Adekunle's Book: Drenched With Igbo Children's Blood
By
Through a proxy, Benjamin Adekunle is writing a book. The subject, of course, is Biafra. Adekunle, if you recall, made his name by mercilessly killing and starving Igbo children, the aged, and nursing mothers. His popularity in Nigeria during the civil war sprang up like fireworks displays, entertaining children in an abracadabra show. Its fuel was his unalloyed interlace with Hitlerism, evidenced in his method of prosecuting the war against defenseless Biafran civilians. It reached its apogee when he became bombastic and gloating about the brutality he visited the civilians of Biafra. This became an embarrassment to his masters on the international scene, and as swiftly as he rose, he crashed ignominiously following his removal from commanding Nigeria's 3rd Marine Commando Division. Then, the blood thirsty, sadistic, and megalomaniacal thug, diminutive Benjamin Adekunle, was bared to the world. Since he had no more Biafran children to massacre and ride to fame from the resultant sadism, he immediately married recluse and irrelevance visited him throughout the subsequent years. Now, at the twilight of whatever is left of his life, he craves for a farewell rendition of those cursed days that undeserved adoration followed him. He wants to delve into nostalgia to attract attention – a sort of re-invitation of relevance. He wishes to get it by hawking his poisonous portions, in a book, to the world. This book is drenched with Igbo children's blood; Nd’Igbo must not purchase it.
I learned about Adekunle’s upcoming book through an Itsekiri friend of mine who called me last night (Wednesday, March 24, 2004). After our felicitation, he said, “nnaa, I read on the internet that Black Scorpion is releasing a book this month. This book contains his war time correspondences. I cannot wait to lay my hands on it.” The name, Black Scorpion, appalled me; it always did. I did not want to know anymore about this book because I will not buy it. Without rudely changing the subject, I wondered why he wished to read the correspondences of dregs of a man like Adekunle. He said, “Ah, ol’ boy, that man na hero o. We used to sing about him when were kids because of his exploits in trying to keep Nigeria intact.” In a melancholic voice, I said, “When you (as kids) were singing his praises, I was agonizing and mourning my play mates, mercilessly massacred at his orders; millions of your fellow kids were being made to scamper in and out of forests, in search of protection, from his purposeful bombardment of civilian targets; at least an average of one kid died every hour because your hero banned charitable organizations from operating in any of the areas over which he asserted jurisdiction; I experienced the ire of a genocide enforcer, not that of someone trying to keep Nigeria intact.” Dafowotu was stunned by what he had just heard from me. “I didn't know that he killed civilians”, he said remorsefully. Obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable because of my sentiments over Adekunle, he said, “Anyway, I thought that you would like to know about this book because I know how fervently you like to read about the civil war.” With that, he changed the subject.
Anytime one recounts the evils visited on civilians in Biafra, simple minded Nigerians often retort, “What did you think war is all about?” Out of debilitating ignorance, they automatically assume that those of us who exhibit revulsion at the barbarous exhibits of Nigerian military commanders during the civil war are mere bleaters. It usually takes the recounting of painful personal experiences of these brutalities to rouse this category of Nigerians to see exactly what we are talking about. This usually is an arduous task, but ardent believers in the need to expose the savagery, purposefully visited on Biafran civilians by Nigerian military during that war, never waiver in undertaking this task. The end result is always worthy of the effort because Nigerians usually become sensible, rational, and open minded after listening to accounts rendered by direct victims of atrocities of those years.
I do not remember what year it was; I was not old enough or literate at all to document the year. It had to be between late 1968 and early 1969. I do remember vividly, as if it happened yesterday, the events of that era, for they affected or altered the rest of my life. It was not too long after we had unceremoniously returned to the village from Port Harcourt, which Adekunle’s hooliganism had overrun. The village was alien to us. No sooner had we tried to adjust to this strange environment than my little sister, hurriedly weaned off breastfeeding, took ill. Within weeks, she died. My little brother, my best friend, took ill as well. His illness was made more severe by father's absence (he was in the Biafran army); my brother's consistent request was to see my father. As his illness got worse, my mother sent me over to my maternal home – as I got older, I realized that she became aware that my brother was going to die and she did not want me to witness his death, having already witnessed my sister's. Within about a week's stay at my maternal home, an uncle of mine, partially paralyzed from injuries sustained at the war front, thought it was a good idea to send me to school. There was no organized schooling in Biafra because the Nigerian Air Force had already decimated every school in the villages (some scholars believe that more Igbo children died of school buildings bombardments by Nigerian soldiers than died of kwashiorkor). In Biafran villages, retired teachers (too old to fight in the war front) ran literacy schemes, bringing children in groups, utilizing the shades under iroko and other large trees as classrooms.
On one momentous morning, as my uncle was getting ready to take me to one of those “schools”, a messenger arrived from my mother. He whispered something into my uncle's ear and the expression on his face said it all. My brother died before dawn and was to be buried before noon. Mom asked uncle to bring me home later in the day, to join my two older siblings in shaving our heads as marks of respect to our dead brother. This sad news obviated my uncle's plan of taking me to “school” that morning.
