Biafra protesters |
The
article is entitled “Discontent in “Biafraland”, and in it she revealed the
conspiracy of silence by compromised Nigerian media in publishing the happenings
in Biafraland as it concerns the people’s agitation and protests for Biafra.
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Minutes after touching down in Port Harcourt, I
could feel the paranoia setting in. I'd come to the city in Nigeria's south to
travel to "Biafraland" in the southeast, which declared independence
from the rest of the country in 1967, sparking a brutal civil war that lasted
until 1970.
Refugees during the "Biafra W |
Discontent with the federal government has never
been far from the surface in the region and over the last few months has
increased, after the leader of a hardline pro-Biafra group, Nnamdi Kanu, was
arrested and put on trial in the capital, Abuja.
Kanu, of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB)
group was arrested in October on charges of "treasonable felony" and
Nigerian President Muhammadu Buhari has described him as committing
"atrocities" against the state.
Nnamdi Kanu (c) in federal court in Abuja, November,
2015. (AFP / Pius Utomi Ekpei)
I've covered his trial for months from Lagos, the
commercial hub in the southwest where Kanu is written off as a radical heretic
with a dangerous agenda that will result in another civil war. In the rare
times there is news on his case, it's brief.
Support
heartland
I wanted to see what the situation was like on the
ground in the heartland of his support, in "Biafraland" itself. Last
month IPOB, which generally only communicates in wordy press releases and
through pro-Biafran newspapers in the southeast, agreed to talk to AFP so my
photographer colleague Stefan Heunis and I set off for Port Harcourt.
The strategic city – the hub of Nigeria's oil and
gas industry – was part of the independent Republic of Biafra in the 1960s
until it was recaptured by the army in 1968. Unlike in Abuja and Lagos, news of
Kanu's trial dominates the front pages of newspapers and radio airwaves here
and pro-Biafra graffiti and posters are commonplace on the streets.
Protesters march through Aba streets |
In the wider southeast, Kanu's IPOB group seems to
enjoy VIP status. It operates with martial discipline, has chapters in many
southeast states and uses code names. With Kanu behind bars, IPOB is suspicious
of strangers, fearing they are agents of the federal government.
The suspicious atmosphere is aggravated by
long-standing ethnic animosities in a country that before colonial rule was a
multitude of kingdoms and tribal states and today is home to some 500 ethnic
groups, with Yoruba, Hausa and Igbo the three largest.
A man attacked by Fulani herdsmen |
The ethnic divisions are being aggravated in a
worsening economic climate caused by the fall in global oil prices, which has
drastically cut government revenues from exports. Ethnic tensions escalate Ijaws
from the south who want a fairer share of oil revenue have started to attack
pipelines and facilities again, threatening the Yoruba in the southwest where
many oil companies have their bases.
The mostly Kanuri fighters of the Islamist group
Boko Haram have attacked the Hausa - and everybody else -- in the northeast in
their quest for a hardline Islamic state. And nomadic Fulani cattle herders
have stepped up attacks against farmers, mostly in the religiously mixed
central states.
In the southeast, where the Igbo people have greater
population, IPOB alleges it is being purposefully sidelined by the others. Many
claim the region and its people have been "punished" for what
happened in the 1960s. We got a taste of this chronic paranoia firsthand.
Before coming to Port Harcourt, we had arranged for a driver, who happened to
be Yoruba.
"It's
for your own safety"
Apparently this was a big mistake – IPOB's chief of
security advises me to get rid of the Yoruba driver in case he's a spy for the
federal government. It's "for your own safety," he said, assigning us
a new Igbo driver and an IPOB bodyguard. The chief of security, wearing a
Fossil watch and caramel-coloured crocodile leather shoes, explained why he
can't trust Yoruba, Hausa or Fulani people. "They don't understand our
struggle," he said.
We drove from Port Harcourt to Aba, an expressway
through verdant countryside with frequent military and police checkpoints –
nearly as many as in the Boko Haram-ravaged northeast, Stefan remarked.
Others described the hazards of life as a pro-Biafra
supporter. They said friends and family just disappeared if police found them
with a red, black and green Biafra flag, or pro-Biafra photos on their
cellphones and that random street skirmishes with Nigerian security forces were
common.
Little, if any, of this news gets reported in the
daily papers that I read in Lagos. Like Boko Haram in the north, it's difficult
to report on IPOB and the pro-Biafra movement. There are many versions of
events. Without being there when it happens, it's next to impossible knowing
whose version to trust.
