Echoes of Military Coups in Nigeria
By Olusegun Adeniyi
Two important books that speak to the most brutal military era in Nigeria’s history will be publicly presented in Abuja in the coming weeks. The first, on 18 November, is ‘Nine Lives: The Bello-Fadile Memoirs’. A retired Colonel of the Nigerian Army with a doctorate degree in law, Ralph Sixtus Babatunde (RSB) Bello-Fadile was a principal actor of the 1995 “phantom coup” against the late General Sani Abacha. He was arrested, tried and sentenced to death in the tragic saga that implicated dozens of prominent Nigerians, including Olusegun Obasanjo (a General and former military Head of State who would later be elected the first president under the current dispensation), his erstwhile deputy, Major General Shehu Musa Yar’Adua (rtd) who died in Abakaliki prison and Brigadier General Lawan Gwadabe (rtd). In his memoir, Bello-Fadile recounts not only his experience but also the story of his life and career. Former military leader, General Ibrahim Babangida, wrote the foreword.
The second book, ‘Bold Leap’, is the autobiography of Senator Chris Anyanwu. Respected journalist and publisher, Anyanwu was also arrested and tried for the same 1995 ‘foiled coup’, following a publication in her magazine. Accused of being an “accessory after the fact of treason”, Anyanwu was sentenced to life imprisonment which was later reduced to 15 years. Like other survivors, Anyanwu only regained freedom after the death of Abacha. I will be the reviewer of her very insightful memoir (Obasanjo wrote the foreword) at the public presentation in Abuja on December 2.
Of these two books, the one that concerns me today is ‘Nine Lives’. Interestingly, when I sought an advance copy from the author, he wondered what fired my interest. In Anyanwu’s book, she recounted a day she received a new inmate in her detention room named Rebecca Ikpe from Benue State. “Her arrest was part of the madness that descended on Abacha’s government at the time. Ikpe was not in the military. Neither was she a journalist. Her crime was that she was the sister of the wife of one of the accused officers—Colonel Bello Fadile,” wrote Anyanwu who also profiled the officer. And then this: “Fadile’s interrogation was legendary. The story was that he was chained to the wall, upside down at the underground space in Ikoyi cemetery detention. They beat him to pulp…”
Aside his fascinating family story which readers will enjoy, the bigger picture in Bello-Fadile’s book begins with a chronology of coup d’etats in Nigeria (with insights into each), including the 1995 ‘attempt’ against Abacha. It was a precursor to another in December 1997 in which Abacha’s deputy, the late Lt. General Oladipo Diya, and then Chief of Army Staff, Lt General Ishaya Bamayi as well as other Generals including Abdulkareem Adisa and Tajudeen Olarewaju were played against one another. All factors considered, the only conclusion to draw after reading ‘Nine Lives’ is that military regimes are about arbitrariness, intrigue, treachery, powerplays and impunity. With decrees and edicts (including retroactive ones) crimes and punishment can be invented at will to deal with just about anybody who disagrees with those at the helm of affairs.
Meanwhile, Bello-Fadile’s memoir opens with Babangida’s long foreword. “Upon his graduation from Law School in 1978, as the first military trained legal practitioner, he returned to the Nigerian Army for posting and redeployment. I purchased for him the Armoured Corps (Recce) beret, belt, and line yards and requested that he change over from the Infantry to the Armoured Corps,” Babangida wrote about Bello-Fadile. “I was a full Colonel and Corps Commander and Bello-Fadile, a Lieutenant, looked at me and said, ‘Sir, it would be unwise to concentrate all our resources/assets on a single platform—let me remain in the Infantry, the Queen of Battle, while your firepower and manoeuvring is guaranteed in the Armoured Corps’. I could not hold back laughing and saying in Hausa, ‘loya kenan’ (that’s a lawyer for you).” Bello-Fadile’s memoir, according to Babangida, “derives its title from the concept of feline immortality, symbolising the exceptional circumstances in which Bello-Fadile has managed to endure life’s hardships.”
For somebody with his level of education and exposure, it is remarkable that Bello-Fadile is somehow superstitious. But he had his reason for believing that somewhere in Ikoyi, Lagos, there is a haunted (‘jinxed’, as he put it) property. “That house, at No 9A Macpherson Avenue, was at the junction between Bourdillon Road and Macpherson Avenue. It was later rebuilt and housed the Grenadian Mission in Nigeria. The officers who stayed there were, in one way or the other, involved in coup d’etats.” And here goes his explanation: “Of all the officer residents, I am the only one alive today to say something about that house. Those who stayed there were: Lieutenant Colonel Buka Suka Dimka, Major Mike Aker Iyorshe and Lieutenant Colonel Musa Bityong. The four of us were later to be tried (at different times) by the Special Military Tribunal for treason/treasonable felony. We were all found guilty…”
Bello-Fadile indeed had several brushes with death while serving in the army. On 26 September 1992, a Nigeria Airforce (NAF) C-130 Hercules aircraft crashed three minutes after take-off in Lagos, killing all 159 military officers (151 Nigerians, 5 Ghanaians, 1 Tanzanian, 1 Zimbabwean and 1 Ugandan) on board. By his account, Bello-Fadile would have been on the flight. There were several other instances where he cheated death by a whisker. None was as close as the ‘Vatsa Coup’. But the story of his miraculous escape started a few years earlier. At that period, Bello-Fadile had a prominent foe: Major General Muhammadu Buhari (rtd) who would also become a two-term civilian president. The animosity had its origin in a drama that happened when Bello-Fadile was a Captain and Buhari was a Brigadier General and General Officer Commanding (GOC) at Ibadan.