Two hours after the messenger left us, may be about 10 or 11 o'clock, the sound of a predatory passing war plane was buried by thunderous explosions that shook the earth and chased out everybody. By the time this noise quieted, the mini market at the village square was obliterated. Consumed were thirty-three children who were studying under the cashew, mango, and iroko trees by the village square; also consumed were their teachers and other market women. Wailing and lamentations followed the temporary placid witnessed immediately after the explosion. About four Biafran soldiers who were attracted to the village by the explosion were visibly angry and shouted, “Why, Black Scorpion, why children and women again; may vultures devour your body while you're partially breathing, Black Scorpion”. That evil name, Black Scorpion, made a nauseatingly indelible mark in my memory from that day. Five children, my cousins, at my maternal family home, perished that day. I would have been the sixth had the messenger not caught my uncle that morning.
Whenever I think about this, and upon recognizing that mom was very close to burying two children in one day, I develop goose pimples and my unpardonable hatred for the scum bag, Adekunle, spirals to high heavens. Adekunle killed children, most of whom I knew. Those he did not kill directly, he caused them to die of hunger and diseases that the Red Cross and other charitable organizations could have cured.
Simple minded Nigerians often say, “Why don't you blame Ojukwu and other Biafran leaders?” Of course I’d blame Ojukwu if he dropped bombs on civilians and prevented relief organizations from attending to them. Ojukwu did not do that; Benjamin Adekunle did that and bragged about it. The war was supposed to be fought by soldiers, in the battle front. Every time Adekunle’s troops were overwhelmed by Biafran soldiers, he sent his war planes to Igbo villages, away from the battle grounds, and caused civilian enclaves to be bombarded and razed. This brutality brought him the desired result because it prompted Biafran soldiers to disengage from hostilities and retreat, in order to minimize civilian casualties. Folks, that's all it takes to be a Nigerian war hero! Massacre as many Igbo children as possible, decapitate thousands of Igbo nursing mothers and crawling babies, marinate Igbo land with the bloods of the aged and infirm; bam! you are a Nigerian war hero and songs are written and sung in your honor. Benjamin Adekunle did all of the above and had songs sang in his honor.
Dafowotu is a very good friend of mine. He is a true African; he gives no hoot about tribe and does not mince words in condemning evil. I was not sure of what he meant by “I didn't know that he killed civilians”. If he doubted me, I owed it to him to let him know about this despicable bum called Benjamin Adekunle. I fired off an email to him, sending with it this link http://www.kwenu.com/biafra/adekunle_interview.htm. I charged him to hear the devil of Africa speaking, bragging about killing “Ibos”, showing his moxie by holding a lone prisoner – a 15 year-old Igbo boy; bragging about preventing charities from reaching children, women, and the aged/infirm; threatening to shoot everything in Igbo land. In short, he was reveling in war crimes and crimes against humanity with impunity.
Dafowotu wrote back to me and said inter alia, “Chibueze, I have just read the speeches of Hitler’s incarnate. I regret having once admired this creep. I will not buy his book.” He wanted me to know that some Nigerians still admire this thug, so he sent me this link http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NaijaPolitics/message/11659 . I was appalled by what I read. One Ibukunolu Babajide, among other things wrote as follows:
It would not have troubled me one bit had an ignoramus uttered the abominable remark above. The speaker, fondly called IBK, is a lawyer. Allegedly, he is in Tanzania, prosecuting Rwandans who committed crimes against humanity. If IBK’s comment above has not disgraced the noble profession of law, nothing else would. Benjamin Adekunle, a man who should be doing life time sentence for perpetrating crimes against humanity, is considered a hero by a lawyer who is currently prosecuting crimes against humanity? What Bar Association does this fellow belong to? Where are the defense attorneys for the defendants that this IBK is prosecuting? Has this IBK guy won any convictions in Tanzania? If so, what are the defense lawyers waiting for in having such convictions set aside because their clients’ prosecutor believes that those who commit the type of crime committed by their clients “must be adored and worshipped for [their] exploits”? What are the defense attorneys waiting for in impeaching the credibility of this prosecutor, using his own words and his legal philosophy which he espouses recklessly on message boards? Seriously, is this IBK a real lawyer or a mere paralegal assistant? Nigerians will never cease to amaze the world. In recognition of that, I stopped reading further from those who still admire the thug, Adekunle.
Benjamin Adekunle is one of the most homicidal maniacs and barbarous thugs to graze the geographical entity called Nigeria. He shot into prominence and relevance by shooting unarmed Igbo civilians. He denied children foods and medicines. He killed nursing mothers and senior citizens. He did not have to indulge in all of the above atrocities in order to keep Nigeria one. He is a coward and a depraved scoundrel. His son is publishing his war time correspondences in a book form. This book cannot be objective. It will rehash Adekunle’s brutality and offend Igbo’s sensibilities. It attempts to earn some money for Adekunle. Nd’Igbo must not purchase this book because Adekunle does not deserve to get paid for brutalizing them. All well meaning Nigerians must join Nd’Igbo in shunning this Igbo blood drenched book. A wrong against one of us is a wrong against all of us.
March 2004