FREE IN CHAINS.

A STORY ON BIAFRA STRUGGLE IN NIGERIA

When I entered Ajuka's shop, I was taken aback by its sudden transformation. It was the negative kind of transformation that informed any keen observer that his business was in turmoil.

The shelves were mostly empty, with a scattering of dusty jeans and shirts, haphazardly discarded upon them. On the floor there were sandals, mostly old and out of style, the kind grandfathers wore to kindred meetings in the village, bulky and heavy. They were not the kind the youths wear to look good. They were not trendy.

I quickly guessed that the trendy ones have been cheery-picked by shoppers weeks ago and the rest were the abandoned ones that would be bought by people with little taste or little money.

But that was never Ajuka's style. He was trendy. He had style that was often called packaging or swag. His shop was often filled with goods imported from China, Indonesia, India and even Italy and smelled like lavender. He always had electricity inside his shop having installed solar panels to carry his blue incandescent bulbs and fans even when there is no power from the corporation he pays monthly bills. But on the few occasions where they graced him power, he used Air-Condition.

In the weeks and months of yore, he was sought by banks more than trendy men and women. They all wanted to do business with him. They begged to loan him money because they could see his enterprise. He was a low risk investment for them. Ajuka will pay back. He is good for it. Banks would only loan you money if they are sure you do not need it.

However, Ajuka was also helped by a legend. Igbos are shrewd businessmen, comfortable on the road, dominating usually in travels, usually helped by hospitable hosts and sometimes thriving in spite of their hostility, sharing keen similarities with the Jews. This spirit of adventure and enterprise did not start today. Igbos have never allowed themselves to be restricted by their geography, they have grown to be more populous than their space, they have exploded beyond their borders and has taken on new territories and locations with faith and the belief in hustle. It may be true that sometimes the hustles may not be honest but mostly, they have tried to be successful while doing legitimate businesses. As many Igbos that could be accused of running illegitimate businesses in South Africa and Malaysia there are over thrice as many dominating the Computer villages of Lagos and Abuja, determining style in Wuse, shaping the face of tourism and hospitality in Abuja, striding like giants in the academia and gaining global respect.

This spirit is not new. It had always been there since the times of our ancestors who entered treacherous canoes and paddled with cargoes of palm oil up river and through creeks to trade across shores, sometimes selling to the Europeans.

That legend helped Ajuka and in the part of Abuja where he lived, he helped the legend. But something discomforting was happening. Ajuka, an astute businessman was running out of goods.

"I need to buy shorts." I asked after my cursory look around the strange looking shop. It does not look like Ajuka's.

"You mean short knicker?" He replied with an intense Igbo accent which he proudly carries. He once joked that money speaks all the 'phoney' which he could not speak.

"Yes." I replied. The only thing familiar about the shop was that fragrance of lavender. His voice has become subdued. It was no longer the vivacious Ajuka that would immediately fish out a fine jean trouser when you were just around to buy a singlet or throw a slippers at you for daring to request a shirt.

"This your shirt will go well with this pams too" He would suggest. I don't know who had started to call leather slippers 'pams' but I would not put it past the Igbos.

He stood up with evident effort that I started to fear that he was sick. I almost listened to hear his ragged breath and creaking bones as he rose to look for the 'short knicker.'

"You like this one?" He presented a khaki combat short to me. I shook my head. I did not like it.

"This is too big. I am size 32. 34 highest."

He brought another one and held it up.

"This looks like a boxers...it's too brief." I said.

"That short knicker agwukwala o." He returned to his seat and picked up his paper fan.

"When are you going to the market again?" I asked because he often travels every two weeks, leaving his business in the care of his 'Nwa boy.'

"2nd week of October." He said dismissively, discouraging further questioning.

However, I was too chagrined to quit.

"But what has changed?"

"Didn't you hear that ndi anyi no na be ha si anyi laa?" He asked wearied and with his breath heavy and ragged. I heard about the quit notice too but has never considered the devastating impact it could have on people who through blood, sweat and tears has built a living in the lands beyond that of their fathers; people on whose remittances folks at home depended on for upkeep.

"So you are traveling home?"

"Yes." His response was emphatic "O osisi bu ihe nuru na a ga-egbu ya wee kwuru." He added.

I cried a little inside.

"I have sent my children home already. I told them to go and see their grandmother. They will return with me and my wife."

That is when I knew that Ajuka has a wife and kids too. It came as a bit of a surprise. He looked young, packaged like a bachelor often clad in jeans and tight-fitting shirts tucked in. He wore a full head of hair that had specks of gray in front. He is a handsome man and often flirted, all be it harmlessly with his female customers.

"You have a wife? Kids?"

His eyes lit up. A sudden vibrance took over his sullen features and he became excited again.

"Agadaga dimkpa ito." He raised up three of his fingers to indicate the number of kids he has.

"Salisu gbaa first na school."

"Who is this Salisu that is taking first." Animation had crept into my voice too. I calmed my breath to check my excitement.

"My first son is Ndubuisi. The second one is Okwudili and for the third, my wife insisted we give him her father's native name. Salisu."

