Caleb Olubolade woke up one morning, and could not help but be upset that Bayelsa State had assets that could not be claimed from the parent state, Rivers. He could not understand why the Rivers State government couldn’t be more sympathetic to the plight of its own new-born baby. He resolved to take action. Let it be on record that he acted in the best interest of Bayelsa.
He just could not understand why Rivers State, as endowed as it was, could not extend a token generosity to Bayelsa, the young state carved out of its side. It was a riddle he could not fit together, an irony of optimal proportions wrapped up into a small ball of conceit. Port Harcourt, the Rivers State capital, had all the landmass it could boast of. It remains one of Nigeria’s most popular cities, a tourist destination of note, and a hub for public activities of every kind.
The reputation of Port Harcourt as a progressive city of commerce and industry was resounding. Its central place in the oil and gas matrix was assured. Its placement as the oil and gas capital in southern Nigeria was well-earned and unassailable. Its revenue base was broad, and its internally generated revenue apparatus was tested. So why couldn’t Rivers lend a helping hand to Bayelsa? Why was the Rivers State government reluctant to concede even the smallest portion that had been allocated to Bayelsa?
Olubolade was overly conscious of the fact that he was at the helm of affairs in a state known as the pride of the nation. The young Navy Captain saw a mark of distinction in that sobriquet, and he meant to manifest it in physical terms. If Bayelsa was to be deserving of its pet name as the pride of Nigeria, then Yenagoa the state capital, had to be better than a village with one road leading to a moot point at the waterside. It had to be better than a rural settlement with one solitary filling station, no communal playground, no taxis, and no radio house.
He wished he had enough resources to bring about drastic changes in the outlook of the state. If only he had a fair share of the assets from the sharing equation with Rivers State, he was sure Bayelsa would be better off as an economic entity. If only its parent state could concede valuable property, with particular regard to assets that were bound to enhance the coffers of Bayelsa, the Military Administrator would embark on more ambitious projects.
As things stood, it was clear that Bayelsa was burdened with more liabilities than assets. The assets sharing controversy was so severe that, even though both states were governed by non-indigenes, they developed what Joseph Akedesuo called ‘a proxy hate for each other’.
It was like a village squabble for paternal inheritance among siblings. Worse, this was a tussle between a parent and an infant. After the assets sharing committee had defined clear parameters, the sons of Rivers went behind, altered the details, and cornered the booty. For instance, proceeds from Hotel Presidential were supposed to be divided between both states on a 50-50 basis, but Bayelsa could not gain access to the accounts.
Hotel Olympia was expressly granted over to Bayelsa, but again its revenue profile was not disclosed until the administration of Rotimi Amaechi demolished the entire structure many years later. In like manner, the Airport Hotel at Omagwa overlooking the Port Harcourt International Airport was abandoned because the Rivers State government pulled out its management on the obvious ground that it could not bear a joint venture status with Bayelsa.
All of this was because the assets sharing committee made a tacit declaration to the effect that non-moveable assets belong to the host state, being the state in which they enjoy domiciliary presence. This wasn’t written anywhere, but it was a convenient argument gladly fronted by Rivers. For an infant state that had just been born out of its parent, the bitterness against Bayelsa was excessive.
The Chief Judge of Rivers State at the time, Justice David Koripamo Ngbuku, now a son of Bayelsa, was literally chased out of his official quarters because his successor, Justice Felix Ichoku, had to take over. Justice Ngbuku was to become the first Chief Judge of Bayelsa. Even staff of Government House, Port Harcourt, were asked to vacate their official quarters in 24 hours simply because their identity had changed to sons and daughters of Bayelsa overnight, and they did.
The separation, in fact, was made more poignant for many at the formal reception for Captain Phillip Ayeni, the first Military Administrator of Bayelsa, on the evening he arrived. It was a grand event inside the banquet hall of Brick House, Port Harcourt, but a disconsolate air hung over the ceremony. Prince David Bull and his international dance band played, with great relish, one of King Robert Ebizimor’s iconic songs entitled “Keme Menama Menama”, which virtually drove home the message for everyone to go their separate ways, as if to say: to your tents, O Israel.
Bull was Rivers, Ebizimor was Bayelsa. The line was drawn. That was the import of that song. It was a very emotional moment for many. At the end of the dinner, it became all too obvious that the umbilical cord had been severed between Rivers and Bayelsa. Akedesuo reminisced: ‘But we were consoled that we were going to our own state, to make the best of a new challenge’.
