Anthony Obi Ogbo
New Book, “Shred of Fear” Invokes a Provocative Recollection of the Biafran War
Nwokedi’s “Shred of Fear” masterfully captures a phenomenological account of a three-year hellish journey toward an unfulfilled dream of a promising nation, Biafra. —Anthony Ogbo
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The machinery of childhood memories remains a mystery grounded in neurological maturation, socialization, and other factors that often influence an individual’s recollection of momentous childhood events. In his book, Shred of Fear, Uche Nwokedi renders a memoir of his experiences living through the Biafran War (also known as the Nigerian Civil War). His recollection is unmatched and encompasses many critical moments unfamiliar to the current generation.
According to Nwokedi, “Childhood memories of that time remain indelibly etched into my psyche. Now and then, I see them in my mind’s eye, in shades of sepia, like old photographs from a family album.”
The author is confident about his memories of the war and explains their significance: “I treasure these memories and hold fast to them, as they are the watershed years of my journey in life so far. I fully embrace the emotions they evoke, with no apologies for what the child remembers.”
The story of the Biafran war is not new. Yet, a lot of events surrounding this bloody mayhem have not been told, and unfortunately, the advent of social media and technology innovation has not made telling the story about the great Biafran journey any easier. For instance, several analyses, books, and publications have pervaded the internet with Google-generated unsubstantiated content. Even some authors who fought in the war have rendered subjective accounts to appease specific social and political interests. Some activists equally went astray, creating Biafran war content to pursue their “We the people” agitation crusades.
Shred of Fear, however, is far from those. Shred is not a political written handout. It is not a children’s bedtime storybook. It is a masterful rendition of the Biafran War devoid of Google speculations. The author, a child at the time, creatively captures a phenomenological account of a three-year hellish journey toward an unfulfilled dream of a promising nation. Indeed, from beginning to end, Shred unloads from a unique perspective the very interesting and relatively unknown events that marked this horrific season.
But the most exciting and credible endorsement of this book comes from Chief Arthur Mbanefo, a commissioner and roving ambassador in Biafra (1967–1970). According to Chief Mbanefo, “As one who participated fully in the Biafra War, Shred of Fear is a powerful and vivid factual recollection of events that defined the war for the author. Written with such brilliant simplicity, one is taken on a journey of the changes in life in a time of war by the author. A must-read. Highly recommended!”
One remarkable aspect of this book is the author’s representation of Aba, the great Enyimba city, which he describes as “one of those quintessentially colonial Nigerian towns with all the hallmarks of a place with plenty of growth potential.” From Aba’s City Life to The Pound Road Bombing and finally, the “Fall of Aba,” the author paints a realistic picture of what transpired inside Biafra at the initial stage of the war. Again, here is the author:
“I saw pictures of mutilated bodies and they gave me the chills. To crown it all, there were constant mobs of angry young men running through the streets of Aba carrying leaves, crying for vengeance, and chanting in the Igbo language, “Ojukwu gives us a gun to defend ourselves.”
In addition to music, which became a therapeutic part of the culture in the Biafran land, the author recounts how air raids became the hallmark of this war. Killer fighter jets preyed on innocent masses at will. In his own words, Nwokedi writes, “We would see the MIGs [jet fighters] suddenly swoop down from the sun like hawks, fly low past the GRA [Government Reserved Area], bomb the town center and markets, climb back up into the sky and then leave as quickly as they had come.”
Another interesting aspect of this book is the author’s recollection of the Aburi Accord. On January 4 and 5, 1967, delegates and representatives from both the Federal Government of Nigeria and the Eastern Region, led by Lieutenant Colonel Emeka Ojukwu, met in Aburi, Ghana, to agree on what is now known as the Aburi Accord. This meeting at Aburi was supposed to be the last opportunity for both parties to resolve any conflict to prevent civil war.
Nwokedi approaches the Aburi Accord from a different perspective. He remembers how the phrase “On Aburi we stand” was widely chanted and adopted by everyone. “We heard older people say it often, and so we repeated it all the time as well. We loved the sound of it,” he narrates.
