My Visit To Odi-The Whole Story
I, like thousands of other Nigerians overseas traveled home [during the Christmas season] to wallow in the
festivities of the Yuletide, to bask in the euphoria, to breathe the air of my forefathers, to dance to the
earth again, to pay homage [thank God, not mortgage], to reacquaint myself with my motherland, to wash my
face in the sea of my ancestors, to consume that ever elusive mama’s soup, to inhale the new air of freedom,
of democracy and to usher in the new year/century/millennium where it all began---my
homeland. As I departed the US, I knew I had very little time to spend in Nigeria before returning to my
worries in this land of life, taxes and death, so I knew I had to be strategic in my time management.
No sooner had the last lap of the trip commenced after a brief layover in Paris where we changed planes, did
the almost three hundred passengers sink into their seats, with most, whipping out newspapers to catch up
on the news and others drifting into the world of unconsciousness as they sought to nap fervently. Yet
many unveiled their favorite novels and basked in their lines with occasional nods in approval of a plot
or in reckoning of an amusing verse. Yet a few, who were in tune with the times, brought out their lap and
palm top computers and immersed themselves in the keyboards. But some, like me, insisted that the
hostesses with their worldly contours earn their pay as we requested one beverage after another and seconds
of a tasteless airline food which in normal circumstances would have since found its way to the
garbage can. More than four hours into the flight and we were told of our location as shown on the video
monitor in the jumbo jet and the cruising altitude by the French pilots who all through the flight kept us
updated of every detail.
But none of us was ready for what came next as we were all taken aback by an announcement (by the pilot)
which shattered the relative silence of the jumbo jet---"Ladies and Gentlemen, there has been a military
coup…." There was a pause (deliberate, we believed) during which time we all exchanged surprise glances
and those who had since became citizens of "slumber land" quickly abdicated their citizenship and
asked their neighbors what that announcement was all about. A man who sat across from me and who had been
attempting to strike a conversation [with me] since the inception of the flight in Paris seized the
opportunity to look in my direction. I obliged him this time thinking he had answers to that unfinished
announcement. "What is wrong with you Nigerians," he quipped with his hands wide open as though in
supplication. "This couldn't be true, this just couldn't be true" he said thinking of his about to be
lost oil profits [I am sure] and slumped back into his seat without a response from me. At this point, the
pilot returned to the "airwaves" to finish his announcement----"There has been a military coup in the
West African nation and former French colony of Cote d' Ivoire. We do not have much details at this point
but we will keep you updated as we get more information from Radio France.
The sigh of relief that saturated the plane was certainly weighty enough to plunge it and the man who
had hurriedly indicted all Nigerians with his unmeasured assertions and accusations and without the
benefit of the full announcement was besides himself, covered with a thick blanket of embarrassment. I
decided to seize the moment and managed to get a whisper into his ears---"Don't you think you ought to
get us Nigerians a lot more credit? What's wrong with you French people?" He nodded his head in concurrence
and accepted the blow (my response) that came his way.
It was not long after I had arrived and settled down for a refreshing meal of pounded yam and a most tasty
periwinkle soup was I asked my itinerary by eager family members. I declared instantly that I had a very
pressing issue on my mind, and that was Odi. After a couple of days at home, I started preparing for my
trip to Odi. I had made earlier arrangements with a colleague from the US who had flown in the night
before. We were to spend a healthy portion of the day in Odi and then the night in Yenagoa, the state
capital, before returning to our base. We arrived in Odi at about 10:15 a.m. on my third day in the
country. We rented a boat to take us across a small creek and then after about half a mile’s walk down the
muddy and very swampy pathway filled with mosquitoes and assorted insects, we reached what was considered
the main thoroughfare of the town. Admittedly, it was very deserted even more than one month after the
assault by the army and in spite of the Christmas season when traditionally most people in the cities
migrate to their villages. There were very few residents trying to rebuild their lives and their
hopes as most were still in what was called "Displayed Camps" in Port-Harcourt and Yenagoa.
As we progressed into the town, we saw children playing skillful soccer [perhaps, the Super Eagles
should send some scouts to monitor these young boys for future induction] in the open muddy streets and
some were seen with buckets on their heads returning from creeks. The children playing soccer stopped upon
seeing us and searched us curiously with their eyes. It was evident that they had seen one too many strange
faces in their once close community before its calm was shattered like glass falling from unprecedented
heights.