The moment Buhari became Head of State in December 1983, one of his first directives was that he didn’t want to see Bello-Fadile around. But because Buhari’s disdain for the officer was not shared by others, including then Chief of Army Staff, Babangida, efforts were made to shield Bello-Fadile who was merely warned to stay out of limelight and avoid anything that would make Buhari remember him. That warning was heeded until the day Bello-Fadile had to take a message to then Chief of Staff, Supreme Headquarters, the late Major General Tunde Idiagbon. Buhari sighted him! What followed the next day was an encounter with Babangida who asked whether Bello-Fadile did anything to attract Buhari’s attention. When he answered in the affirmative, Babangida told him how his fate had been decided. Let’s take the story from Bello-Fadile:
“The Head of State does not want you in Dodan Barracks. So, to avoid trouble, pick three places and I will post you to one of them,” he (Babangida) repeated. “All right sir, no problem. I can go to Army Headquarters or the Directorate of Army Legal Services or any other places of your choice,” I replied. “The Head of State does not want you in the Lagos area at all,” he responded, without his usual smiling facial expressions. At that point, I knew he was in a very difficult position. So, I said, “It seems to me that the Head of State does not want me in the Army…” He then cut in and said, “But you have your Masters, why not go and do a PhD? With that, I can post you to the Nigerian Defence Academy and tell the Commandant that you were on your way to ABU.” I thanked him as I accepted his suggestion. That was how I found my way to the NDA in Kaduna as an instructor, enroute to ABU, Zaria for a four-year PhD programme in International Law that was fully funded by the Army.
Bello-Fadile was pursuing his doctorate programme when Babangida overthrew Buhari in August 1985. Five months later, then Federal Capital Territory (FCT) Minister and renowned poet, Major General Mamman Vatsa was arrested for trying to topple the government of his bosom friend. Several other officers were arrested in connection with the foiled coup plot. Bello-Fadile had just returned to Kaduna from a field trip abroad when he received a signal to report in Lagos. One of the officers implicated in the coup asked that he (Bello-Fadile) defend him. This was a routine matter within the military, but the moment Bello-Fadile arrived at the Military Tribunal venue in Lagos, he was confronted with what he didn’t bargain for:
As I proceeded, the Brigade of Guards Commander, Colonel John Mark Inienger called me into his office to know what I was doing there. I showed him the signal. He then told me the unimaginable story of my life. He said there had been a manhunt for me, ordered by the Chief of Army Staff, General Sani Abacha. He said four of the accused officers—Major General Mamman Jiya Vatsa; Lt Colonel Bityong, Lt Colonel Mike Aker Iyorshe and Major Tobias Akwashiki—had requested that I should be their defending officer at different locations and times. Based on this, it was concluded that I must be one of them. However, after searching everywhere, they discovered that I was on a scholarship in the University and out of the country on a six-week sponsored studies by the Army.
With that information, Bello-Fadile knew he was treading dangerous ground. In his interactions with Vatsa and others at the Tribunal venue, he could only offer encouraging words after hearing their stories. Throughout his time with the accused officers, according to Bello-Fadile, the words of Inienger echoed in his head. During tea break, a man he described as his military Guardian Angel showed up. He was none other than then Director of Military Intelligence, Colonel Haliru Akilu, who told him: “You are the one who wants to defend those who want to kill Oga? Better go to Dodan Barracks and explain yourself to Oga now!”
The rest of the story, as recounted by Bello-Fadile:
I headed straight to Dodan Barracks to report myself with the signal, requesting me to come down to Lagos for defence duty, in my hand. On arrival at the office of the Aide-de-Camp to the President, we greeted, and I told him what happened at the venue of the Special Military Tribunal. He then asked me to go and sit in the waiting room of the President. This was shocking to me because I normally sit in the ADC’s office and have coffee, snacks and groundnuts, while waiting to see the president. That day was strange, and I started thinking I had gotten into a very big problem. I could see and felt the tension in the ADC’s face and indeed the entire office. I went out and turned left into the waiting room. There I waited to be called to go upstairs to see the President. It did not happen for hours. I kept waiting, until I looked up and saw Mr President coming down. I stood up and went close to the open door and saluted. With his beret in his right hand, he looked at me and said ‘Fadile’, then turned right and headed towards the residence. Of course, that was it—the end of the day, and we all followed him to his residence. He sat down in the main living room and removed his shoes. After about five minutes, he stood up and said, “Good day gentlemen” and disappeared into his room.
