Dear Governor Douye Diri, I have been trying hard to find words to relieve my ache, and then it occurred to me that if I send my condolences to you over the recent demise of Navy Captain Walter Aye Feghabo, it might help. After all, you are the Governor of Bayelsa State. It is in order for you to receive condolences over the loss of a truly noble son of Bayelsa, a gallant soldier, an officer of distinction, a leader of men, a Captain of the Nigerian Navy, an Administrator of no mean repute, a shrewd negotiator, and head chief of the Amain-Kien-Alagoa-Koki Group of War-Canoe Chieftaincy Houses of Nembe.
A big tree has fallen in the ancient city-state, Your Excellency, and the story pertaining to that tree needs to be told. It is an illustrious tale that takes root in antiquity. But let me not get ahead of my duty to express thanks for your very kind and thoughtful condolence message to the family, among which number I count as one member. Chief Walter Feghabo-Amain, after all, happens to be my elder brother. It is easy to be frank and say we were first cousins, but he was the elder brother I never had. He saw himself that way too. He virtually supplanted me as the first son at the burial of my father, his mother’s younger brother.
Do not be perplexed if I recount a few personal tit-bits I remember about my brother. I am only doing my best to get the weight of his loss off my loaded chest. My fascination for Walter goes a long way back. I can afford to tell you that he was the only son my father had eyes for. In other words, Walter came first in the estimation of my father. His matter was priority, even before the man’s own children. That is because, among the Nembe people, a sister’s children belong to her brother. In times past, in fact, the uncle was at liberty to sell his sister’s children, so to speak, for a bottle of gin, or a princely staff, if not a glittering mirror.
In the case of Walter, my father decided to change the norm. As a school teacher, Joseph Aye Ilagha opted to train his nephew instead, as far as his pocket could allow. Walter became my father’s primary obsession, so much so that my father registered his young nephew at St Luke’s Elementary School, Nembe, as Walter Aye Ilagha. When my father left for Lagos at the end of the civil war, he took Walter with him and got him to sit for the exam that earned the youngster a place at the Nigerian Military School, Zaria. Only then did the cadet change his name to Walter Aye Feghabo. He had already gained admission to read Chemistry at the university, but opted for the military instead.
In all that time, I saw Walter as my immediate elder brother, and I was proud of him. I cannot forget the excitement I felt in 1972, during the All-Africa Games in Lagos, when I saw Walter on television for the first time, representing the Nigerian Navy in swimming. I watched him peel off his tracksuit, flex his muscles in his swimming trunks, and dive into the pool alongside his fellow contestants at the blast of the starting gun. I was with him in that swimming pool, striking out with valiant breast strokes, panting for breath, heading for victory. He came third, and bowed on his platform to receive his bronze medal with a smile. I watched him on a black and white television set, but I have lived with the colour of that event in my heart till date.
As a boy, I woke up one morning and discovered that my father was not tuning the big brown box radio in search of news channels as he was wont to do at dawn. It was the most prized possession in our house, that radio, and my sensibilities were just waking up to the delights of broadcasting. My mother was curious too. She pressed her husband for answers, and my father finally confessed that he sold it to raise the fees for Walter. We took a second look at him, and concluded that it made sense to us all the way.
When Walter came home on holidays and I saw him for the first time in the uniform of a cadet, I stood in ramrod admiration of him. My father enlarged the photograph he brought with him, and hung it in our seating room. I still see the eyes of the young cadet, eyes as hard as marble, staring into the future, a pluck of colourful feathers in his beret.
A few years later, when he came home again, he was dressed in the immaculate uniform of the Nigerian Navy. Imagine the joy in my heart when, one day, my father told me that Walter had traveled outside Nigeria. He was now in Cochin, India, undergoing training to become an officer of the Navy. I wrote him many fond letters, giving him reports about what was happening in the family, and how we miss him. After many weeks, I would be pleasantly surprised to receive a reply from Walter, his fine feminine handwriting spelling out my name in full on the envelope, just beneath the strange stamps from India.
The next time I received a letter from him, he was writing from the naval training school in Dartmouth, England, or else from Plymouth, United Kingdom. When he returned from that trip, he brought me a unique long sleeve top, bright yellow in the glare of daylight, with the legend of adidas scrawled out in lower case, a splash of deep red across the yellow background. I wore that jersey like a trophy all over Nembe, and stored it for special occasions only, hidden under my portmanteau till I grew up and forgot about it.
When I finished from the University of Port Harcourt and lost one year before going for national youth service, my father thought it would be a good idea if I spent time with Walter for a few weeks, so he despatched me to the Navy Base at Apapa, along with another cousin of mine, Christopher Green, who had finished from the University of Science and Technology, Port Harcourt.
That’s when I knew what it meant to live in the barracks with a naval officer. Everything was clockwork, and cleanliness was next to Godliness. The kitchen was always stocked with foodstuff, and the fridge with fresh fish from the lagoon. He left home early in the morning, and returned in the evening or late at night. No time for conversation. He was never really home, but he made sure we were always comfortable. His paternal cousin, Charles Feghabo, was the chef of the house. I spent long hours watching television, and scribbling poetry. It was in Walter’s house that I first saw the classic movie, Sound of Music, and began singing along with Maria and the Von Trappe Family Singers.