The book explores the genuineness of Biafra’s failed struggle. Consequently, its contents emit unprecedented historical relevance to a people, their strength, and a vision that was never accomplished.
The author’s account subtitled “The Line in the Sand” rightly indicates how the collapse of the Aburi Accord created a playing field for two warring combatants ready to terminate each other. Yet his final reflection on the collapse of this accord remains intelligible. He writes:
“Quite clearly, these two young soldiers escalated a war of words into an internecine war. With those conflicting clarion calls, the line in the sand was drawn, and the war began in earnest.”
The book explores the genuineness of Biafra’s failed struggle. Consequently, its contents emit unprecedented historical relevance to a people, their strength, and a vision that was never accomplished. As the author says, “The flickering light of Biafra had been unceremoniously snuffed out, but the darkness of defeat had not yet enveloped it. The sun was sinking, and we were drifting fast into the gloaming of defeat.”
In 14 chapters loaded with his candid recollection, the author does not ignore the political implications of the war, the lessons learned from the uncertainties that triggered the destructive duel, and where Nigeria currently stands. According to Nwokedi, “The Biafran War is long over, but the peace it won remains fragile and full of anxiety.” He continues, “We continue to live in anticipation of the promises of Nigeria.”
Shred of Fear is a superb memoir of a man who lived through the horrendous Biafran civil war as a child. Currently, Uche Nwokedi is an accomplished Nigerian author and lawyer, and Shred is not his first endeavor. He is also the writer and creative producer of the award-winning musical production Kakadu the Musical, which has toured Nigeria, Switzerland, and South Africa to great critical acclaim.
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♦Publisher of the Guardian News, Journalism and RTF Professor, Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D. is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
“Jonathan’s calculated and weaponized ambiguity breeds deception and weakens emerging political alliances.” —Dr. Anthony Obi Ogbo
Former Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan has once again found himself at the center of presidential speculation, floating silently above the country’s political waters while supporters aggressively market him as a possible candidate ahead of another critical election cycle. And once again, Jonathan is doing what he has mastered throughout his political career: saying nothing clearly while allowing political confusion to grow around him.
This pattern is not new. It is the same indecisive political behavior that defined some of the most consequential moments of his rise and fall. Jonathan became president in 2010 following the death of President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua. At the time, many northern political stakeholders within the then-ruling PDP believed there was an informal understanding that Jonathan would complete Yar’Adua’s term but not seek another full term in 2011, thereby preserving the party’s zoning arrangement between North and South. Instead of taking a clear and immediate position, Jonathan spent months dribbling the nation politically. He neither fully denied nor openly confirmed his intentions until the political tension had already escalated nationwide.
By the time he eventually declared his candidacy, the damage had been done. Many northern allies who initially supported him felt betrayed, politically cornered, or deceived. The PDP fractured internally, regional distrust deepened, and Jonathan’s relationship with major northern power blocs deteriorated permanently. Though he won the 2011 election, the cracks created by that indecision followed him into 2015, contributing significantly to the coalition that eventually removed him from power.
Yet Jonathan learned little from that experience. Since losing reelection in 2015, his name has repeatedly surfaced during every major electoral cycle as a potential presidential contender. Each time, his supporters strategically floated his candidacy across media platforms and political circles. Each time, Jonathan refused to decisively shut the door. Silence became his political instrument, whereas ambiguity became his strategy.
Now the country is witnessing the same playbook again. As coalition politics intensify and opposition forces attempt to consolidate around alternative political movements, Jonathan’s name has resurfaced aggressively. Reports and speculations about his presidential ambition continue to dominate political discussions, especially within camps seeking to disrupt the growing momentum surrounding Peter Obi and emerging opposition realignments.
The troubling part is not merely that Jonathan’s supporters are campaigning. The troubling part is that Jonathan fully understands the implications of his silence. He knows that his political stature carries enough weight to destabilize fragile coalition negotiations. He knows his name alone can divide campaign structures, weaken consensus-building, and inject uncertainty into opposition calculations. Yet he refuses to publicly and definitively state where he stands.
