Fighting to a Finish: A Biafran War Experience

By Chuka C. Ndubizu

Fighting to a finish is a true story of the author’s experiences in a war between a Nigerian “Goliath” and a Biafran “David” where the David fought back with everything he had until he could fight no more. The author detailed his experiences as he led his men in the battle fields at Aba; Ogidi-Abagana; Afor Ugiri-Umuahia; Ngwa-Ntodino; Umuahia-through Imo River to Umuezealla Owere. The story concluded with the dispersal of worn out Biafran soldiers and the author’s 35-mile trek though highways and bush paths to his home. The book reveals that the author’s survival without a scratch during the two year ordeal was due to a little bit of good judgement and a great deal of good luck.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669818397

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Copyright © 2022 by Chuka C. Ndubizu.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 05/11/2022

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Contents

Introduction

The Beginning of My Journey

My First Deployment

Ogidi-Abagana Road—Where I Learnt the Hard Way

From Afor Ugiri to Umuahia

Special Assignment to Ngwa-Anang Boundary

Confusion on Aba-Umuahia Road

The Last Encounters in Our Axis

My Journey Home

To the memory of my cousin Lt. Lambert Anebere,

who was killed by an enemy sniper in Umuahia.

Also, to Mike Ifekwe, who opted to follow

me and was killed in Umunachi.

Introduction

This is a story of my experience in a war that was fought to the finish. We fought with everything we had until we could fight no more. The crisis that led to that war started with the controversial elections in Western Nigeria and climaxed with the January 1966 coup. What happened then and eventually led to the declaration of Biafra and the beginning of the war in late July 1967 had been covered in other publications by people who were in the position to know the details. The great Chinua Achebe wrote about this period in his book There Was a Country. He was in the higher-ups then and in the position to know the facts.

While the politicians and the higher-ups were familiar with the politics and intrigues that went on during those days, I was one of the millions of ordinary people who cared less about all that but witnessed and suffered the effects of the crisis on our people. I heard horrible stories of genocide against easterners (especially Igbos) in various parts of Nigeria from the very people who survived them. We should not forget that other non-Igbo easterners and Midwesterners were also killed during the crisis that led to the war. I witnessed the bombing of churches and open markets in the various villages. I witnessed and suffered the adverse effects of deprivations, displacement of people, economic blockade, hunger, and the kwashiorkor it caused.

This book does not cover the entire story of the Nigeria/Biafra war. The purpose is not to judge who was right and who was wrong in the coups, counter-coups, assassinations, and all that. I don’t have the knowledge to make that kind of judgment. The book records only the highlights of the disruption of my academic career in 1967 followed by my experiences as a young soldier and later an officer during the war (1967–1970). It covers my experiences at various battlefronts—Aba, Ogidi–Abagana axis, Afor Ugiri to the fall of Umuahia, Nto Dino, and finally Ama Atshi to Old Umuahia to Umuezeala Owerre (in Mbano). I have also included incidences leading to those battlefield highlights and some follow-ups after the highlights. My story reveals situations where some adversity turned out to be an unexpected benefit for me and also situations in the battlefield where I made poor judgments and was lucky to come out alive. In many cases, those poor judgments were due to lack of experience. I am glad those mistakes did not cost me my life, and I live to write about them.

It was a war between a Nigerian Goliath and a Biafran David. In this case, unlike in the Bible, Goliath won. Because Goliath won the war, he was not humble enough to utilize any lessons learned from that war, a war that cost more than one million lives. As someone who was in Biafra before, during, and after the war, I witnessed firsthand what a people can do when they are pushed to the wall, especially when they have a knowledgeable and motivating leadership. Biafran civilians felt that pressure of being pushed to the wall, and this influenced their response to Ojukwu’s government before and during the war despite the deprivations. This was a war Biafrans fought with everything; physical and intellectual power, even voodoo doctors and rainmakers had opportunity to contribute their skills. Yes, we were really pushed to the wall, and we fought back with everything we had until we could fight no more. My story revealed how it felt when we could fight no more.

The Beginning of My Journey

I was in my last year of the two-year higher school (advanced-level studies between high school and university in the old British system) in 1967, and we were all set to sit for the higher school certificate examination in a few months when the war broke out. Two months after the war started all schools in Biafra— elementary, secondary, and university were closed, and students were sent home. All through 1967 I was studying hard at home while eagerly waiting for the war to end so that I could go back to school and take my exams, but it rather escalated.