We all returned to the ADC office. Then he asked, ‘have you finished your research work in London?’ To which I replied in the negative. He then brought out some money and gave it to me. He advised me to proceed to London through Kano airport to finish my research work. He also gave me someone’s number in London to call and said that the person would give me some pounds to spend for the duration of my stay in the city. With thanks to him, and glory to the Mighty One, I went back to Kaduna the following day. A day after I arrived Kaduna, I packed my load and headed to Kano for my flight to London. That was how I ‘escaped’ possible death by firing squad, just for being picked as a defending officer by four known fellow officers of the Nigerian Army. I was still in London when the news broke on 5 March 1986 that Vatsa and his co-travellers had been found guilty of a coup attempt and executed by firing squad…
As Accused Number One, it is no surprise that the central issue in Bello-Fadile’s memoir is ‘The Enterprise’ as he dubs the 1995 ‘coup’. He provides rare insights as he recounts how he was “handcuffed and chained to a steel cabinet while standing” and how Gwadabe was “tortured almost to the point of death”. Some of the people who played negative roles in that episode, by his account, include Major General Felix Mujakperuo (rtd), who is now the Chairman of Delta State Council of Traditional Rulers and the Orodje of Okpe Kingdom, Major Hamza Al-Mustapha, the all-power Chief Security Officer to the late Abacha, who regularly invited top traditional rulers in the country to watch ‘coup videos’ with hefty envelopes as their ‘pop corns’. He, of course, is now a politician. There were many others within the military establishment at the time and Bello-Fadile named them. But he also remembers with glowing admiration the late Dr Beko Ransome-Kuti whose fax message to London, received by then British Prime Minister, John Major, may have saved him and other convicts from being executed by Abacha.
Overall, Bello-Fadile’s book sheds light on military rule in Nigeria, and it is important for a time like this. Last month, the presidency had an altercation with The Guardian newspaper over a publication deemed to be inciting mutiny against President Bola Tinubu, a charge the newspaper has dismissed. The Special Adviser to the President on Information and Strategy, Bayo Onanuga, had rehashed the story’s introduction which he described as coup-baiting: “Nigerians were exhilarated with the return of democracy in 1999, but 25 years on, the buccaneering nature of politicians, their penchant for poor service delivery, morbid hatred for probity, accountability, and credible/transparent elections, among others, are forcing some flustered citizens to make extreme choices, including calling for military intervention in governance…Deep despondency permeates every facet of the polity consequent upon soaring cost of living.”
The Guardian has defended its October 25 lead story, ‘Misery, harsh policies driving Nigerians to desperate choices’, and I do not see anything in the report that suggests the presidential imputation. Besides, most of the senior people at The Guardian were around during military rule so nobody can lecture them on that. I once shared my own experience. I was arrested at 3am by truckloads of soldiers who were evidently shocked that their victim was just a “small boy” (they told me themselves, because they didn’t even know the crime I was supposed to have committed or what I was doing for a living until I told them, and they became very sympathetic). The bullying and threats by Colonel Frank Omenka in the name of interrogation that lasted five days at the Directorate of Military Intelligence (DMI) dungeon in Apapa, Lagos still ring in my head. But I was fortunate. Not many people survived DMI to tell their stories while for some, the scars (physical and emotional) of that era will follow them to their graves.
My take-away from Bello-Fadile’s book is the arbitrariness of military rule and that soldiers have no magic solution for dealing with complex socio-political problems. It is also clear that coup d’etats (whether they succeed or fail) are products of the political environment in the country. “Like most human follies, military coups sound good at the time; and always fail” according to a January 2006 edition of the ‘Economist’ magazine, following a coup d’etat that toppled a corrupt civilian leadership in Bangladesh. “They sound good because what they replace is usually bad: riotous civilian leaders, corrupted institutions, stolen elections. They fail because beneath the chaos are political problems that soldiers cannot unpick…”
As I stated last year, I am aware that the only government most Nigerians (given our demographics) have experienced is the current civilian dispensation now 25 years old. But it is important for our young people to understand the danger that comes with coup d’etats. Under a military regime, the first thing to be suspended is the Constitution and the rights and liberties it confers on citizens. Suppression of the media will be automatic, and the courts will lose the limited powers they have to adjudicate over those freedoms. Interestingly, most Nigerian politicians (especially those for whom public office is about ‘eating’) will always find easy accommodation with the military. It is the media and civic space that would be under attack. For more on this, interested readers can download free copies of my book, ‘The Last 100 Days of Abacha’ from my web portal, olusegunadeniyi.com, for glimpses of what transpired when the resources and institutions of state were pressed into the service of one man and his political aspiration.
However, while a military coup offers no solution to socio-economic challenges, our politicians also cannot continue to assume indefinite immunity against the things that provoke such in other countries, especially within the subregion. Nor can they be under any illusion that the tide of violent rejection of substandard governance that we see elsewhere cannot happen here if they continue to live large at the expense of the people. What those in power today must never forget is that such disruptions are never scripted. Nor are they ever advertised ahead. They are usually spontaneous actions that most often result from innocuous things, especially when the people are pushed to the wall. That’s why memoirs like Bello-Fadile’s are another reminder of that time-tested admonition: Those who have ears…
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