The Son of the Soil

A short story by Humphrey Ogu

Tears welled in Ukela’s eyes and trickled down his sunken cheeks. As he gazed on the ruins of what used to be his home, tears gushed uncontrollably from his reddened eyes like water from a damaged tap. All efforts to fight back the tears and maintain a manly demeanour were futile. His mind was entangled in a labyrinth of emotion. He was grief-stricken, terrified and confused as his thoughts swung to and fro like a pendulum. He wondered what had become of his parents and siblings.

His townspeople, the survivors, had fled the town in the wake of the military attack. Only a handful of domestic animals could be seen wandering about, apparently relishing the newly-gained freedom from human control. Vultures hopped about, feasting on the decomposing remains of animals, the putrid stench unbearable. Although the soldiers have left a couple of weeks earlier, the displaced indigenes of Ihumini were not in a hurry to return home. They were too shocked, too frightened to contemplate that. Besides, apart from the telltale filth and stench of the massacre, there was no single habitable building in the entire community.

The federal government had sent the soldiers to guard the oil installations and secure the expatriate staff of the oil companies in Ihumini and its environs. One day, Ihumini youths decided to stage a peaceful protest over allegations of marginalization in the terms of employment of indigenous youths. As the crowd approached, the soldiers at the gate of Imperial Union Oil Company opened fire, resulting in the death of several of the youths.

The infuriated youths went berserk, disarming and wounding one of the soldiers. When news of the crisis got to the army headquarters in Port Harcourt, more troops were deployed to the area and the soldiers ran amok, shooting people on sight, raping young women, and pillaging the community.

***

Ihumini had been a coastal community in the Southern Nigeria, its people notable for making fortunes from trading fish and farm produce. They also ranked among the highest producers of yam, cassava, plantain, banana and pineapple in the country. But that was before the discovery of oil in their soil. With the advent of oil exploration and exploitation, the story had changed considerably, and negatively so. Their fertile land had lost its fertility as frequent oil spillages devastated the farmland, damaging crops and polluting rivers. There was a considerable reduction in farm output—fishing and farming became less and less lucrative. No amount of hard work had been able to change the situation.

Poverty had set in and made life most unbearable for the people. Mr. Nyemeketu, a retired primary school teacher quickly realized the futility in relying on the waning fishing and farming business. To him, education was the only weapon with which to fight and conquer the prevailing poverty.

“Things have changed. Fishing and farming are no longer profitable these days,” he told his eldest son, Ukela, one evening. “Yet, there are no government jobs for young school leavers,” he added with a pang of nostalgia.

“But Papa,” Ukela said, “I’ve never thought of becoming a farmer or a fisherman. Neither have I considered working in the civil service. Working for thirty-five years without having anything to show for it isn’t my idea of a desirable career.”

“What do you intend to do then?”

“Papa, I’d like to go to university, study engineering, graduate and work in an oil company.”

“That’s a good idea, a very brilliant one. But, you see, my son, I don’t have money to train you in the university; if it were when fishing was lucrative, when farming was a reliable business…”

“Don’t let that bother you, Papa,” Ukela cuts in, “I’ll devote all my time and energy to my studies and secure a scholarship. If I can get money with which to take care of my first year on a degree programme, I won’t have any problem afterwards.”

Nyemeketu did not see any wisdom in starting university education without a ready sponsor. He likened that to a penniless man who embarks on a very long journey in a car whose fuel gauge is already showing red. A traveller in such a situation, he reasoned, can never go far, let alone get to his destination. Nevertheless, he decided that if he couldn’t encourage his son by providing the necessary financial support, he certainly wouldn’t be the one to discourage him from pursuing his career goal.

A year later, Ukela gained admission to study Petroleum Engineering at the University of Port Harcourt. Money was a major challenge as anticipated. His father’s monthly pension was not only too meagre, but it was also irregular in coming. And his father had several financial needs competing for attention. Ukela was however not deterred. He was rather determined to actualize his dreams of becoming an engineer. He kept working hard. And his hard work, determination and optimism paid off when he secured the desired scholarship from NLNG (Nigerian Liquefied Natural Gas).

Armed with a second class (upper division) honours degree in Petroleum Engineering, he had the impression that he would secure a job with ease in one of the numerous oil companies that were scattered all over the state. But that was not to be.

He attended an interview in Shell Petroleum Development Company. A month later, he received a phone call from the Human Resources Department of the company.

“Hello! Can I speak with Mr. Ukela Nyemeketu?” the Recruitment Officer asked.

“Yes, please!” Ukela responded. “I’m Mr Ukela Nyemeketu.”

“Good! I’m Mr. Femi Ayodele, calling from the Human Resources Department, SPDC, Warri.”

“I’m very pleased to hear from you, sir,” Ukela enthused.

“You did well in the interview. I’m quite impressed with your ingenuity. The only problem, however, is that you have no computer skills,” Mr. Ayodele said with a note of regret. “You see, this is the age of information and communication technology. It baffles me that you didn’t realize that we are now in an ICT work landscape.”

