the era of Mbakwe is easily remembered today as a golden one. Not only did his administration construct most of the major access roads across several communities in Imo State, Mbakwe also built the state university which has produced prominent citizens. What made the university unique at the time was that it adopted a multi-campus concept to cater for the increasing number of Imo State indigenes who could not secure admission in federal universities and more remarkable is the fact that he pioneered the idea of state-owned university. Mbakwe also built several companies, including the Aluminum Smelter Plant in Inyishi; the Amaraku Power plant that would later be sold; the Avutu Poultry Farm and several others.

Part seven begins with the story of the December 1983 military coup that toppled the Second Republic civilian administration and how the duo of Buhari and Idiagbon sent many politicians, including Helga’s beloved daddy, to jail. As it would happen, Mbakwe bagged a prison term along with his wife, Victoria, the stepmother of the author. But by accident or design both the wife and husband were domiciled in the same prison and the author recounts what reads like a story of life in the valley.

However, what I find interesting in this section is an aside which reveals a lot about our country. Helga wrote and I quote: “Mrs. Ladi Netimah, who was the secretary to Melford Okilo, the former Governor of Rivers State would have been the First Lady of the subsequent military administrator of Rivers State after the coup. But her husband was replaced with Fidelis Oyakhilome when the Buhari-led Supreme Military Council realized who her husband was.”

Part eight takes readers to Helga’s school days but not without some snippets into the little role the author played, or perhaps refused to play in what would be one of the most interesting romance stories of the last century: that between a certain beauty queen by name Bianca  Onoh and the late Emeka Odumegwu-Ojukwu.

Part nine concludes with the illness and eventual death of Mbakwe, an only son whose life and times were tempered by a strong resolve to influence his environment in a positive way. But the message here is the abandonment of Mbakwe in his hour of need by the same people who would later venerate him after he was dead. This is also a familiar story which speaks to the fickle nature of our society and that perhaps also explains why the governors of today do not want to make the kid of sacrifices made by the Mbakwes of this world.

In all, while “My Father and I” tells a compelling story of the man Sam Onanuka Mbakwe and the family he left behind, Helga and her father are at the centre of the narrative. In the book, we see a man who was protective of his family yet also pragmatic enough to know that in making his choices as a politician, there would be personal sacrifices along the way. But while Helga’s book brings to light several issues, it is a remarkable work of extreme caution: as to be expected, she presents her father in a rather flattering light; she tried to be nice to all his acquaintances; and she has nothing but kind words for all the extended family members, including, if not especially, her half-siblings. In Helga’s book, everybody comes out nice.

However, beyond the family tales, what Helga’s book does is to remind us about where we are coming from as a nation andit is easy to conclude that the past was a much better Nigeria. At the end, what the author, who remains optimistic, says most eloquently in “My Father and I” is that notwithstanding the challenges we face as a nation, Nigeria is not a lost cause.

To the extent that I am only seeing a copy of the book for the first time today, I am not in a position to judge the quality of production but the narrative is interesting. “My Father and I” is a tender story of the relationship between a politician-father and his children in the typical Igbo setting. What is evident is that as Helga delves into her father’s story, she embarks on a journey of discovery: of memories lost and found, of some of the unpleasant history of the Igbos in a multi-ethnic Nigeria and how some of those issues have echoed down the years.

“My Father and I” is therefore a fascinating book I will gladly recommend for those who may want to know more about Imo State and the man who made it all possible; a man who is now in the land where he would weep no more.