... Always Staying on Top of The News

I.I Akwuchi 36 years on: Oga Officer you spoilt our Christmas 

Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...

By Anthony [Akwuchi] Maliki 

He was a typical example of “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Yes, his countenance depicts him as somebody mean and wicked. His “Hitler-like” moustache didn’t help matters either, but he was none of these.

Of course, as a typical policeman that he was, late Deputy Commissioner of Police, Ignatius Igbo Akwuchi was strict but not too much of a disciplinarian to be so much dared. But, whenever he gave instructions, it must be obeyed. His words were “law”.

But, one thing for sure, his love for the job and people were legendary. His dedication saw him rose from the ranks to become a Deputy Commissioner of Police until he was prematurely retired alongside many others by the then military administration of Major-General Muhammadu Buhari as was then in January, 1984.

I remember while at the Police Mobile Force 1, Kakuri, Kaduna, there was some kind of uprising at Zaria and as Commander [Don’t know what they called the head at that time], he called other officers and planning how to best tackle the situation. I was practically always with him even when I was being stopped. He was instructing some of his men to quickly go home and bring Hausa flowing gowns [Babariga] and cap for disguise to infiltrate the protesters. That was a hi-tech military tactics then. I can’t remember the outcome of their mission to Zaria but I think it was successful. He was the third Officer that headed MOPOL 1.

I presumed it was part of such missions that made the Police sent him to Scotland Yard for an advanced detective course in the mid-1970s.

All the while, I “found” myself in his home thinking he was my father until I grew older, in fact, way into finishing my primary school before I knew he was maternal granduncle. That was because everybody bears his name in the house, so I thought he was my dad. This was not because he wanted to “colonize” us but because of some kind of love that he belonged to everybody. I was told later that he “kidnapped” me from my parents at aged three.

At a point when he was transferred from the Police Mobile Force 1, Kakuri, Kaduna to Jos, residents in his flat at No: 28, St. Patrick Avenue were 24. Both male and female, his biological children, children of relations, those from kinsmen, school, work or mere applicants, young and kids like us were all-over. People of various characters, he accommodated all.

A highly detribalized Nigerian, he understood Igbo language extremely well. We were told as a kid, he was taken to Eastern Nigeria by a Catholic Priest, from thence, he grasped the language, its culture and had many friends from the Igbo extraction, prominent among then was one Mr. Anthony. He loved Igbo menu so much. He also had another close Police Officer friend, Mr. Ogidiomo [I’m not sure of the spelling]. I really don’t know where he hailed from. But they were great pals.

A typical Jukun that he was who loved his beer, I remember very vividly we were shocked when he was admitted at the Plateau Hospital, Jos, a few metres from our residence. I was amazed how a Senior Officer could be “arrested” at a mere hospital? As it were, the word “admitted” was pronounced to us as “arrested”. But they could not “arrest” the Star beer that was smuggled into his bedside in a well-concealed bag.

Fast forward 1988: I got a job at Champion Newspaper in November, 1988 and posted to Kaduna as its pioneer correspondent. As a young journalist, I was still obsessed to go to the village for Christmas and boarded a vehicle on December 27, 1988 to Abinsi enroute Makurdi, at least, I would still catch the remainder fun not minding any breaking news that may occur at my base.

Unfortunately, our vehicle developed a fault at Zonkwa in southern part of Kaduna State. There, a man, from the blues, from another commercial vehicle, apparently going to the same direction, just called my name straight: “Anthony. Are you going for Mr. Akwuchi’s burial?” I told him, I didn’t know about it. “He died on December 24 and would be buried tomorrow.” [December 28]. I held my breath. Having seen the expression on my innocent face, he apologized. “It’s alright,” I said.

That was it. The remaining journey became uninteresting but I was consoled, because, at least I would meet the funeral. Well, I was present, I never knew Mr. Akwuchi was such a “Big man” in all respects. I was seeing him ordinarily as that man I was always by his side as a kid and meant nothing really. I was totally wrong.

The funeral became a Police affair as a could only watch from afar. I became a totally stranger. The beagle blowing policemen by the side of the casket and the Police fanfare took over most proceedings at Ajogo [Called Wurukum] at the banks of River Benue in Makurdi, Benue State, where he was laid to rest at his family compound, which I know he would like it, to be buried amongst his people.  The surging crowd from his kinsmen from all over Jukunland mingled with numerous people talking about his good deeds was overwhelming. 

Shortly after his retirement, the gentleman officer became ill and bedridden until his death on December 24, 1988 just as the frenzy of Christmas festival was at its peak spoiling many people’s mood. The Officer spoilt my Christmas too, even 36 years after his death.  But it was destined to happen that way. Rest on oga Sir!

Anthony, publisher of Apex News Exclusive, is the first grandchild of the Akwuchis from the maternal side

Comments are closed, but trackbacks and pingbacks are open.