IPOB, which claims it is a peaceful movement, has
been described by prosecutors as a terrorist organisation, with Kanu allegedly
sourcing arms to "levy war against Nigeria" and telling Radio Biafra
listeners to "burn down as many police stations as possible" and
"kill" policemen and military personnel.
Our new driver certainly had a cavalier attitude towards
police. At several checkpoints, he hung out the window of his luxury Lexus SUV
and shouted Kanu's trademark phrase "the zoo must fall" – the "zoo"
being Nigeria.
But surprisingly, instead of getting arrested,
police officers broke into smiles and shouted "God bless you!"
nigeria-unrest-social-biafra
A protest in support of Nnamdi Kanu in Aba,
southeast Nigeria, in November, 2015.
(AFP / Pius
Utomi Ekpei)
Another young police officer leaned into the car to
say "Do you know we are suffering? We are scapegoats."
On the way back from Aba our driver started blasting
Rod Stewart's "Rhythm Of My Heart", turned on the hazard lights and
started driving into oncoming traffic to beat the rush, a privilege usually
reserved for Nigeria's "big men" -- top politicians, army heads of
staff and oil executives.
The ride was as exhilarating as a rollercoaster –
and made me just as nauseous, too. I started praying for a cop to pull us over
and tell us to get back on the right side of the road. Unfortunately my prayers
weren't answered, but I was very grateful when we arrived at the hotel.
The next leg of the journey took us north to Nsukka,
the bucolic university town with manicured lawns immortalised in Chimamanda
Ngozi Adichie's "Half of a Yellow Sun" as the home of a revolutionary
academic who fights for Biafran independence.
Nnamdi Kanu coming to court |
We passed by ancient trucks reborn in hallucinogenic
shades of orange, pink and green and painted in biblical scenes with Byzantine
formality. Jesus was always white, so was Mary, and Samson wrestling the lion
too.
For every gas station there was a church, their
names serving as proclamation of their militant dedication. First came Violent
Faith Church International, then Jesus Army Assembly and the Global Liberation
Prophetic Church.
IPOB members are devout people. In their
"gospel of the restoration of Biafra" they describe Biafrans as the
Israelites of West Africa and demand independence from Nigeria and total
control of the vast riches in the region, including oil, which they say have
been unfairly syphoned off by leaders from the north and southwest since
Nigeria gained independence in 1960.
God
is everywhere
So important are God and gas in the southeast that
they often appear together in the myriads of independently-owned petrol
stations dotting the roads. 'Pinnacle Gas Station' and 'Good God Petroleum'
were just two of the more pious distributors.
The Biafran War may have ended in 1970, but people
in the southeast still have the same grievances, which have been jolted awake
by the renewed tensions and violence in the region. In Nimbo, an Igbo farming
community outside Nsukka, villagers said they were attacked by Fulani herdsmen,
nomadic cattle rearers who usually don't venture so far south.
At first glance it was hard to imagine violence in
such a beautiful place, where the copper red soil produces flawless
canary-yellow bananas and juicy mangos with a scent so fragrant it could be
worn as perfume.
The illusion was brief. Men were in the hospital
with deep gashes in their skulls, shattered jaws, arms and legs – all a result
of machete attacks. I stared too long at the Frankenstein stitiches. Had the
machete hit just millimetres lower, some of them would have been dead.
The farmers thrust photos of their dead relatives
into my hands, saying they had no protection from the government and that a
separate state is the only answer to their troubles.
A church in Biafraland after Fulani herdsmen attack |
You could feel the fear. The village was deserted.
People had closed shop and moved to safety. They didn't believe that anyone
would protect them from another Fulani herdsmen attack. In certain respects,
the Biafran dream is a modest one: a state with constant electricity, good
roads, freedom from violence, and more jobs.
IPOB has tapped into that frustration at a time when
life in Nigeria is getting harder as a result of the record low price of oil,
the country's main source of income.
Biafra
is at hand
Now with charismatic Kanu behind bars – a populist
martyr in the making – independence is increasingly being presented as the only
course of action in the face of perceived bias against the Igbos. It is a
struggle that, at the very least, has many sympathisers in the southeast.
Flying out, I looked through the airport bookstand,
where the young shopkeeper was reading "Half of a Yellow Sun". She
was selling textbooks on Biafran military strategy and three different titles
of pro-Biafra newspapers.
The Freedom Journal said 'Second Biafra Genocide
Commence!' Beside it, the Message had a photo of Kanu going handcuffed into
court, with the headline "I won't die, be steadfast, Biafra is at
hand."
nigeria-unrest-social-biafra
A 19-year-old who got shot during a pro-Biafra
protest in 2015 is carried in Aba, Nigeria, on May 3, 2016. (AFP / Stefan
Heunis)
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