We tried not to excite them and pretended to be part of the community, but to no avail. They started
following us as if to determine our mission as they abandoned their seemingly exciting game of pick-up
soccer. I wished I could join them as I remembered my playing days in high school. We maintained our pace in
order not to alarm them in anyway and I whispered to my colleague to conceal the video camera we had. After
about fifty yards, we saw a seemingly makeshift bar/restaurant called "PAY, CHOP & LICK YOUR FINGERS"
housed in an big open hut where a few men were drowning in their sorrows and one man, possibly in his
fifties, sleeping and snoring quite offensively. Not far from him was another man entertaining himself with
a sweating bottle of Guinness and roasted corn. He paid no attention to us as his meal was foremost on his
mind. We asked the bartender if we could have some drinks as we were both very thirsty and even famished.
The children seeing that we had stopped at the bar and seeing the puzzled looks on their faces of the men in
the bar retreated to resumed their game. We were relieved.
The men, like the soccer-playing children, quickly "sized" us to determine whether we were friends or
foes. It was evident that they were visibly uncomfortable at our presence. But when we greeted
them in Izon, we instantly saw their lighter side as they offered chairs and their hands in firm handshakes
and in brotherhood. We obliged and sat down to quench our thirst. We instantly ordered cold drinks.
"You, government people?" asked one man who had on what used to be a white singlet but now turned creamy.
"No, we are not government people, we have come here to see things for ourselves," I responded.
"Wetin him talk?" asked another man who filled his nostrils with snuff as he waited for a response.
"We no work for government. We come see wetin government do to una town."
"Chei, my sons," said an older man who apparently had missed our sight as he had been behind a blue
curtain listening to our discourse. He came out and we saw him for the first time.
"Make una see wetin them do us. Make una see. They come here like say them they fight with Cameroon and
kill us like flies. See," he said pointing us to a vast area just beyond the muddy streets where the
young boys were playing soccer. That place na house plenty there before. Na house, but now you see say
nothing dey there, nothing dey there. Una hear wetin I talk?" We shook our heads vigorously and in
synchronized harmony. "You say them kill una like flies?" My colleague asked to no one in particular. But the old man replied
again.
"Them kill plenty people here O. Chei, na only God na him sabi count" he said as he went back behind
the blue curtain and brought a short empty glass which he handed to the bartender who wasted no time to fill
it with kai kai. We watched him as he emptied the contents of the glass in one stroke and placed it on
the table squeezing his face as thought he had just swallowed a bitter pill.
"Them come for night, they beat us with gun, with cain and them burn everything down," the same old man
continued after he had recovered from the effects of the kai kai and cleared his throat noisily.
"Wetin you mean say them burn down everything," I asked taking a sip of my drink?
"You no see road, my pekin? Iyabo man don put potu-potu (mud) for your eye, you no fit see road
again. You no see all the house wey they burn when you commot for wharf? The soja burn everything down, they
say them dey look for criminate [he meant to say criminals], so they no see criminize they come burn
all the house so criminize go run from Odi," said the man with the creamy singlet who infact interrupted the
old man as he was about to respond.
"Papa, you go fit take us around town make we see more house wey them burn," my colleague asked the old
man since he had shown more willingness than others to indulge. He looked at others as if to get their
approval, rather than getting their approval he received stern looks and at this point the man who was
snoring offensively got up, looked at us with his sleepy eyes as if to say 'who are these fools
disturbing my sleep', reached for a cloth on the floor and blew his nose and immediately returned to his
offensive ways in less than a few seconds. Others looked at him and shook their heads as if to say "he
is a crazy one." In the meantime, the old man was still pondering our request not sure of our real
intentions and so we decided to add an incentive.
"Papa, we go pay you for your time, make you no worry, " I said. At this, he told us to wait and went
behind the curtain again. As he returned, the bartender had refilled his short glass. He took it,
gazed at it for a few seconds as though not sure of its contents and with precision and stealth, quite
unexpected of a man of his waning age, guzzled its contents, letting out a satisfied "haa" and pounding
his belly with his right hand to ensure that it all drained in well.