Toward the end of the year, our villages and towns had teeming population of our people who returned from other parts of Nigeria as well as refugees who escaped from violence in the border regions of Biafra, which had fallen to the enemy. However, as of then, our experience of the raging war in our part of Biafra was only through the air. Nigerian warplanes, allegedly piloted by Russians and Egyptians, were bombing our communities on a regular basis. Although no bomb was dropped in my hometown, Urualla, they bombed Orlu several times. Orlu was only seven miles from Urualla, and we could hear the boom from the bomb blast. Orlu had two big markets with a teeming population, which included refugees. The Biafran Army school of infantry was in Orlu, but the enemy bombs never hit the school. Instead, they dropped several bombs on orie Orlu and orie Umuna markets two miles from the school. Several market women, children, and men were killed, since these raids usually came in the afternoon when the markets were teeming with people. As a result of this experience, big markets in our area, like Eke Obodoukwu, relocated to uhu arushi (ancient shrines) where there were several old, tall, and large trees. These trees provided sufficient foliage to hide the market from the heartless Nigerian air force pilots.

Because of the constant air raids, young men and women organized to camouflage all school buildings and churches in the town. I was heavily involved in this community activity. These buildings had shiny zinc-coated metallic roofs. It was reasoned that the pilots could easily spot them from the air and drop bombs on them. We used palm branches to cover the roofs, hoping that the roofs would be camouflaged to appear to the pilots like the bushes surrounding the schools. Majority of the trees in southeastern Nigeria are palm trees, and hence, using palm branches to hide the houses was a good camouflage. Private homes with shiny metal roofs were also camouflaged.

At the beginning of the war, the Biafran government had total and enthusiastic support of the Biafran people because the mindless and barbaric killing of civilians from Eastern Nigeria (especially Igbos) in Northern Nigeria was fresh in the minds of people, especially those who experienced it. A story of what happened at a Biafran Army recruitment exercise in Awka illustrated this. By June to July 1967, Biafran Army recruitment exercises always saw a large crowd of men volunteering to be recruited, but only a small fraction of that crowd was selected. There was this young, hefty short man who had been to a few of those exercises, and each time he was rejected because he did not meet the height requirement. He went to the last one in Awka, and again he was rejected. Toward the end of the exercise, the rejected crowd was surging forward urging the sergeant major to reconsider them. This short man was in front of that crowd. When the surge from the mob was too much for the sergeant major, he ordered the military policemen to use their cane to flog and push back the crowd. Since this short man was in front of the crowd, he got some beating from the military police. Then suddenly the short man snapped and in anger lifted the military policeman on his shoulder ready to drop him on the ground. This cut the attention of the recruitment officer, and he intervened. He ordered the short man to put the soldier down and tell him what his grievance was. He put the soldier down and narrated how he escaped death in the hands of Hausa/Fulani mob in Kano in 1966 and how he managed to return to Eastern Nigeria with only the clothes on his back. He complained that he had been to several recruitment exercises and each time he was rejected because of his height. He assured the officer that he could do what any taller soldier could do and pleaded with him to recruit him because he was willing to fight and die for Biafra. He offered to serve without pay if that would convince them to recruit him. The officer was impressed by his zeal and determination. He ordered the sergeant major to enroll the man, and thus the short man was enrolled into the Biafran Army.

Toward the end of the year, many friends and relatives of my age had joined the army, and I decided to join the militia instead. I was hoping that the war would soon end and I would go back to school.

The militia had both male and female, mainly of high school age. We received some brief training and were deployed for security duties in our communities. An army sergeant oversaw the group in our town, and he scheduled us to come from home to man the few check posts he set up along the major road in our town. We were to look out for possible enemy infiltration into our community. Such infiltrations were known to have happened in many other boarder communities. We were instructed to stop every vehicle that passed our post and check the identity of all the passengers. The checkpoint had a long wooden pole raised about three feet across the road and resting on two supports on both sides of the road.

One day in early 1968, I was on duty with three girls at the Ntueke junction when an infantry corporal drove up to the checkpoint in a Land Rover jeep. We waved him down, and he stopped. He was elegantly adorned in well-ironed camouflage uniform. The girls