The rivalry over assets was even more accentuated. It was so extreme that it got to the point of litigation over the oil field known as Soku by Rivers, and Oluasiri by Bayelsa. The liaison offices in Port Harcourt, Lagos and Abuja came to a mutual split. It was easier to lay claim to property outside Rivers State. In Lagos, for instance, the property on Solomon Close, and the property opposite 1004 Estate on Victoria Island, were ceded to Bayelsa.
The liaison office on Bishop Oluwole Street, Victoria Island, Lagos, was a good example of the assets sharing dilemma between both states, with Rivers facing the beach, and Bayelsa facing inland. Another property at Ijora was also far from Rivers land, so it was easier to acquire. The same thing applied to the properties in Abuja.
By March 1998, the assets sharing controversy between Rivers and Bayelsa got to a head. The Federal Government promptly took action by reviewing the assets and liability sharing formula between the two states. As may be expected, the formula became effective with immediate alacrity, on 17 March of that year, and the ratio was put at 55% for Rivers and 45% for Bayelsa.
The Rivers State Attorney-General and Commissioner for Justice, Frank Owhor confirmed that the new formula was approved by the Head of State, General Sani Abacha, at a meeting with the Administrators of the two states, and that liabilities were to be shared on a ratio of 3.1 for Rivers and Bayelsa respectively.
All vehicles and equipment not physically shared as documented by the implementation committee were to be shared as well, while a common service agency would be set up to run jointly owned companies as recommended by the implementation committee. It was also decided that both primary and post primary schools boards and the Family Support Programme be excluded from the sharing exercise. The Head of State gave the two states 45 days to put the directive into full manifestation. The review would not affect assets already shared before 17 March 1998.
Collins Daniel, a member of the sub-committee on housing in the assets sharing arrangement, worked hand in hand with Captain Samuel Afolayan, head of the committee who later became Chief of Naval Staff. Other members of the committee from Bayelsa were C. T. Ikelemote and Frank Iwowari. The rallying point of the entire negotiation, however, was Ranami Abbah, an estate valuer, who was out to ensure that Bayelsa was not cheated in the equation.
On his part, Olubolade felt let down when he saw the details of the asset sharing blue print. He was reluctant to sign the document for obvious reasons. After that, Olubolade removed his mind from anything to do with assets sharing, determined to make the best of a bad situation.
Without doubt, it would have given his government a welcome leverage if Bayelsa had benefited from the exercise, like other states created alongside it. Except for the efforts of Chief Melford Okilo to decentralise development in the rural areas, everything else was concentrated in Port Harcourt. It was clear to Olubolade that he was coming to his new assignment with bare hands.
Given his result-oriented disposition to life, however, he decided to reach out to a prominent son of Bayelsa, a brilliant fellow naval officer with whom he had shared sailing and engineering experience in times past, a ship builder of no mean repute.
Olubolade formally requested the navy to release Commander Gboribiogha John-Jonah for a special operation. The captain explained the situation to the commander, and John-Jonah took it upon himself to give the help required of him. Through his strategic intervention and his valiant efforts, Bayelsa was able to secure some marine vessels, and bring pride to the state.
Olubolade recalled:
‘I had to investigate more. The Rivers team wanted more assets for themselves. I first appealed to my fellow Milad (Military Administrator) in Rivers, Colonel Musa Shehu, and get him to see that we were not born here. We should cooperate. We didn’t need someone from Abuja to share things for us. I had to report to General Abacha that Rivers was not ready to leave some things for us, even when we had agreed.
‘On several occasions we had serious arguments over the matter. It got to a stage, we had to take some assets by force. Thankfully, we didn’t exchange fire. I even had to go to the bank to see how much we had in the joint account. I went in sports wear with my boys. There was an argument at the gate, but when we got in, there was a better understanding’.
The irony underlying the assets sharing calculus was clearly expressed during the twelfth convocation ceremony of the University of Science and Technology, Port Harcourt. The occasion was taking place at the height of the debate as to who should take what. Shehu and Olubolade were listed as co-Visitors to the university. But while Shehu was adorned with the ceremonial hood and gown, Olubolade stood beside him in his immaculate navy uniform.
It was easy to see who had the greater claim to the university. It was also easy to see who had access to the assets and who would be burdened with liabilities.