"Make we go" he ordered as we quickly settled the bartender and told him to keep the change. The old
man fastened his wrapper and started to lead us through this Niger Delta town that had been bequeathed
with unspeakable horror occasioned by a government elected to protect them and their civil rights. He
told us that he had lived in Odi for more than thirty years and knew everyone in the town. He stated that he
had all his children in Odi and married all his wives there. When he talked about his wives, he had a subtle
smile on his face and we knew instantly that he must have been a "ladies’ man" in his hay days. His steps
were measured and his slippers flapped against his heels as he navigated Odi with an unalloyed
confidence.
Mopping sweat from his wrinkled eyebrows, he pointed to us what used to be a town hall which had been razed
down completely. He stated that he helped in building the hall and he could remember that he took five of
his sons to assist in that project. As he talked about the hall, we saw about a dozen members of the NPF
strolling leisurely with their guns hanging on their shoulders. The old man looked at them and kept quiet
for a while knowing quite well the consequences of talking about the army assault in the presence of
members of the NPF. We got the message and changed the topic. My colleague ask him if it had rained here
lately, but the old man could not understand why we had abruptly changed the topic. We later came to
understand that he expected us to keep quiet and notengage in any type of discussion, whether related or
not to our original topic.
The police officers dragged their steps as they passed by us. We could see that they were very curious as to
why we were there but since we had a right to be there they elected to respect that right. They passed and we
resumed talking.
"Okay my pekin," he said still mopping sweat from his forehead with his bare hands. "Na here them beat a
lot of people. Na here" he said pointing to an open area where a few children were playing.
"Papa, them beat you too?" I asked. "I tell you say me I live here for over thirty
years. I hide with my pekin and wives for creek. I hide so they no see us but we see them and hear
everything them do for this town. Chei, them don finish Odi O, my town", he said fighting back tears.
It was obvious that the trauma was unprecedented and the pain still apparent.
"Them burn your house?" asked my colleague after we had allowed him a few seconds to regroup.
"Them burn my house, everything go." "Everything go?" I asked.
"You no hear wetin I talk, ha? Na potu-potu dey your ear? Everything go. Them burn everything, make
you look" he said pointing at the vast land about the size of two hundred football fields put together which
was once filled with buildings and assorted structures. "The soja come and they no ask any
question they just begin to kill, beat and burn, na him them do, kill, beat and burn. They burn sotey them
no get patrol anymore to burn. Na him them begin shoot and use teargas, na him we begin cry. We cry like
children. Chei, them don finish Odi O? Chei", he said as he put his hands over his head and shook his head
in an unbridled fashion.
"Papa, make you no worry, God dey for heaven, na him go judge everything wey government do for this
town," I said as I gave him a quick glance. "You talk true, my pekin, the man wey dey for
yonder don hear you. Wey my snuff," he asked as he felt around the edges of his wrapper and to our
greatest surprise wrestled out a small can of snuff. We watched him as he gave it [the can] a couple of
spirited taps with his index finger, opened it with much distinction and helped himself generously to its
contents. After a few seconds, he blew the unsightly contents of his nose to the Odi wind and cleaned his
soiled hands with his wrapper and then descended to earth from his high and resumed his thoughts.
He then took us painfully through his town as we carefully catalogued one burnt building after another,
totaling more than three thousand. In fact, in that town of 60,000, we saw only five standing buildings
that were spared by the army---a church, a healthcare center, a community center [the rest were destroyed]
an elementary school and a building whose use was not very clear as the old man was all too emotional by the
time we got to the fifth building and he had started muttering much to the displeasure of our ears.
The suffering and pain we witnessed in that town was unprecedented and my colleague and I took a moment to
ponder this mayhem, this pillage that would make even the likes of Saddam Hussein feel remorseful. Which
government would wrought such untold destruction on its people regardless of the allegations and the
circumstances? Did all 60, 000 people in Odi kill the 12 peace officers? Why should all suffer the
consequences? Whatever happened to conventional means of apprehending criminals? One would like to think
that the men and women of our esteemed CID division are skilled enough to decipher through artful
investigative means the criminals from law-abiding citizens.
Thus, without equivocation, Obasanjo mis-stepped and not even his feigned admission to the world of his
mistake anent the Odi invasion would exonerate him from this cowardly act of wanton disregard for the
lives of his constituency---he is indicted forever and the lives of the innocent citizens which were sniffed
away by his invading troops shall bear witness to his bumper sticker, bootleg and his utterly unorthodox
cogitative mechanism--they shall hunt him to all ends.
