The second convocation ceremony of the Nigeria Maritime University, Okerenkoko, Delta State, coincided with the 10th anniversary of the university. Established in May 2015 under the erstwhile government of President Goodluck Jonathan, the university began on a take-off campus in Kurutie, with structural facilities initially built to host a diving school, being the noble vision of a son of Gbaramatu Kingdom, Government Oweizide Thomas Ekpemupolo, (better known as Tompolo).
The legend of Tompolo traces its way back to the decade of restive agitation in the Niger Delta, which threw up a series of protests amongst the disgruntled youths of the region, culminating in the Kaiama Declaration of December 1999. The Olusegun Obasanjo presidency which ordered the massacre of Odi in the aftermath of that declaration, witnessed the rise of militant camps, each led by a warlord, and each pressing for resource control and self-determination, to say nothing of the restitution of minority rights in the conscience of the nation.
In the Western Delta axis, the foremost voice of discontent emanated from Tompolo, General Officer Commanding his retinue of militants. Tompolo is the everyday star attraction in a real life movie, as may be seen in a recent video. All around him is a riot of gunshots and utter mayhem, yet he stands his ground at the very centre of the commotion.
Possessed in entirety, like a high priest on parade, white eagle feathers stuck to his headband, he dances to the spirit of Woyin, the deity he has come to believe in. Woyin was not too far from Egbesu, the fearsome mythical essence which rattled regular soldiers into retreat in the heydays of the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MOSIEND).
Every other morning, as he comes awake to a brand new day, Tompolo would look out to the wide waters of the sea, and say his prayers to the wind. In his element, especially during festive seasons, he would lead his band of acolytes to the waterfront, step to the shoreline on bare feet, and wait for the waves to lap at the hem of his immaculate gown. He would empty bottles of costly gin into the frothing waters, while invoking the goddess of the ocean, and throwing a few more bottles of soft drink into the bargain.
All the while he chants, the drums accompany him in a meaningful syncopation of sounds emitting a variety of titles with every throb. It is as though the drums speak a language that resonates in the soul of Tompolo, and his responses are a dramatic delight to behold. His movements are measured, like a man conscious of the energy he carries and is careful to conserve it, each dip of the head, every tremble of his limbs sending out a war cry that he alone controls.
Tompolo’s mastery of drum signals as a call to arms is total, and the evidence may be seen in his spontaneous interpretation of drum talk. Even the band of drummers are taken by surprise sometimes when Tompolo seizes the drumsticks and begins to pound the widespread animal skin, the heel of his foot flexing the taut surface of the vibrant drum, reaching for tonalities that call the warrior next door to be battle ready.
Tompolo is a man of few words. He doesn’t talk much, but he is a great listener, and a good judge of character. He can read a man from a distance and confirm in quick time if that man is to be trusted or not. He knows his men, and his men know him. It is easy to see that he is inhabited by a restless spirit, a spirit panting for change, and the result is to be seen in the drastic transformation currently taking place in Okerenkoko, Kurutie and Oporoza, his primary constituency. From woe-begun hamlets and fishing ports, these communities are becoming little pieces of London.
Never in the chequered history of the Niger Delta had the long-suffering people of the region come so close to a resolution of the crises facing them than it was on 22 August 2009. On that day, the peace process leading to the amnesty programme began in earnest. For so long, there had been predictions of doom and great perdition facing the region, and therefore the country as a whole.
But, for the first time since Nigeria gained independence from the colonial overlords, an unconditional amnesty was granted by the Federal Government under President Umar Musa Yar’Adua, as an apparent overture to secure the confidence of militant youths, in a bid to broker peace in the swamp country, and let the oil flow hitch-free. Yar’Adua invited Tompolo to Abuja and embraced him before the cameras of the world, like an understanding father would welcome a rascally son.
If nothing else, the presidential gesture suggested that, for the Ogoni as well as the Ijaw and other minority ethnic groups, day break may well be around the corner, for the night had indeed been thick, deep and dark. For the first time, the militants themselves accepted a 60-day period of graceful ceasefire. For the first time, the larger ethnic groups were speaking as one to the effect that the injustice in the Niger Delta had reached a critical point of reversal.
