Francis Ugo was Ayabowei’s bosom friend. They were two Ijaw sons with a very bright future in the new Nigerian nation. They had embarked on similar educational adventures together. They were both classroom teachers of considerable repute, and their last post was Nembe National Grammar School. They had spent time together. They had so much in common. One day, Ugo invited Ayabowei to accompany him to Sabagriea, his hometown. He had a brother whom he wanted Clinton to meet.
Koripamo David Ungbuku, the brother in question, was in his first year as a lawyer in 1971. He was home for a short holiday, so Francis took Clinton to see him. From the very first handshake between Ayabowei and Ungbuku, a bond was established. In many ways, they had a close physical resemblance. In height and complexion, they looked alike. Even in speech, they sounded alike. A slow, measured elocution of words could not be missed. In the course of discussions that afternoon, Ungbuku got to know that Ayabowei had four A-level papers.
‘This NCE you are looking for’, said the young lawyer, ‘why don’t you leave the college, go straight to the University of Lagos, and read Law instead’.
Till then, Ayabowei’s ambition was to read for his B.Ed, so that he could become the Principal of the college at Oporoma where he taught. But when Ungbuku made that suggestion, Clinton took the advice to heart. He was better off going straight to the university. He was sure he could read for any course at the university, except medicine. All he needed to do was write to the Registrar, University of Lagos, requesting to be sent the form for direct entry to study Law. Clinton did just that and, before long, the form arrived through the post office.
In the absence of a photocopier to duplicate his credentials, Clinton used a tripod camera to snap his credentials, made them into post cards attached to the form, and sent the package back through the post office. The meeting with Ungbuku had come as an eye-opener. At the College of Education, Ayabowei was so good in English and French that he became the best in both subjects, and inevitably became head of the French faculty. The Provost of the college had told him to lead a group to Togo for a six-week course in French.
Clinton’s command of the French language earned him the friendship and respect of the white lecturers at the University of Togo, Lome. It was clear that he was ready to learn, and it was typical of him to answer every question. His classmates called him Language Carpenter because he could translate English into French, and vice versa.
He had the advantage of having Togolese boys as his neighbours in the same yard back in Port Harcourt. He also received coaching from a certain gentleman from Lobia who lived in Cameroun, and had come on holidays. Little wonder that Clinton quickly caught up with the language, and became the best in French among his peers.
When Clinton Ayabowei got back to Nigeria after those six weeks in Lome, his admission letter was waiting for him at the Faculty of Law, University of Lagos. Just as Ungbuku had said, the course duration for direct entry candidates like Ayabowei with A-level papers, was three years instead of four. He managed to pay the fees for the first term, and attended a scholarship interview in Port Harcourt. As it turned out, he didn’t get the scholarship as expected, and was understandably distressed. No salary was forthcoming again, and he wondered how he would meet up his fees.
‘But by God’s grace’, said Ayabowei, ‘Otuan people were many in Lagos, and they contributed to my fees. My mother’s cousin alone gave me two hundred pounds. Otherwise, at the end of the first term, I was about to withdraw from the university’.
At the time in question, Commander Alfred Papapreye Diete-Spiff was serving as Military Governor of Rivers State, but he was operating from a liaison office in Lagos. While Clinton was contemplating the matter of his fees, and how he would withdraw if he couldn’t cope, Governor Diete-Spiff pronounced automatic scholarship for every Rivers State student in higher institutions of learning. That declaration brought immense relief to Ayabowei. Even the initial fee he had paid was returned to him. Spiff’s automatic scholarship covered tuition, feeding, medicals, everything that had to do with the comfort of the student.
‘Instantly, I became a flamboyant, well-to-do student. That’s how God helped me’, said Ayabowei. At the end of the degree course, he thought of working for a year or two, earn some money and make life more comfortable for his parents. Companies were ready to engage graduates in the rank of personnel manager. The people of Otuan, in particular, were happy for Ayabowei, the first lawyer to emerge from among them.
‘They threw a party for me in Lagos, contributed money, entertained me, and showed me love. About thirty Otuan soldiers in Abeokuta invited me over and hosted me with another big party’.
When Clinton Ayabowei, the young lawyer, finally arrived home, a grand overnight party was staged to receive this illustrious son of Otuan. The community, led by King Edward Tukpu and his council of elders, bought one tall Aladdin lantern as a symbolic gift for Ayabowei.
‘Take this light and make Otuan bright’, said the king. The chorus of amen was resounding, and God heard their prayers.
When the young lawyer moved to Port Harcourt, he was posted to the Ministry of Justice, on account of the scholarship bond with the Rivers State government. He would serve there for one year, after which he would be appointed a magistrate. But Clinton Ayabowei found the work boring at the ministry. He hardly went go to court. He was always in the DPP department, giving legal advice to the police, flipping through one file after another, and closing at four o’clock.
He had cause to ask himself one crucial question. Why am I a lawyer? He felt as though he was wasting his time, to say nothing of his intellectual capacity. Yes, he had a big library to explore, a wide office space, a telephone on his table, an intercom on one side, in and out trays, and servants at his beck and call. At lunch time, tea girls would come in and serve whatever he wanted. But, in all this, Ayabowei didn’t have job satisfaction.
After six months, he resigned from government service and joined his mentor, K.D. Ungbuku, in his chamber. However, the Chief Registrar would not accept Ayabowei’s resignation because he was bonded to the Rivers State government. ‘So they sued me before the High Court, demanding twenty pounds’, recalls Ayabowei. He was in the thick of that case with the Rivers State government when E.J. Igoniwari, another young lawyer, joined Ungbuku Chambers. Like a tag team, Ayabowei would prepare his own defense, and Igoniwari would represent him in court.
Then came the House of Assembly option. Ayabowei was invited to vie for the office on behalf of his people. He accepted the invitation, contested the election and won, becoming a pioneer member of the Rivers State House of Assembly in 1979 under the government of Chief Melford Okilo. Even then, Ayabowei’s case was running, and he was still attending court.
One fateful day in court, Justice Y. Ogosu, the judge hearing the case, asked the government lawyer, Fubara, a pointed question: ‘You complained that Ayabowei refused to serve the Rivers State government. Now that he is in the Rivers State House of Assembly, is he not serving Rivers State?’
Fubara had no choice but to concede defeat, and that was how Clinton Ayabowei’s case was struck out.