That is not statesmanship. That is calculated political ambiguity. Jonathan’s political history is filled with similarly contradictory choices. After losing power in 2015, he received widespread praise for conceding defeat peacefully. He initially framed that decision as a sacrifice made to preserve Nigerian lives and prevent violence. Later, however, different narratives emerged suggesting international pressure, particularly from the United States under President Obama. The shifting explanations weakened what could have remained one of his strongest democratic legacies.
Then came another contradiction. Despite emerging politically from the PDP, Jonathan gradually aligned himself closely with the administration of former President Muhammadu Buhari, serving in diplomatic and goodwill capacities that many PDP loyalists considered politically inappropriate. This unusual closeness fueled longstanding allegations that elements within the APC establishment viewed Jonathan as a useful political instrument capable of destabilizing opposition coalitions from within. Whether those allegations are true or not, Jonathan’s conduct has consistently created room for suspicion.
His political base remains uncertain. His campaign structure is invisible.
Today, his undeclared ambition is already generating confusion among supporters, coalition organizers, and opposition strategists. His political base remains uncertain. His campaign structure is invisible. His intentions are unclear. Yet his loyalists continue mobilizing aggressively in his name while he watches silently from the shadows.
Nigeria is too politically fragile for this kind of elite gamesmanship. At critical national moments, leadership demands clarity, courage, and accountability. Jonathan cannot continue operating as a permanent “maybe” in Nigeria’s political future, thoughtlessly hovering around every election season like an unanswered question designed to manipulate negotiations and weaken emerging alliances.
At this time, Jonathan should sit in or sit out! If he wants to run, he should declare openly, defend his record, and face the democratic process directly. If he does not intend to run, he should immediately and publicly withdraw his name from the political marketplace. Anything short of that increasingly looks less like political strategy and more like calculated deception. Nigeria deserves leaders who make difficult choices openly—not politicians who weaponize silence while others gamble with national uncertainty in their name.
♦ Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
Nigeria’s Forgotten Sacrifice and the Tragedy of Xenophobia in South Africa
As George Santayana famously warned, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” The unfolding xenophobic tensions in South Africa reflect more than economic strain; they reveal a deeper crisis of memory and meaning. When history fades, gratitude dissolves, and fear replaces solidarity. The violence directed at fellow Africans is not merely social unrest; it is a philosophical failure to reconcile past sacrifice with present identity, reminding us that nations, like individuals, must remember to remain whole.
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I recall that when I was in college in Nigeria, all Southern African students, present in substantial numbers, were on full federal government scholarships and received an additional income called a bursary. They lived better than many Nigerians; some even drove cars. Many adopted Nigerian names, assimilated seamlessly, and secured opportunities with ease, while Nigerian graduates faced rising unemployment. It was a quiet but powerful demonstration of solidarity, Nigeria investing in the future of a region still shackled by apartheid.
Today, that history feels almost erased.
For years now, waves of xenophobic attacks in South Africa, often targeting Nigerians, and more recently Ghanaians and other African nationals, have revealed a troubling pattern: violence fueled by economic frustration, misinformation, and historical amnesia. Shops are looted, homes burned, and lives disrupted under the recurring claim that “foreigners are taking jobs.” Yet this narrative collapses under even the most basic scrutiny of history.
Nigeria was not a bystander in South Africa’s liberation; it was a central force.
Under the military leadership of Olusegun Obasanjo, Nigeria became the first country in history to boycott the Commonwealth Games in protest against apartheid. That decision was not symbolic; it was costly, bold, and globally consequential. Obasanjo went further, advocating a continental defense posture and proposing what he termed a “Black bomb,” a radical idea reflecting the urgency of protecting African sovereignty against external aggression.