The paradoxes thrown up by the perplexing scenario reached a gratifying climax when Chief Timipre Sylva, Governor of Bayelsa State at the time, entered into the first fruitful negotiation that led to large-scale arms surrender, the first of its kind since the Nigeria-Biafra civil war. He promptly declared 22 August as Peace Day in the state. The significance of the gesture on all stakeholders could not be missed. This was a new day, and it came with promises of change for the better.
The first formal declaration of discontent by Ijaw youths in the Niger Delta region came to pass ten years before Sylva’s meeting with the militants. In December 1999, Felix Tuodolo, Oronto Douglas, and their fellow compatriots in the Ijaw Youth Council spelt out a document entitled, 100 Reasons Why We Must Control Our Resources! That document represented a virtual revolt against Shell Petroleum Development Company (SPDC).
According to the history books and everyday economic lore, for that matter, oil has been the mainstay of the Nigerian economy, accounting for 80% of the Gross Domestic Product, 95% of the national budget and 90% of foreign exchange earnings. Of this figure, production from the Ijaw country is estimated to account for 65% of the GDP, 75% of the national budget, and 70% of foreign exchange earnings.
It is on record that the principle of derivation was the basis for revenue allocation when groundnut was produced in commercial quantity in the Hausa-Fulani territory. This was equally the case when cocoa was produced in Yoruba land. The same principle was active for the Igbo when coal was the cornerstone of the Nigerian economy. In other words, when the three major ethnic groups in Nigeria provided the basis for the nation’s economic survival, they received their due recognition in full – 100%.
However, between the Chicks Constitution of 1953 and the Independence Constitution of 1960, the percentage was slashed by half, from 100% to 50%. Ten years later, in 1970, under the regime of Yakubu Gowon, it was slightly adjusted to 45%, and fell down to 20% in 1975 under the Murtala Muhammed-Olusegun Obasanjo regime.
The principle of derivation suffered the biggest blow in 1982 under the government of President Shehu Shagari when it dropped to 0.2%. Then, it climbed up to 1.5% in 1984 at the behest of Buhari, and descended yet again to 0.3% in 1992 under the Ibrahim Babangida junta. Since 1999, the percentage derivation principle has remained pegged at 13%, and General Abdulsalam Abubakar left it at that.
To complicate matters, the Federal Government wilfully contrived the onshore-offshore dichotomy, which became a subject of prolonged litigation, following a volte-face by 19 northern governors and three of their counterparts from the Southwest.
Not surprisingly, the plight of the Ijaw became so bad that channels for distribution of finished petroleum products in Ijaw territory were blocked. The result is that the cost of fuel is ten times the approved pump price at any given time in Ijaw land, despite the existence of the Petroleum Equalisation Fund and related agencies.
Besides, so much was wrong with the Land Use Act, 1978, smuggled as it was into the 1979 Constitution. The militants saw something wicked in the fact that the Act transferred the ownership of all land from individuals and communities to state governments. Even the colonialists recognized the rights of communities to own and control their resources. Henry Willink, for instance, stood up to speak the truth, and to call for the Ijaw territory to be treated as ‘a special area’ deserving of express government intervention.
What’s more, the Petroleum Act (51) 1969 vested control and ownership of all petroleum resources in the Ijaw country on the Federal Government. The militants saw everything objectionable about the Offshore Oil Revenue Act (9), 1971, which granted the Federal Government exclusive rights over the continental shelf of the coastal areas.
Henry Willink, Queen’s Counsel, had come all the way from England to declare that the territory now known as Ijaw country is ‘poor, backward and neglected’. The militants came to the conclusion that he was right. The Ijaw nation has been cruelly impoverished and systematically abused over the years by Nigeria.
Even so, the story may well be changing. The Bola Tinubu presidency recently thought it fit to award the contract for pipeline surveillance in the Niger Delta to the foremost militants, and there is a manifest difference in the creeks. The menace of kpofire resulting from bunkered fuel is on the decline, and the waterways are getting cleaner and therefore becoming more healthy for maritime ventures.
Tantita Security, the pan-Niger Delta surveillance network, is under the overall command of Tompolo. As far as the repentant militants are concerned, in short, prospects for greater peace, stability and progress in the oil producing communities are more than likely, only if the primary agitators are involved in protecting the oil and gas facilities in their domain for the sustenance of future generations.