Many years later, I was serving as Editor of The Tide on Sunday in Port Harcourt when the Head of State, General Sani Abacha, announced the creation of five new states. I was as happy as may be expected with the creation of Bayelsa State, but when I heard that my brother had been appointed as the first Military Administrator of the newly created Ebonyi State, I went into a giddy paroxysm.
I left my duty post in a hurry, boarded a bus that was just too slow for my excitement, and ran the rest of the way to break the good news to my father at our house in Marine Base. My father was delirious with joy, his attention tuned to the radio for the next bulletin. From that day on, my father took on a new identity. He went all over Port Harcourt, and wanted the whole world to know that he was now to be called and addressed as the Governor’s Father. I couldn’t stop laughing. We were all so proud of our own Walter. My father began to plan a trip to see his son at Abakaliki, the new state capital. He made the trip before long, and the photographs showed him cheerful and fulfilled to be with his son in that gubernatorial office.
One evening, I returned from work, and for a moment, thought I had missed my way to my house. My apartment was bright with lights from a brand new generator, and when I walked in, I was stunned at what I saw. The seating room that was once empty sparkled with new furniture, a sizable television set beaming colourful images amid a babble of voices.
I had virtually walked into a fairytale setting, a small chandelier bright above my head, white swans swimming in the velvety tide of the new set of chairs, a brand new rug under my feet. Walter had planned the surprise when he learnt that our dad was staying with me in my official quarters. He also bought my father a brown Mercedes Benz, and my father couldn’t stop bragging that he was now a car owner with the right to sit at the owner’s corner. I remember when Walter bought his own first car and demonstrated to me that you could start a car by simply pressing a button. No keys. His first car was like that, a small piece of automobile rigged with gadgets.
Lest I forget, in the days when I served as Speech Writer to the Governor, the only time I came close to losing my temper with Alamieyeseigha was the day he confronted me with an allegation. Is it true that you are revealing sensitive secrets of the Bayelsa State government to your cousin, Walter Feghabo? Alamieyeseigha was taken aback at my reaction. I looked at him with such sudden fury that he might have thought Mike Tyson was about to attack him, or as if I would wrestle him to the ground with a few tactics I had learnt in Fantuo.
Who told you that? I asked, missing out the respectful appellation, before adding it in a repeat question. Who told you that, Your Excellency? Staring into my eyes, Alamieyeseigha saw what the scripture calls righteous anger. He told me to calm down, and waved me to a seat, but I remained standing, insisting on my right to know who could have been so wicked as to malign me, and so desperate to see my downfall as to utter such a despicable lie against my innocent self. I had not seen the man for years since our disagreement over the burial of my father, talk less of leaking official secrets to him.
At the time in question, the campaign for a second term in office was picking up, and Alamieyeseigha was beginning to size up the likely contenders in the race to Creek Haven. Walter Feghabo was coming out as the popular gubernatorial candidate of the National Democratic Party. Given his sterling record of performance in Ebonyi State, it gave Alamieyeseigha some level of concern. In the end, the Governor-General got to know that someone set out to blackmail me for no just cause. In a bid to cheer me up, Alamieyeseigha included me on his entourage in what turned out to be my first trip to London where he gave his first international lecture on the environmental challenges of developing the Niger Delta, under the auspices of NewsAfrica magazine.
Let’s keep Walter in focus, Your Excellency. I was glad to know that the people of Ebonyi State were so impressed with the efforts of their first Military Administrator that they erected a statue in his honour at a popular roundabout. The monument still stands till date, even as we speak. For me, that tells a great story not only about the gratitude of the Ebonyi people, but the abiding labour of Navy Captain Walter Feghabo.
The story would not be complete without a paragraph on Walter’s love for his own state, his desire to replicate what he had done in Ebonyi and Delta, if he had the chance to become a civilian Governor of Bayelsa. As it turned out, he did not. But he accepted to serve in a humble capacity, as Chairman of the project monitoring and evaluation agency under the government of Alamieyeseigha, and subsequently the government of Dickson.
Your Excellency, how can I forget that Navy Captain Walter Feghabo walked alongside Rear Admiral Gboribiogha John-Jonah, both retired from the Navy, the first two sons of Nembe Kingdom to navigate their way through swampy land, and drive into Nembe. The historic milestone couldn’t be missed. It happened on 31 December 2013. The Nembe people received the two adventurers with lavish celebration for the heroes they are. From that day, the road to Nembe became a reachable possibility. I have no doubt, Your Excellency, that Chief Walter Feghabo-Amain would have been happy to witness the day when the Nembe-Brass road, currently being constructed by your government, would tear through the swamp and enable vehicles drive up to the city by the Atlantic.
