| Urhobo
Historical Society |
As
Dr Goodluck Ebele
Jonathan,
Vice President, Federal Republic of Nigeria, comes under commendable
focus in
the face of frantic calls for him to step in as Acting President,
following Yar�Adua�s incapacitation, King Nengi
Josef Ilagha, Mingi
XII, Bayelsa�s able research and
documentation officer, relives
the life and times of Jonathan�s foremost political mentor, Chief Melford Okilo, who
did not cross
over to 2010.
Tribute to A
Fisherman
By His Majesty Nengi
Josef Ilagha
Mingi XII, Amanyanabo
of Nembe
Bayelsa State, Nigeria
EARTH
RETURNED TO Earth yet again on May 2, 2009, a Saturday. Dust returned
to dust
in Bayelsa. And it was all ash for ash
when the
remains of the famous fisherman, Melford Obiene Okilo, were
laid to rest,
six feet below the solid face of the earth. He was buried in the same
soil that
is believed to have swallowed his umbilical cord in Emakalakala,
Ogbia local government area.
There
was wailing in the open air when the news broke that Okilo
was dead, having said thank you to Timipre
Sylva-Sam,
Governor of Bayelsa State, who named the
oldest road
in the New Jerusalem after Melford Okilo. There was sobbing in private corners.
There was
aching in the heart. Verily, verily, there was great weeping in the
land, great
gnashing of teeth. Even the sky was damp with mist. And the rain that
poured
down on the Niger Delta, in the week preceding Okilo�s
burial, was heavy. There was thunder, and there was lightening. It
rained cats
and cattle when Melford Okilo
died and was buried like Old Roger gone to the grave.
A
noble chief of the Ogbia Kingdom, an ace
politician,
a master strategist, a spontaneous orator, a leader of men, a manager
of
materials, Okilo was born on November 30,
1933.
Before he died on Friday June 4, 2008, at the Government House Clinic, Yenagoa, Okilo knew
himself too
well. He was confident of the gift God deposited in him, a talent for
survival.
And Melford gave a good account of his
life and times
in the things he did, the words he left us with, the words he took time
to
write down for posterity to judge him by, for Jesus to assess his
application
of that precious talent God saw fit to place in the person of Okilo.
Melford Okilo�s
simplicity belied his awesome credentials. He was
comfortable to describe himself in ordinary terms. He readily tagged
himself as
a fisherman, and became known, called and addressed by one and all, as
a
fisherman. He equally had the good sense to realize that he was our
fellow
country man, so he advertised the fact that he was our own country man,
our
friend and next door neighbour, just like Boma Erekosima.
In
more ways than one, Melford Okilo
had so much good humour that you couldn�t
but laugh
from time to time if you happened to be in his presence. He was that
personable, that loveable. He was blessed with a natural ability to
excite the
next man, if he came close enough. His human sympathy was that
magnetic. He
could pull you to himself, if you made yourself available. He could
stand on a
podium and make a short speech, and you would be compelled to clap for
him, for
the heck of it. No wonder, he was a politician to remember, perhaps the
finest
from the Niger Delta, standing side by side Harold Dappa-Biriye.
Okilo
could mesmerize you with words, and still take the credit for having
taught you
something worthwhile. He could reason with you, without meaning to. In
short, Melford Okilo
dispensed wisdom
wherever he went. It was as though he carried with him an invisible
pouch of
knowledgeable proverbs, tit-bits, arguments and viewpoints which were
all
saleable. And Okilo did not hesitate to
put his ideas
on show at the market place. He did not hide his light under a bushel.
Like
a typical fisherman, he fished for souls. He sought to win you to his
side, and
if he found you worthy of friendship, if his encounter with you was
remarkable,
your name or that incident involving you, would come up for mention in Okilo�s next analogy. In other words, he was
always out to
befriend exemplary people, and that was because Melford
Obiene Okilo
was an
exemplary Ijaw man.
Melford
was a country man sympathetic to the feelings of his fellow country
men,
willing to give so that he might receive, ready to support so that he
might be
supported. Obiene was a typical farmer in
the open
fields of Ogbia land, reaping only where
he sowed. Okilo was indeed a fisherman,
familiar with the weather, at
home with the rivers and creeks of the Niger Delta. That was how he
began life,
paddling his canoe between Otuokpoti, Otuasega, Otuogidi,
Otuabula, Otuoke
right down to Idema. Okilo
knew Anyamasa like the back of his hand. Okilo�s
mother was Nembe, so he spoke Nembe
like a blue-blooded prince of the prickly pen.
As
for Oloibiri, the parcel of land where oil
was first
mined in Nigeria for export and for hard currency, Okilo
could not stop weeping for Oloibiri. His
spirit wept disconsolately
for Oloibiri, on account of its age-long
rejection,
and it is probably still weeping before the heavenly Throne of Grace. Okilo�s heart, even in death, could jolly well
go before
God with a solemn plea for the Maker of Heaven and Earth to redress the
plight
of the Niger Delta. Only then would his soul truly rest in peace. In
point of
fact, Melford Okilo
was
perhaps the happiest man in the Niger Delta when his political son, Dr Goodluck Jonathan, was sworn in as the first
Vice President
of the Federal Republic of Nigeria to have emerged from the south-south
since
Nigeria gained political independence from the British in 1960.
