My Life, My Journey

By Bruce Wilberforce

Born into a family in difficult circumstances, Bruce Wilberforce finds himself in the streets at a very young age, struggling to eke out a living. Having been taken out of the streets and encouraged by teachers at school, he turned out to be a brilliant student. His first-cycle education earned him a Middle School Leaving Certificate.

Against his fathers inclination to get him into carpentry, he secretly joins the Teenagers Group after passing an examination. He finally passed out in a batch of last round of recruits, but below his expectation of being assigned to nonadministrative work, he was assigned to administrative duties in the army.

His initial enthusiasm for the Avuh coup, which involved past trainees of the Teenagers Group, turned into opposition to it when those colleagues became targets of attacks from the regime.

He then joined the military opposition to Avuh. On one occasion of daring, his conspiratorial group, led by Major Omar Mukhtar, got bombs rained on it. His only way of escape was to rub himself with his own excreta. Having escaped into exile in Kroto, he ended up in Caucasian Republic, where he resumed his education and acquired a masters degree to become a manager.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Nov 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524595425

Bruce Wilberforce

Bruce Wilberforce was born in Western African Republic and educated in Western African Republic, Caucasian Republic, and Queensland. He holds an MBA in international management from the University of East London. As a teenage recruit in the Teenagers Group of the Western African Republic Armed Forces, he had direct experience of military brutality in the barracks about which he recounts here in simple English.

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Copyright © 2016 by Bruce Wilberforce.

Library of Congress Control Number:         2016917255

ISBN:         Hardcover         978-1-5245-9544-9

         Softcover         978-1-5245-9543-2

         eBook         978-1-5245-9542-5

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Rev. date: 11/18/2016

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Part One – Early Years and Family Life

1 Birth Date Controversy

2 Parents and Siblings

3 A Life of Transfers

Part Two – Military Life

1 Enlistment into the Teenagers Group, Western African Republic Army

2 The Journey to the Teenagers Group—Badamashi

3 Teenagers Group Inside the Lion’s Den

4 Military Activities in Nkran

5 Entry to and Activities in Kroto

Part Three – Resettlement in Caucasian Republic Asylum, Education, and Work

1 The Journey to Caucasian Republic

2 Education and Work in Caucasian Republic

Part Four – Back to Western African Republic

1 The Journey Back to Western African Republic

2 Relocating to Western African Republic

Note

This book is an autobiography that states the facts of the real experiences of the author in a West African country. Due to some exposures, which might endanger the lives of some still wanted persons mentioned in the narrative, the author has chosen to use pseudonyms rather than the names of all the actual actors. The names of the countries and places where the narrated events actually took place have been consequently changed and so are the dates. It is hoped that the narrative here would not be taken as a work of fiction from an imaginative mind. It is also hoped that human rights youth activists of Africa and the rest of the world shall be well informed by this narrative of cruelties meted out to teenagers in some African military institutions in the name of training them as soldiers to perform patriotic duties. This chilling but readable narrative shall certainly take its place in the military history of Africa as she emerges from the dark days of colonialist oppression and repression. But that must not deflect attention from the can-do spirit of the author who had to go through family and other adversities to emerge as an accomplished professional serving in international companies. That exhibition of the can-do spirit forms the thematic string holding the book together in this story of an African child’s struggle from childhood along an uneasy path on the educational ladder through the military to further education in foreign lands to make it in life as a proficient professional. He’s done it. Why not you?

The Editor

Dedicated to

My children:

Cliff and Rebecca Wilberforce

You are my motivation. You are the reason I work hard.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to Alhaji Iddrisu Tijani and his family, Naba Awudu Tijani (Zamzam Chief, Badamashi), Mrs Nudah (a.k.a. Tifi), Mr Busu of Rice Mill, Tangah, and Alhaji Sully Dauda of Akubaw for saving my life. Without the boldness and courageousness of these angels, I would be dead by now.

Thanks to my mother-in-law (Aunty Gladys) for the great help she gave to Lionel, Raymond, Joseph, and my mom when we needed it the most.

Thanks to my special brother, Nicholas Addo, for his help, encouragement, motivation, and for his countless hours of editorial work invested in getting this book ready.

Thanks to my special brother, Mahama Adamu, who has always been there for me and my family.

Thanks to my special sister, Mrs Manye Amorkor. There is no sister like you.

Big thanks to my daughter, Rebecca, for putting me on track. This book could not and would not have been written without her.

And I am especially grateful to my son, Cliff, for his patience and his ever readiness to help at any given time without asking questions. Cliff, I cannot thank you enough.