"Your wife is Hausa?" My heartbeat went into overdrive and my excitement could not be contained anymore. I almost shrilled in surprise. I was hearing something remarkable.

"Hadiza is from Kano. I am from Abia. We have a love story. Udi love story a na-eme na film."

Am sure their love story was Hollywood standard but I urged him through my silence to tell more and he obliged.

He said he used to be a trader in Onitsha and dealt only in original leather belts. He was given the goods on credit by an Alhaji from Kano and he reimbursed after sales and expended from his profit. His family depended on him then. His father had a stroke and his mother was hypertensive. He grew to become a hustler and fended for his parents and three sisters from his sales.

He was a shrewd businessman and the trust he enjoyed with Alhaji grew in bounds and soon he started growing his consignment in line with the trust until a tragedy happened.

Some men claiming to be freedom fighters came to demand a levy from him. He had no shop then, just a stand with a barrow from where he pushed his goods to different shops to supply to different business men and women.

He had regrettably said that he cannot pay the freedom fighters levy and before he could say more, he had been beaten to a pulp and told to come and redeem his entire goods of about N390,000 in their 'office.' Of course when he went looking for the office, he was told that there was no office. There was only a den where deviants smoked, drank and whispered freedom amidst inebriation. MASSOB then was only a moniker for exploitation, intimidation, crime and Freedom Fighters was merely a collection of people who roamed about forcing people to stay indoors against their will in compliance with some decree from someone who was far removed from their plight and their hustle.

After that ordeal, he avoided Alhaji's call for weeks until one day he got an SMS from a strange number.

"My father trusted you like a son he never had. It's such a shame."

Amidst fear and trepidation, he called back and started apologizing. He was talking to his wife Hadiza. He explained everything to her and requested that Alhaji should give him time to pay back that debt. He swore he would pay.

Hadiza told him that he should talk to Alhaji in person and forwarded an address. Because he had no money to even travel, she requested for his account number and sent him some money.

It was in the meeting with Alhaji that he met Hadiza in person. Beautiful like an Indian princess he said. Her father called him his son and told him that he was only offended because he believed 390k can ruin their friendship.

Alhaji said that he trusts him completely and that he has always been transparent. He gave him another chance and started supplying him with clothes, jewelries, sandals and underwears. He grew fast and soon bought the Alhaji a small car which he claimed he loves but rarely uses.

His story with Hadiza was a long one but I gathered it was love at first sight. She was already pregnant for him before Alhaji could say 'Hajj'. When he asked for her hand in marriage, Alhaji gave them a knowing smile and jokingly asked if he could endure the strokes of cane.

I am sure their story is deeper than this but he has left the rest to my imagination. I had not expected details.

"This people asking us to come back didn't really want us home. Onitsha is not a business area. There is too much thuggery there. Any governor that wants to bring sanity is branded a killer by someone. It's not like they will allow me to do my business in peace there. Thugs robbed in daylight there and no one says jack. They robbed me."

"Of course." I agreed "A friend of mine that often requests for help from him has been asking me to come home. When I told him that I couldn't help anymore because I am saving up funds for my return, he got dismayed."

"We own this country too. We have invested here. We may not be in the corridors of politics but Alhaji told me that all his friends would prefer to do business with Igbos. We are enterprising. We are explorers. Natural risk takers who looks out for opportunities wherever it is. We cannot go home to cramp our style by cramping into a specific geography that may not be bigger than the entire Niger State. We are not weak in this Nigeria. We are strong. As strong as the rest of the country. We own hotels in Abuja, Kano and as far as Sokoto. We are contractors, solid businessmen that are globally respected. Our enterprise is renowned, globally recognized as formidable and beyond any cheap political agenda."

He spoke his pain and his confusion. What would he do with Hadiza? The love of his life. I merely listened.

"Whoever that is calling for return of Igbos elsewhere simply has nowhere to keep them. I bought 3 plots of land in my own village for 7 million and barely have enough to leave for my children. Can't we address our issues with respect, honesty and love? Must I now hate my wife and my father in law? Must he hate me because some guy came on the radio?"

Tears trickled down my cheeks. Anyone that has ever left home in search of opportunities knows that it was bravery that took us out of our mother's hearths and it was massive strength of will that takes us from one place to another; fear is threatening to return us all back. That is what the enemy of the Igbos want.

No real and genuine Igbo man should want this.

Ajuka has built his house in his place of hustle, built the shop where he does his business but sadly must always live in the fear of losing it all.

Mostly because the environment at home was not usually the best.

Igbos may own half of the hotels in Nigeria, but they will be kidnapped if they dared showed that they are doing quite well. Sometimes, industries rarely take off in the east because of the presence of Quasi-governments of thugs that will demand payment before you clear your site and keep exploiting you or intimidating you till you close it.

Before spouting rubbish in the name of freedom let us all ask why businessmen who have made a bit of money would close down their shops in Onitsha or Aba and head to Lagos or Abuja. Why are hotel businesses not thriving in Aba or Onitsha? Why is thuggery and kidnapping rife in our parts?

Why do we always see our legitimately wealthy sons once a year?

Before you answer these questions, put yourself in Ajuka's shoes.