May 29, 1966: A schoolboy’s longest day

1966 was Nigeria’s Annus Horribilis (a Latin phrase meaning a horrible year) without a doubt. Barely a fortnight into the New Year, on January 15, the country was rocked by a violent military coup d’etat that took the lives of prominent politicians and senior military officers. The Military High Command pronounced the act “a mutiny by a dissident section of the Nigerian Army,” which would soon be crushed. So it was, and the Military High Command took over government under the leadership of Major-General JTU Aguiyi-Ironsi as Supreme Commander and Head of the Federal Military Government.

In May, riots broke out in towns and cities across the Northern Region in what government characterised as “communal disturbances.” This occasioned considerable loss of lives and the exodus of easterners to their home region.

Another coup d’etat which took place on July 29, cost many military officers their lives and shook Nigeria to its very foundation, nearly toppling it.

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The morning of Sunday found me and my nephew, the late Mai’eka Mohammed, in Gusau, on our way to Keffi, where we attended secondary school. It was a 1000km journey which took two to three days, with nights often spent in motor parks of towns along the route.

Five days earlier, on May 29, the Federal Military Government had issued Decree No 34, abolishing the country’s four regions, replacing them with “Groups of Provinces.” Evidently, that was the last straw for the Northern Region, which viewed the many policies of the government as inimical to its interests. Add to this the inexplicable behaviour of easterners resident in the region regarding the events of January 15.

I had planned to go to the post office to visit Mr Anyaegbunam, who was previously the PM in my hometown. He had taken a liking to me from the day I presented a five-shilling (5/) postal order; the Gaskiya Ta fi Kwabo newspaper sent me in acknowledgement of my article on an inter-school football match, which it published. Mr Anyaegbunam encouraged me to open a post office savings account, reasoning that a Primary 5 pupil had no business handling such sum of money in 1961.

As we set out for the post office, we ran into a big crowd chanting:” A Raba, A Ware”(Let’s separate). They were protesting against the Federal Military Government and demanding the secession of the Northern Region from the rest of the country.

Blocked from proceeding to our original destination, we entered a nearby motor park to get transport to Funtua. Men of the Nigeria Police followed rioters into the park, throwing teargas.

After a long delay, we got a bus to take us to Funtua. On the way, in Bilbis town on the old road, a severely agitated man driving a Peugeot 403 with its roof removed frantically waved our driver to a stop. He told us that Funtua was aflame, with rioters clashing with both easterners and the police. He further advised that passengers with thick mop of hair should shave, else they would be mistaken for easterners and attacked.

Mai’eka and I decided not to shave, believing that wearing our school uniform (kaftan) with a distinct college badge made us safe. It did. Thus, we arrived Funtua where we met corpses in the main street. We threaded our way to the motor park opposite Mamman Shata’s residence.

After a long wait, we boarded a Mercedes 911 lorry for Zaria and arrived in the late afternoon. The driver dropped passengers at PZ, unwilling to proceed to either nearby Sabon Gari or Tudun Wada, scenes of intense clashes. Lacking transport to continue our journey to Kaduna, we decided to go to Barewa College, where another nephew was an HSC student, to seek accommodation.

Carrying our boxes on our heads, we trudged across Kubani bridge to Tudun Wada, specifically Tashar Agoro junction. As we waited to cross to Gaskiya Corporation road, lorries carrying easterners out of Sabon Gari careened on the road, lurching into groups of stone-throwing rioters to scare them.

Soldiers lined the road, but were not engaged. Suddenly, we saw a young woman cross the road to plant herself in front of a soldier near us. Pointing her forefinger at his face, she shouted, “Kun ce ku maza ne. Kuna ina aka kashe Sardauna?” The soldier didn’t say anything, just smiled at her. She adjusted her wrapper, wiggled her finger at him again and ran back to join the fray.

Mai’eka and I reached Barewa College, where we were taken in for the night. The principal, Mr Crampton, deployed members of the cadet corps to patrol the school perimeter to keep out both those in flight and those in pursuit.

On Monday, we headed out to the motor park, where we boarded a lorry to Kaduna, a city whose streets we found deserted and graffiti-adorned buildings.

Army out. We stayed for two days until some semblance of normalcy returned following broadcast pleas by the military governor, Colonel Hassan Usman Katsina and the Sultan, Sir Abubakar III.

From all we went through that day, what I remember most is that we never at any time felt in danger. We had a journey ahead of us, so we just ploughed on. The society at that time also looked kindly upon ‘Yan Boko’. Above all, providence guided and protected us on that long day.

Usman wrote from Kaduna.

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