The Enyi Mba Enyi war song should have been put off. But no; we rushed it; we rolled that lyrics out in old world tapestry to clothe us. We wanted to run down coal-tarred roadways, in a stampede of angry men, chanting to bolster our eagerness to go to a war we were not ready to fight.
—Don Okolo
Gestation, as in conception and growth, is everything. Period. When birth occurs, and it is premature, the consequences of it could vary from dire birth defects to the newborn living through distressed attempts at resuscitation to that unavoidable certainty: Death. For the premature births that survive, the odds are against them; the likelihood of a normal life without the constraints of functional limbs, ophthalmic (Acuity of vision), or neurological misappropriations by Nature are dim…indeed, immeasurably bleak.
As shrewd, and as enlightened as the Igbos are…at least, they never wear borrowed robes, one would think that given the situation in 1967, that they would have huddled together with jars of palm wine and talked it over. The pregnancy was no longer implied. It was obvious…real.
Even as it was declared a raping, and the perp was waxing with inane drivels on the savannah, licking his chops, the Igbos had time to think through a revenge plan…one that would be under lock and key, and would simmer slowly in that deliberate attempt to pulverize a pot full of hard stones into molten rock.
The Enyi Mba Enyi war song should have been put off. But no; we rushed it; we rolled that lyrics out in old world tapestry to clothe us. We wanted to run down coal-tarred roadways, in a stampede of angry men, chanting to bolster our eagerness to go to a war we were not ready to fight. I’ll take that back; we were ready but were ill-prepared to go to that war.
I’ll take that back; we were ready but were ill-prepared to go to that war.
In truth, the Igbos were under the workings…under the swirling bombardment for ingesting of a hardcore, undiluted drug. We were forced to jump the gun…as in taking that shot without a clear aim at the target. Even with the mark standing at arm’s length, we missed. And there was a reason we could not put holes in the barn door while we were standing right in front of it with a shotgun.
I know there are those that will disagree with me, with every fiber of their being on this topic. This is a sacred theme…one that bears no other discussion except that which would compel the dissolution of the world’s most disharmonious polity. And I agree with them. But please, hear me out. This is where pragmatism, and the reality on the ground should have awakened the Beast in the astute one. The Beast here, and at that time in the beginning fracas, was in the position to walk slowly and carry a big stick. Again, we would have been graced and called Noble, by another name, to add to our growing classifications as the world’s most vibrant, and fearless troopers, to sit, and then lean back inside that gigantic, expansive Obi in Nnewi, or in Ala Ngwa, or in Anywhere Owerri, to lick our wounds while developing a strategy that would have been thoroughly finessed if there had been a sit-down. A freaking sit-down was all we needed. Somehow, the Igbos passed on it.
All the kinks would have been removed or polished out to await the delivery of this Beast we Christened BIAFRA. It would all be done through newer stealth technologies. But we blew it. We were in a hurry: We were carrying and nursing that battered wife’s syndrome patina that blinded us. We could no longer wait…even as I believe we could have waited. Here is what I am trying to tell ya.
Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu is/was Nnewi: A Sandhurst Military Academy badass. In my opinion, he blew it for Ndi Igbo. I think he meant well. But by the same token, he was snared inside the churning eddies from a combination of cocktails; the likelihood he would become the Head of State of an oil producing Nation if his gamble succeeded was the driving force. He saw nothing else to outdo that. So, he hastily declared the State of Biafra. In all intents and purposes, Ojukwu, by declaring Biafra, declared war. Simple. If you must shoot at me, please aim for my lower torso; I have nothing there I want to salvage…or protect.
Here is what it would have meant if Ojukwu had succeeded, and the State of Biafra became a nation fifty-something odd years ago: Nigeria would go from being an oil-rich State to a beggar-nation. Who among you really believed that Nigeria would cut us loose, walk away, in the hope they would find crude in the desert lands of the North? Therefore, I do not believe that Ojukwu’s Sandhurst Military education served him well.
By not thinking about the fierce resistance that would follow, he practically underestimated the size of the dog in the fight. I am not granting any bravado with the Nigerian Army during the conflict. If anything, it was the Biafran Army that had swagger and bluster in their scheme going against an army of Britain that sustained the Nigerian Army against a landlocked militia that fought the first twenty months of the war with dogged tenacity, and Mark 4, World War II rifles.
We would have waited. Infiltrate their outposts in the dead of night.
The patient dog gets the fattest bone. We would have waited. Infiltrate their outposts in the dead of night. We would still ply our trade among them, while amassing munitions through our southernmost borders to fight this war. Imagine if there was no war in 1967.
Imagine if we had not declared the State of Biafra at the time. Could anyone fathom the totality of the mayhem, if the Biafran Army had struck in the dead of night, ten, twenty years later, on all fronts? Imagine how this clandestine warfare would have been carried out; all Nigeria’s Military Depots would have been sabotaged, as we were badging in from all corners.
Why did Ojukwu not go to the Russians and cut a deal?
My point is this; this plan would have taken years to simmer. On that D-Day, Nigeria would have surrendered right there on their beds. Why did Ojukwu not go to the Russians and cut a deal? The Russians would have aided this secret plan to the point of it being flawless. All the Russians would want could be multi-year crude hauls out of the Southeast. And Nigerians would have been caught with their pants down.
The plan would have been with the same strike as one would expect from a Fer de Lance (A brand of snake) When the break out was imminent, and the war was all but lost, why did he not take with him, the only war General left in his beleaguered army? How could he have left his own kinsman, Colonel Onwuatuegwu, behind?
I would say it again; the man meant well…but he was unable to shed that recalcitrant mindse…
These were some of his failings, alongside thinking from his butthole in the planning stages. I would say it again; the man meant well…but he was unable to shed that recalcitrant (Obstinate) mindset that caused him to make a declaration he knew would fail. All he had in his arsenal were double-barreled shotguns he confiscated from citizens who were doing their part to contribute to the war effort. Col. Nzeogwu led a haphazard platoon to Obolafor, in Nsukka…a one-goat enclave, to fend off the well-oiled Nigerian Army. Ojukwu had to take that shot in the dark in the hope of hitting something. He lost Nzeogwu, his most revered warrior in the opening salvos.
The current crops of Biafran Nation enthusiasts are loquacious (Loud talkers). I have seen some of Nnamdi Kanu’s rants. And they are rants…as much as he makes a lot of sense…and as much as I agree with him. I would prefer that quiet, smooth approach. Leave all that name calling, in-your-face spats to your underlings. The Nelson Mandela-Mahatma Gandhi approach is a virtuous methodology to adopt; yeah…walk slowly, but carry a big stick. It would garner (earn us) worldwide attention to the cause.
♦ Don Okolo, Professor and filmmaker, is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of many books.