“I intend to go for training in ICT. But before then, I would like to know the aspect ICT that is relevant to the job I applied for.”

“I’m afraid, that’s too late now; we can only hire applicants who have the required computer knowledge. That’s our company’s policy!” As an afterthought, the HR officer asked: “Why didn’t you think of acquiring computer skills before now?”

“I actually thought about it, sir. But I didn’t have the wherewithal to actualize that plan. Please help me, sir.” Ukela pleaded, quivering in a cold sweat.

“I thought I made myself clear when I said that it was against my company’s policy to employ people who are not conversant with ICT? You know how competitive it is to get employed in SPDC. Anyway, I wish you luck in your future endeavours.” Mr. Ayodele said in an exasperated voice and dropped the call.

Ukela was disappointed. In order to forestall a reoccurrence of that bitter experience, he enrolled in a computer course. But the acquisition of ICT knowledge did not change his situation: His inability to understand French stood between him and the next job at Elf Petroleum Company as a letter he received from the oil company suggested.

Dear Mr. Nyemeketu,

Result of Recruitment Interview

I wish to thank you for attending our interview conducted on July 6, 2004 and also commend your brilliant performance.

I, however, regret the Company’s inability to employ you. As you must have noticed in

our advert for the job, ability to communicate in French is essential. Ours is a multinational oil company headquartered in Paris. And our prospective employees are expected to go on six-month training in France before assuming duties in the company.

It may interest you to know that the language of instruction is French. Those who have no basic knowledge of the language will find it extremely difficult to cope in the programme. You can now see why we cannot employ you at present.

You would be well advised to acquire basic communicative skills in French if you wish to apply for a job in our company in future.

You have our very best wishes.

Yours truly,

A. G. MITCHELLE

Head, Personnel Division

In his bid to change his employment status, Ukela registered for a six–month certificate course in French at Alliance Français, Port Harcourt. At the end of the course, he went and lived in Badagry, a French village in Lagos State with a view to enhancing his linguistic competence in French. He spent six months with the villagers whose main language was French and his stay helped him a great deal.

However, neither his French competence nor his ICT skills was able to pull him out of the labour market. His next attempt in the same company did not yield any positive result either. He was disqualified for not having a Master’s degree which, according to the advert, was “an added advantage”. He took consolation in the fact that he had another interview in Exxon Mobil, an American oil firm, the following week. But that too was a fiasco. Applicants who didn’t have the requisite five years relevant experience in a position similar to the one they applied for, which the advert said was “an added advantage”, were not interviewed at all. Ukela fell in this category.

“This is crazy! How can one be denied the opportunity to work, more than five years after graduation from university and yet be expected to gain five years working experience? How is it possible?” Ukela asked in bewilderment.

“Don’t mind them,” said Izuma, another youth who did not satisfy the obnoxious requirement for the job. “I’m sure; those at the helm of affairs in this company reserved the places for their relatives.”

“Why then, did they invite applications?” Ukela asked, visibly exasperated.

“They did that to fulfil all righteousness, as the saying goes. They’ve probably filled the vacant positions long before the publication of the advert, thereby deceiving the world.” Izuma said.

“What kind of country is this?” asked a bewildered Ukela.

In spite of the catalogue of disappointments, Ukela never gave up. He remained resolute in his quest for a job and kept shuttling between Port Harcourt and Lagos. In Lagos where the headquarters of most of the oil servicing companies were situated, he had another round of shock. He was disqualified from participating in two consecutive interviews on the basis of being too old, having clocked 30. In the midst of these disappointments, he concluded that there was no need to stay back in Lagos anymore; he had already wasted seven months there. In frustration, he returned home and was greeted by a community in complete desolation, stinking with the putrefaction of the dead. Everything was in ruins.

***

“Ukela, my son, you’re welcome. I thank God for keeping you alive,” Mrs. Iyeuma Nyemeketu said, hugging her son.

He had finally located his mother and his sisters in Ihuabunu, a neighbouring community after a long and mentally exacting search.

Ukela hugged his sisters, Ada and Unuma, one after the other. Then he asked: “What of Papa and Uyodhu? Where are they?”

His mother and sisters responded to his question with an orchestra of weeping. With tears still streaming down her face, Unuma tried to narrate the sad story, but could not make any meaningful sound as her voice was overwhelmed with suppressed cry. “It’s a long story,” she managed to say, as she wiped her tears and threw her hands around Ukela in a comforting embrace.

“But a long story has a beginning, Unuma,” Ukela said in a desperate manner.

“To cut it short, Uyodhu is dead. He was killed in his attempt to stop the soldiers from raping us. . .” she stopped abruptly, giving way to a graveyard silence.

“And Papa?” Ukela broke the silence.

“He died out of trauma. Mama, Ada, Amanu your fiancée and I were raped in his very presence. He was absolutely helpless as he watched the soldiers raped us and kill Uyodhu. A few days later, his blood pressure began to steadily rise to dangerous levels and he died of cardiac arrest a week after.” Unuma narrated the sorrowful story in between sobs. “I had wanted to inform you about the death of Papa and Uyodhu. . .”