By the way, it never ceases to amaze me how grounded Walter was in Nembe traditional lore. He was conversant with the customs and practices of his people, and his knowledge of Nembe history was profound. He could trace his lineage to the farthest progenitor. In his capacity as Chief Amain, he knew his bloodline beyond King Boy Amain, the Amanyanabo of Nembe who formally received John and Richard Lander, the two British brothers who embarked on a mission to Africa, sailing from England to the shores of Twon-Brass, and up the creeks to Angiama.
Besides, Chief Walter Feghabo-Amain knew his ancestry on both sides of the Nembe city-state. He was recognized as a worthy prince in Obolomabiri and in Bassambiri. He could trace his descent from the Mingi dynasty as much as from the Ogbodo dynasty. He could lay claim to the throne at Bassambiri, if he wanted. After all, King Ogbodo had three sons and a daughter.
By the matrilineal heritage of the Nembe people, the line of the woman pointed directly to the throne. Ogbodo’s only daughter was the grandmother of Bugo who begat Dighabofegha who begat Owei-ilagha who begat Daukoru, mother of Walter Feghabo. It was Walter, in fact, who told me that King Ogbodo, our patriarch, was actually buried in Obolomabiri, not Bassambiri, and he showed me the grave at Amasara Polo.
In spite of the tough facade he gave of himself, Walter Feghabo was easily empathetic at heart. He had a soft spot that he did well to hide. He easily identified with the dilemmas faced by people around him. He was a giver, if he had enough to share. He believed in happiness as a tonic for daily living. He was sociable to a fault. If he believed in a cause he took it as his first line of duty to stay loyal to that cause until results became visible. He equally made it a point of duty to share in the joy of others, even as he was quick to express sympathy in times of sorrow.
More than anything else, Walter Aye Feghabo loved the good life. It was as if, after being away on the high seas for weeks, if not months, the sailor in him wanted to catch up with what he might have missed on land. In many ways, Walter could qualify to be called a playboy of the Western world. But even as he was conversant with life in India, England and America, Walter was a true homeboy at heart. He was at home with the tenets of the Nembe people, and he did his best to uphold them. He was proud to be Nembe, and glad to walk with great respect amongst his people.
I cannot forget the day I saw Walter dancing at Owusegi Polotiri, Nembe. He stood out in his grand sense of dressing as much as his energetic display of dancing skills, each step reminding me in majestic terms of my father’s passion and enthusiasm for Sekiapu, the traditional dance ensemble of the Nembe people. I recall seeing a short video footage of Chief Walter Feghabo-Amain teaching a few American diplomats on a visit to the small brave city-state how to dance, with appropriate fanfare, to traditional Nembe drum signals at King Koko Square.
What’s more, I was gratified when the retired Navy Captain called me one day only to tell me that he made it a point of duty to read everything I write. He was moved that day, he said, by my soulful tribute to King Okpoitari Diongoli of blessed memory. That was when I first suggested that it was time for him to give me an exclusive chit-chat on his days in public office, with particular regard to his pioneering credentials in Ebonyi State and his equally eventful days as Military Administrator of Delta State. To persuade him further about the propriety of the project, I dropped a copy of Big Daddy, my book on our father. He was grateful and began to read it immediately.
In like manner, when I published the book on Navy Captain Caleb Olubolade, I sent a personal autographed copy to Walter in a bid to make my case stronger for a book project on him. When last I saw him, he had lost weight visibly, and I began to feel prompted to hurry up with our proposed encounter. On 12 October 2025, he came strongly to my mind again and I requested to meet with him.
The following day, he sent me the address of the hospital where he had been on admission. I promised that I would spend time with him as soon as I put the last full stop on the final chapter of my new book on Alamieyeseigha. Six days later, on October 19, I received an urgent call from my younger brother, Fakuma, telling me pointedly that Walter was no more. My mind simply went on break.
Every year, I always send birthday greetings to my elder brother on 10 December, and eight days later he would send birthday greetings to me and my twin sister. This year will be different. He won’t be here to receive our goodwill messages, nor share his thoughts with me. I can only imagine that Chief Walter Feghabo-Amain was concerned about who would emerge as the next Governor of Bayelsa State. He knew the political configuration of the state as much as any patriotic son and daughter of Bayelsa, and he was hopeful that the next Governor would come from the eastern senatorial district, specifically Nembe. He himself once aspired to govern his home state the way he governed two neighbouring states in times past.
If he had his way, in fact, if he was in good health and excellent spirits, retired Navy Captain Walter Aye Feghabo would have been in a jolly good position to contest for the office of Governor of Bayelsa State again, and possibly win. Alas, he has gone the way of all flesh too soon, and we are left to nurture a persistent ache in the spirit, and wonder how to fill the vacuum he has left behind.
I feel terrible that I could not support my brother in his last days because the Bayelsa State government has refused to obey a court ruling and pay me my hard-earned entitlements. I will miss the very sight of Walter Feghabo, my brother, our handsome warrior captain. I will miss his graceful swagger, his charismatic carriage, his self-assured intervention, his cool comportment, his sheer cocksure presence. I will miss his native intelligence, his avuncular manners, his no-nonsense bravado. I will miss the vibrant essence of the man I call Cowboy. I will miss the very sound of his voice.