Like
every patriotic son of Ijaw land, Okilo
looked forward to the day when the fourth largest ethnic group in
Nigeria would
produce the President, even if in an acting capacity. For, he strongly
believed
that Nigeria will change for the best the day a minority leader emerges
to be
at the helm of the nation, prepared to reconcile every disparate
interest on
the platform of justice, knowing too well where the shoe pinches. As
with
Harrison Ford, Okilo believed that �real
peace is not
just the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice.�
As
things stand, there is great wailing in the land, overwhelming neglect
in
virtually every sector of life in the Niger Delta. That is why Okilo wept, in the first place. That is why Okilo fought the good fight. What would happen
to the
beleaguered land and to the mass of long-suffering minority if the
global
economic meltdown were to go beyond this, as it were, occasioned by
acute
tectonic shifts in the underbelly of the earth? What would happen to
the
law-abiding people of the swamp, if and when oil and gas were to dry
up, as
indeed they would some day? These were some of the nagging questions
that gave Melford Okilo
sleepless nights.
He was desperate to make a change. He wanted to make a difference, and
he made
a difference only because he was here, not necessarily because the
power
brokers let him.
On
Saturday July 22, 2006, at the Isaac Boro
Memorial
Lecture, in the deep hold of the Lambeth
Town Hall,
Brixton, London, Melford Okilo
gave one of his most rousing speeches in modern times. He called on the
leadership of the Ijaw nation to take
their prolonged
disenchantment with the Federal Government of Nigeria over proceeds
from oil
and gas exploration to the International Court of Justice. It was as
though he
was already at The Hague when he declared that the Nigerian government
was yet
to take sufficient steps to redress the pathetic conditions of the
Niger Delta people.
By
the same token, he enjoined youths of the area to forsake violence and
hostage-taking, learn the rudiments of dialogue and negotiation, and
press home
their grievances without shedding blood.
�We live in a civilized world where order, stability and justice
are
believed to be sacrosanct, and the International Court of Justice is
set up
precisely to settle long-standing disputes of great magnitude between
nations
and within nations. Ijaw leaders will do
well to seek
justice before that world body,� he said.
And
this same Melford was a fisherman. He knew
how to
make his net, cast it in the open sea, pull in the fish, careful to
pull out
their sticky heads from the netting, and repair the net when it got
torn. This
same Obiene was a boy once upon a time. He
could
climb a coconut tree to the top, and shake the harvest down. He could
play
football under the rain and score for his side. He could swing a hoe
like every
farmer at Ota. In fact, this same Okilo
was a relentless
farmer of ideas.
He
was never shy to enter into a conversation on any subject under the
sun. And
the longer you stayed with him, the more the conversation became
boisterous,
more engaging, more involving, more
reasonable. He was
that flexible, that versatile. His intelligence was that eclectic. To
be in the
very presence of Okilo was to be swamped
suddenly by
a flood of ideas. To enter into a discussion with him was to be
overtaken by
reason.
Okilo was
in possession of what you might call native intelligence, the kind of
intelligence that springs from a personal acquaintance with the world,
a felt
experience. He was powered by a daily application of the faculty of
reason. He
was a thinker in the best sense of the word. He was a kingmaker who
never
became the king he ought to be. Without his endorsement, without his
goodwill
blessings, no politician truly prospered. Yet his blessings came only
on the
heels of a widely acknowledged democratic choice. Little wonder that he
was a
friend to Diepreye Alamieyeseigha,
as he was a mentor to Goodluck Jonathan.
Come
to that, Okilo was such a fine orator that
even Tafawa Balewa
embraced him once
upon a time. Obafemi Awolowo
respected Melford Okilo
for
his wit, and so did Nnamdi Azikiwe.
He dined with kings and princes who were quite happy to host him. He
ate at
table with the Queen of England in Buckingham Palace. Okilo
was that influential, that connected. He recognized the power of
knowledge, and
invested in research. That is why he established the Rivers State
University of
Science and Technology, Port Harcourt, converting it from its erstwhile
station
as a mere appendage to the University of Ibadan, into a degree-awarding
institution in its own legitimate right.
What
is more, Okilo recognized the power of the
Fourth
Estate of the Realm and became a friend to the press early in his
political
career. If you sought Okilo�s opinion, for
instance,
as to whether or not to privatize the Bayelsa
State
Newspaper Corporation ahead of the next elections, he would say fund it
first. Yes,
equip the Corporation first, and if the reporters don�t give of their
best,
then give them more vehicles, get their machines working, give them
tape
recorders, place the paper on the worldwideweb,
or be
sorry for it. Don�t forget that the first Nigerian journalist of
reckoning was
from Bayelsa. His name was Ernest Sisei
Ikoli, a man whom even Awolowo
acknowledged as his mentor.
That
would be Okilo�s line of thinking. He was
that
analytical, that frank to a fault. He traded in words,
for he loved the company of words, and won ideas for himself the more
he traded
in words. As the scriptures put it, by their fruits, we shall know
them. Melford Obiene
Okilo was a good fruit. But last year, the
lips of earth
opened wide to swallow him, six feet deep. The presence of God departed
from his
body. Breath left the vessel that was Okilo.
His body
was without life. He was dead, gone the way of all flesh.
And
that is why we wept our hearts out, all of us in the Niger Delta, when Okilo died. We still weep today. We miss his
intervention at
a critical time like this when Nigeria has failed so woefully to be
guided by common
sense, to say nothing of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of
Nigeria,
1999, in a matter so obvious as to let a deputy hold brief for his
ailing boss.
We mourn the passing of an everyday philosopher. We regret the loss of
this
great son of Bayelsa whose forthrightness
never left
him idle all the days of his life. Woe, indeed, betide those who profit
by
death, those who delude themselves into thinking that they can only
make
progress in life, if and only if the next man is done away with. Death,
that
same death seized Melford Obiene
Okilo, a simple fisherman from the Niger
Delta, shall
die a swift death when Jesus comes.