My gargantuan thanks go to Sarah for her unflinching support and help from day one.

INTRODUCTION

For so many years now, I have been considering the idea of writing a book about my personal life, but since I did not know how to write a book, I always brushed it off anytime the idea came up.

Increasingly, year by year, I felt so much pressure on me to tell my story, but then, I doubted anybody being interested in that story since I am just like the man next door.

These are but a few of the reasons why I kept pushing this book project aside.

Rebecca had been listening to my story, and for the past three or four years, she also kept adding to the pressure for me to put down my story on paper. She would say, ‘You would never know, but I am sure there are lots of people out there who are definitely going to be interested in reading your story. It is an unusual story.’

PART ONE

Early Years and Family Life

1

Birth Date Controversy

I know I was born at Ablosu-Okame in the Eastern Region of Western African Republic, but I am not sure of the exact date of my birth. I was told it was the tenth of December 1964. I know there was a birth certificate for me, but it was lost at some point in time. A new one was made in the year 1979 in Koditaar when I was to be enlisted into the Teenagers Group of the Western African Republic Armed Forces.

My parents always maintained that I was born on Sunday, and until I came to Caucasian Republic, I also maintained that I was born on Sunday.

One day, while in Etinorf, after I had listened to a conversation about birthdays on a ‘SAT 1’ TV programme, I decided to check mine on the internet. It was there that I realized that the tenth of December 1964 was not a Sunday at all.

Could it be that the month and year are correct but not the day?

My father is dead now, but my mother and siblings are very sure that I was born on a Sunday in December. What they all cannot say with certainty is the year and exact date of my birth.

Particularly in Caucasian Republic and perhaps generally in the West, people are very particular about their birthdates and time of birth, but in some cultures, people do not lay much emphasis on such issues.

Obtaining a birth certificate in Western African Republic is very easy—you only need an affidavit, which is always issued for a fee, from a civil notary.

In the absence of computer systems, this sounds like the easiest way to have the system issue out a birth certificate to you. It helps reduce the stress and hustle of having the same system go through the archives of the hospitals to pull out duplicates of your birth certificate, if any.

2

Parents and Siblings

My father is the late Albert Wilberforce (Chief Superintendent of Police) and my mother is Belinda Lando. Both of them are from Namba, and Kilago-Alago, respectively.

My siblings are Edward Wilberforce (now in USA), Joseph Wilberforce (he was in Helmond in Holland but now deceased. He also lived in Oostende in Belgium before moving to Holland), Morgan Wilberforce (Nkran), Ellen Wilberforce (stepsister, Nkran), Lionel Wilberforce (now in Belgium). These are followed by Raymond Wilberforce (Nkran) and Stephanie Wilberforce (Nkran).

I am aware that my father had other children with other women across the country (Western African Republic); unfortunately, I did not get to meet and know any of them before I left the shores of Western African Republic, and I do not know their names either.

3

A Life of Transfers

1. Journey to Badamashi

At the time of my birth, we were at Ablosu-Okame in the Eastern Region of Western African Republic. We were there because my father, as a police officer, was on transfer to that town.

After two years, we were transferred to Badamashi in the Onila Region. I remember from conversations at home that my father had a daughter with an Onilan called Naabe (or Aunty Naabe). I also remember that my mother was then trading in provisions in a kiosk.

2. Journey to Wa

From Badamashi, we were transferred to Wa in the Northern Region. It was in Wa in the year 1970, at the age of 6, that I was first registered to start class one at the Wa Experimental Primary School. I did not go to a day nursery or a kindergarten school.

I remember I was brought before a certain Mr Parduah, who was the headmaster of the primary school and also a close friend of my father, for the registration. At his office, I was asked to put my right hand over my head to touch my left ear. Anyone who could not touch his or her left or right ear by moving his or her left or right hand over his head was considered unqualified for class one.

My mother did not stay with us in Wa but moved to Nkran to her parents.

I remember I had a stepmother who was called Aunty Margaret. She was a native of Wa, and I remember she could talk with her dog.

One day, during Christmas celebrations, my sibling Morgan wanted to know if the dog could tell Auntie Margaret about things that happened in her absence from home. So, he decided to lock the dog in a room and threw firecrackers at it. Hours later, when Auntie Margaret returned home from work, she called all of us to the living room while the dog was there and asked Morgan to explain why he locked the dog in a room and threw firecrackers at it.

I also remember that my siblings had private lessons at home with a teacher, who was employed to teach them. I remember being bitten twice on my left ear by bees at that time.

When my first school year was over, as usual, the class had to move on to class two, and that also meant that we had to relocate to a new classroom. Unfortunately, I did not know and nobody had told me about moving with the class to a new location.

