In the morning of Tuesday, 24 May 2011, I went down on my knees in my sleeping gown, brought my open palms together, and prayed that God would make a way for me where there seemed to be no way. Here was I, in my lonesome bedsitter in London, and Dr. Goodluck Ebele Jonathan was about to be sworn into office as President and Commander In Chief of the Armed Forces of the Federal Republic of Nigeria.
The man was my boss. I worked for him, wrote his speeches in times past, so why should I not attend the inauguration of the first son of the Niger Delta to emerge at the helm of affairs in my country? Do I need a special invitation to attend such a function? Who would stop me anyway? What could stop me? This was a lifetime event, and it would take place at Eagle Square, Abuja, on Sunday 29 May 2011. I had a head start of five days.
And so, I lugged my laptop and travelling bag, took one familiar look at the room with the shape of a diamond that was my sanctuary for the better part of one and a half years, and boarded the next train to Heathrow Airport. I was leaving for Nigeria to attend a landmark event without a formal invitation of any kind. In other words, I invited myself to an occasion that was not expecting me.
I had read about Eagle Square, seen pictures of it in the papers and on television, and become sufficiently acquainted with its central place in the making of a new Nigeria. Now I was going to walk into that space and take a seat as I choose. I resolved to witness the ceremony at first hand, but only God could have seen me into Eagle Square, as fortified as it can get.
And so, I stayed in a decent hotel in Abuja for all of four days, fresh from the United Kingdom. On the appointed day, Sunday, 29 May 2011, I went down on my knees again, thanking God for bringing me thus far. I was counting on him to see me into Eagle Square the way he saw me safely from Heathrow Airport, London, to Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja.
But the face of authority was stern and forbidden that Sunday morning. All tele-communication networks were suspended, so that you couldn’t say hello to your neighbour over the phone, to say nothing of putting a long distance call to a friend or loved one far away. More than that, the streets of Abuja were dry of traffic. Every vehicle was off the road, except vehicles on essential duty.
As fate would have it, the popular Nollywood actor, Zack Orji and I stayed in the same hotel and shared breakfast at the canteen. I saw him commandeer a taxi from the ranks of the hotel, and I did likewise. Abuja was truly empty that morning, and everywhere you turned, a checkpoint was waiting to check you in and out.
Sitting as I was in the owner’s corner of the cab in my royal regalia, I must have been a sight no one wanted to keep in traffic for too long. I was evidently heading to the one historic event of the day, and it would be folly to delay me. One after the other, the checkpoints gave us free access until that point beyond which the taxi could not go.
On the outskirts of Eagle Square, the security cordon tightened even more surely, every point manned by fierce-looking soldiers in battle gear. Just when I was wondering how I could get past them, a long Coaster bus rolled up to me, branded with the full identity of the Bayelsa State Government. Inside it were sons and daughters of Glory Land, all dressed in celebration colours, all set to raise their voices in honour of the in-coming President Jonathan.
The doors of the Coaster bus swung open, and out stepped Dr (Mrs.) Bolere Ketebu-Nwokeafor. The last time I had anything to do with her, she was Secretary to the State Government (SSG) under the Sylva government, and I remember her for signing the longest signature I have ever seen from a female pen when she endorsed my appointment letter as General Manager of the Bayelsa State Newspaper Corporation. And here she was, apparently set to hold brief for me.
Right beside her was Navy Captain Omoniyi Caleb Olubolade, former Military Administrator of Bayelsa State. They both acknowledged me before the soldiers as His Royal Highness Mingi-Yai of Nembe Kingdom, and the gun-totting fellows had no doubt about it. I stepped into the bus majestically, gathering my royal robe around me with the care of a pope gathering his cassock together before mounting the pulpit.
The bus rolled to the final checkpoint leading into the venue, and just before we turned to walk into the inner recesses of Eagle Square, I suggested to the SSG and the former Milad that we smile for the camera. I felt honoured when they both obliged me.
It is a pity that I didn’t get the interview Dr Bolere Ketebu-Nwokeafor promised me. I feel bad to know that she died of corona virus, and that her remains were laid to rest within twenty-four hours of that sad eventuality in Abuja, far from her home town.
I have since come to know that her curriculum vitae was longer than her signature, and I have a feeling that I would enjoy writing the noble story of a woman who showed herself to be a truly exemplary daughter of Glory Land, a patriot with a passion for service, and a team player who left too soon.
At that time, I had no idea that, one day, I would write the first book on Navy Captain Caleb Olubolade, entitled The First Captain Of Creek Haven. On 1 December 2024, one day after I gave him a copy of the book, he surprised me with a gesture that got me wondering.
In fact, if the photographers didn’t capture the moment and the audience inside the hall of the Azaiki Public Library didn’t break out laughing, I would have found it hard to believe that Oubolade actually removed the cap on his head and placed it on mine. I felt as if I would become the next captain of Creek Haven. God surely moves in mysterious ways His wonders to make perfect.
Fondly called Pope Pen the First, Owei-Ilagha has worked as a journalist, broadcaster and public relations professional. He was Editor of The Tide On Sunday in Port Harcourt, Speech Writer and Special Adviser on Research and Documentation to Governor of Bayelsa State, among other roles