“And what stopped you?”

“Mama advised me against it.” Unuma said, wiping her nose.

“Why?”

“My son, it wasn’t necessary,” Mrs Nyemeketu cut in. “If you were around then, the soldiers would have killed you too. And I know you would have decided to come home if we had informed you. It’s good you were away from home.”

“At least you should have given me a clear picture of what happened the last time we communicated. Instead, I was kept in the dark. You kept telling me everyone was okay.”

“We only kept the information from you in order to protect your life.”

Ukela’s mind became a theatre of thoughts: he tried to imagine what his parents and siblings passed through in the hands of the rampaging soldiers. Tears stood in his eyes and ran deeply inward at first, filling up his insides.

“I shall avenge my father’s death. I must surely avenge my brother’s death,” he said as the tears finally began to stream down his face.

“You’re the only one I have now, my dear son. Don’t do anything that will endanger your life,” Mrs. Nyemeketu pleaded. “The soldiers have guns; they have the backing of the federal government. You can’t fight the government.”

“Mama, my mind is made up; it’s better to die fighting than to live dying!” he said philosophically.

“The way your brother died, trying to save us?” Mrs. Nyemeketu asked, as she began to weep. “Vengeance is the Lord’s. Allow the Lord to do the fighting.”

“Which Lord are you talking about? Where was he when the soldiers. . .” he suddenly became speechless.

His mother held him in a very tight embrace, still weeping. “Do you want to leave us in sorrow as your father and your brother did? Don’t you care about us?”

With these words Ukela calmed down. Deep in his mind he was contemplating enlisting in the army. As an engineer, he thought, he would rise rapidly and before long, become a very senior officer. But, again, he feared that had a very slim chance of succeeding in becoming a military officer. Nepotism held sway in the country and he came from a minority ethnic group. In realization of the odds against him, he jettisoned the idea.

He later learnt of an opportunity for able-bodied African youths who wish to join the U.S. Armed Forces. He filled out the appropriate online forms and volunteered to serve in the Navy. He was sent on a one-year course at United States Institute of Naval Engineering where he took, among others, courses in Seamanship, Biochemical Warfare, Guerrilla Warfare and How to Combat Terrorism. On completion of the course, he was sent to Iraq and latter, Afghanistan where he made use of his soldiery skills at various times.

After serving in the US Navy for a decade, he returned to Nigeria. A few months later, he formed a militia group known as the Delta Region Revolutionary Force. He employed his rhetorical skill to persuade over 500 hundred jobless youths, mostly graduates to join the group.

“Comrades! The time has come for us to be in charge of our destinies. The government has no plans for us. Our leaders are merely grooming their own children to take over the leadership of the country from them in future. They use money from the oil from in our soil to send their kids to the best universities overseas. We have no place in the future of this country,” Ukela told the members of the militia. “So we’ve got to fight and build for ourselves a brighter tomorrow. We shouldn’t see poverty as our heritage. We have to rewrite our history and change our economic address. We must change our political status. We must assert our inalienable rights as the sons of the oil-bearing soil. And the time to do all that is now!”

Ukela received unanimous support and unalloyed loyalty from the newly-recruited members of the militia group and quickly trained them in guerrilla warfare. The group’s task, he told them, was to fight towards having an unhindered access to the oil in the region. This entailed confronting the federal soldiers, who were drafted to the region to guard the oil facilities, and disrupting the activities of the multinational oil companies in the region by vandalizing oil pipelines and abducting expatriate oil workers.

The petroleum experts among them brought their expertise to bear and they established a quasi-refinery. They cashed in on the ailing state-owned refineries and the consequent scarcity of petroleum products in the country and made gasoline, kerosene and other petroleum products available for domestic use. Soon they began to export crude oil at a price lower than the OPEC benchmark. Within a short time, Ukela became not only fully employed,­ but also an employer of labour: He specialized in exploring and exploiting the failure of the federal and state governments—past and present—in providing employment for the teeming youth and creating enabling environment for them to realize their dreams. So he gave them his dream; and money as well.

The illegal oil business flourished tremendously and Ukela became a millionaire-philanthropist: he gave scholarships to indigent youths and provided succour for his townspeople, most of who were living in abject poverty. And they soon forgot their hitherto poor conditions of living and overlooked the illegality of Ukela’s oil exploration and exploitation business. Instead of condemnation, his actions were greeted with widespread commendation, as beneficiaries of his benevolence from various communities fell on each other in their bids to honour the true son of the soil and his followers with chieftaincy titles.

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Humphrey Ogu is a poet, short fiction writer and journalist. A one-time Columnist/Features Writer for Niger Delta Standard newspaper and Sub-Editor of Gift Essence Magazine, he is currently an Information Officer in the Information, Publications and Public Relations Unit of the University of Port Harcourt. He holds a certificate in Creative Writing, earned a University of Ibadan degree in English and enrolled on an MA programme in English and Literary Studies, University of Calabar. He is the author of Unheard Songs, a Collection of poems. He is also editor of the Pitakwa Review.