So I went into the class to join my mates but found new faces in the class instead, and there was somebody sitting on my chair. I became worried, sad, and started wondering whether I had entered the wrong room. While I was standing there confused, the class teacher came to enquire what my name was so she could figure out whether I was on her list of pupils for her class.

It was then that she told me that I was to join my mates at a different location, so she held my hand and brought me to class two to join my mates.

I remember we had a maid-servant called Zumaa. Zumaa, who was based in Wa at the time, was an Iba from the Nkran Region.

My mother was not with us in Wa but visited us on certain occasions. I do not know why she was not living permanently with us there.

Though I was very young, I was always beaten with canes and sticks by my dad and my senior brothers. I understood these punishments as training. The beatings took place on daily basis. They were too hard for me to bear, but I had no choice, and there was no way I could escape them. I remember that I was always living in fear because as a child, there was no way I could live my life without making mistakes.

I remember making away with sixty pesewas belonging to Zumaa, the maid servant, one day. I was driven with the fear of being caught. To legitimize my ownership of the money, I invited Lionel to play with me in the sand where I had hidden it.

At a point, while playing, I pushed the sand to the side and the coins surfaced. I then told Lionel that I had found sixty pesewas. We decided to share it. But when we got home, Zumaa had noticed that her money was not there. She then reported the sudden disappearance of her money to my dad and suggested that the money I had found in the sand was hers.

Knowing how dangerous the situation had become, Lionel quickly narrated the history of my finding the money in the sand to dad who, without any doubt, concluded correctly that I was the one who hid the money in the sand. That day, Dad gave me six lashes on my back, and I felt so ashamed, embarrassed, and isolated.

The first time I heard about the death of a human being was also in Wa, shortly before my dad was promoted and transferred to Nkran. A teacher on internship at our school from the Wa Training College (WaCo) had come to teach music.

One day, while he was teaching class four pupils, he fell down in front of his class and died instantly. The news of his death spread through all the schools of the town, and I remember how he was buried.

It was known in all the schools that he was teaching a song and was singing, ‘Tila doo soo soo faa mee’ when he fell down and died.

By the time we left Wa, I could speak Wala fluently. It was as though it was my mother tongue.

Sometime in 1971, my dad was promoted from the rank of Police Inspector to the rank of Assistant Superintendent of Police and was transferred to Nkran.

I remember the day when we were packing our belongings into the truck bound for Nkran. Out of excitement, I was crossing the road, and suddenly, a bicycle hit me from the left and threw me into a gutter.

When I was pulled out of the gutter, I realized that I was bleeding from my same left ear that the bees had bitten twice.

It was at the Special Military Hospital in Nkran that I was finally taken care of and treated. I remember having severe pains on so many occasions after the accident and treatment.

3. Journey to Nkran

In 1971, we embarked on our journey to Nkran and arrived at Obidonu Junction at Babioshi, a suburb of Nkran, and settled in a house that was given to my dad by the Police Force.

I was registered to continue my primary education together with Lionel and Morgan at the Babioshi 1 (K1) Aidaforce Primary School. It was one of the cheapest schools in Nkran at the time.

We started a new life in Nkran and made new friends both in our neighbourhood and at school.

School got tough sometimes for me, and this was especially during mathematics and early morning ‘mental’ exercise.

Early morning mental exercise was all about being prepared to answer questions on mathematics i.e. multiplications etc.

Sometimes, I went to school without knowing why, and I also had very little help and support from home. For instance, there were times when I could not do my assignments or homework, as it was called, because I did not understand the work itself.

I remember it was in class three that I started reading properly for the first time. This is how it happened. In our classroom, there were those who could read and write and those who could not. So, those of us who could not read were asked by the class teacher to pair up with those who could. It was on one such occasion that the late Wittingday Jacobs, Frederick Oluni Lawson, and Patrick Safo went through a reading marathon with me, and in less than an hour, I could read on my own.

I remember every pupil in the class was asked to read a paragraph, and when it got to my turn, I did not want to stop reading but continued. The teacher allowed me to continue reading, and when I was done, she said, ‘It’s really a nice thing to know how to read.’

I was so happy that day that I wanted my dad and my siblings to know I could read, so I read almost anything that I saw.

My dad became popular in Western African Republic when his job as a Unique Service police officer led him to foil a coup d’état that was being planned by a certain Ibrahim Mahamudu to topple the Military Council government of General Z. K. Adjedumah.

I remember my dad became very busy during and after the time of his investigations to foil the coup. He had to sleep in hotels, and on certain occasions, he came home under