Obasanjo must learn that the true test of a democratic government is its patience in the time of crisis, how
it handles its dissenting citizens, how its treats dissenting opinions and how it upholds the rule of
law. I'm afraid, this administration when it comes to Odi has failed ignominiously and abundantly, at that.
I invite the president to visit Odi if he truly has compunctions for his actions as so flaunted
ostentatiously in the media in recent times----visit Odi Mr. President and see how it has become Beirut
when that city was under siege. Visit Odi, Mr. President rather than gallivanting the golden halls of
Aso Rock and bellowing your cajoled regrets from the comfort of your large expanse.
We were still alarmed at what the soldiers did to the town when the old man looked at our camera, looked
both sides to ensure that there no eavesdroppers and then whispered in our ears-
"Make una tell the world the thing wey government do for Odi. Make una tell the world. Make una tell
them everything. Them say people for odi kill police men, that na very bad thing. That one bad well well,
but wetin government do for here na him bad past. Chei, my eye don see something O, e don see something.
When you go for Americo (he meant to say America), make you tell the oyinbo man, make you tell them all.
Make everybody know so that next time them go know say people dey watch them."
We assured him that the world already knows what happened in Odi and we shall continue to tell the
story. The old man having held up his end of the bargain, was rewarded quite handsomely---we greased
his palm but carefully since it was still soiled as he led us back to the bar for some more drinks. Upon
reaching the bar, we noticed that the fellow who had been sleeping and snoring offensively had since
assumed a new sleeping position and was still undeterred in his offensive ways.
The bar had three new patrons all of whom had a sweating bottle of Guinness in their hand and one man
with the added compliment of a steaming bowl of pepper soup filled with goat meat. He made assorted noises as
he ferried the soup to his mouth and chewed the beast with much avarice espousing a covert stream of
satisfaction on his aged and battered face. The men all seemed to know one another as our escort called
out their names in a custom salutation to which the men replied in unison---"pappy man, pappy man." The
newcomers like the men whose acquaintances we had already made "sized" us up but they were less critical
as they seemed to be consumed by the bottle.
It was almost 4 p.m. and we decided to head on to Yenagoa to honor an appointment with some state
politicians who were our college classmates only a handful of years ago. But we were not to leave without
partaking in that steamy pepper soup so jealously consumed by that fellow. We sat down and order a bowl
each with corresponding beverages and asked papa if he wanted one. He was skeptical as to who was paying for
it….."papa, na we go pay", we assured and from no where emerged two more fellows who were bend on
cashing in on the generosity of these Santa Clauses in their midst. "Make you give those two bowls of pepper
soup too" we ordered and they quickly came around and shook our hands as though they had known us for ages.
We all sat down to further ponder the fate of this once proud town which Obasanjo's troops had since made
mincemeat of.
As we waited for our portion of pepper soup, we watched as the men chatted away against a backdrop of
highlife music coming from a small dual band transistor radio strategically placed behind the
counter from which the bartender served his customers. The men talked about politics and their politicians
whom they called collaborators with the federal government since in their view they did noting to
avert the destruction of their town.
"Them all chop money" declared one of the men who had been there and who since we returned from our tour
had struggled with his speech, courtesy of the several empty bottles of "tumbo" which he so carefully lined
up by his side as though to recycle at a later point.
"Them chop money plenty na him make nobody don see them for odi. Na God wey dey for heaven, na him go
save Odi," and others responded, "Ame O."
The bartender signaled to us that our pepper soup was ready. As we got up to the counter, we saw the steamy
bowls being placed on a tray. Our mouths watered as the aroma teased our appetite, but not for long as we
quickly paid, chopped and licked our fingers in a town that is yet to chop let alone lick its fingers in
spite of the fact that it has since paid its dues.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: My colleague and I would like to express our sincere gratitude to "Pappy Man" whose
efforts and courage made our visit and this article possible. Without him, we would not have been able to
witness for ourselves the gravity and enormity of the tragedy that befell Odi.
To "Pappy Man" I say, the struggle continues, but please slow down on the kai kai and snuff. We need you
in the struggle for justice and equity for Odi and the entire Niger Delta. I hope to see you on my next visit
and I promise another bowl of pepper soup and a bottle of Guinness. Stay blessed.
Tonye David-West, Jr., Ph.D
Political Scientist
USA
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