Nigeria’s commitment extended beyond rhetoric. During the Ibrahim Babangida regime, South Africa sought to exert strategic influence in Equatorial Guinea, offering infrastructure support before the discovery of oil. Nigeria recognized the geopolitical implications and decisively intervened, severing ties and offering its own support. The situation escalated to the point where Equatorial Guinea petitioned Nigeria at the United Nations for intervention. Nigeria did not retreat. This was not interference; it was protection. It was foresight. It was leadership.
Nigeria funded liberation movements, provided education, opened its economy, and bore economic sacrifices, including the nationalization of British Petroleum assets, to pressure the apartheid regime. These were not acts of charity; they were acts of conviction rooted in a vision of a free and united Africa.
And yet, decades later, Nigerians are hunted in the very land their country helped liberate.
The tragedy of xenophobia in South Africa is not merely about violence—it is about the collapse of historical consciousness. A generation disconnected from its past becomes vulnerable to manipulation, scapegoating, and misplaced anger. Economic hardship is real, but it does not justify the erasure of truth or the targeting of fellow Africans.
If history were remembered accurately, perhaps the conversation would be different. Perhaps the anger would be redirected toward structural inequalities rather than neighboring nationals. Perhaps the bonds of Pan-African solidarity would still hold.
But memory has faded, and in its absence, resentment has grown. Africa cannot afford selective memory. Nations that forget who stood with them in their darkest hours risk losing their moral compass in moments of crisis. Nigeria’s role in the liberation of South Africa is not a footnote—it is a foundation. To ignore it is to misunderstand both the past and the present.
Equally troubling is the persistent failure of successive South African governments to decisively confront and eradicate xenophobic violence. Such inaction, whether intentional or not, signals a dangerous tolerance, if not tacit endorsement, of these attacks, allowing them to recur with impunity. If brotherhood is to mean anything, it must be anchored in truth and reinforced by responsible leadership. And if Africa is to move forward, it must first remember and act.
♦ Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
The cost of this misalignment extends beyond politics and erodes the strength and perception of the Igbo brand itself — Dr. Anthony Ogbo
Few ethnic groups in the modern world embody resilience, adaptability, and entrepreneurial drive like the Igbo of southeastern Nigeria. Forged by history, particularly the trauma and aftermath of the Nigerian Civil War, the Igbo spirit has evolved into a global force defined by education, commerce, and labor. Across Africa, Europe, Asia, and the Americas, Igbo professionals, traders, academics, and innovators have exerted disproportionate influence. Their philosophy of self-determination, “Igbo enwe eze” (the Igbo have no king), has fostered a decentralized, merit-driven culture that rewards initiative and hard work.
In many respects, this dynamism mirrors that of the Jewish people. Like the Jews, the Igbo have leveraged education as a primary tool of advancement, often placing extraordinary value on academic achievement as a pathway to mobility. In commerce, both groups demonstrate remarkable networking capabilities, building trust-based systems that transcend geography. In labor, their willingness to start from the margins and climb through persistence is widely documented. These parallels are not superficial; they point to a shared cultural DNA rooted in survival, adaptability, and intellectual capital.
Yet this comparison begins to diverge in political cohesion and strategic alignment.
While Jewish communities globally have often demonstrated coordinated political engagement, aligning interests, influencing policy, and maintaining a unified voice, the Igbo have struggled to translate their economic and intellectual strength into sustained political power within Nigeria. This gap has had significant consequences, affecting not only their representation but also their broader cultural and national standing.
A critical example is their overwhelming support for Goodluck Jonathan in the 2011 and 2015 elections. While politically understandable at the time, this near-unanimous alignment left the Igbo politically exposed following his defeat in 2015. In the aftermath, many Igbo communities perceived a decline in federal inclusion and influence, reinforcing a sense of marginalization in Nigeria’s power structure.
This pattern appeared to repeat, albeit in a different form, with the passionate and often uncompromising support for Peter Obi in the 2023 elections. Obi’s candidacy energized millions, particularly among youth and the diaspora, and represented a shift toward issue-based politics. However, the “all-or-nothing” posture adopted by segments of his support base, both online and offline, arguably alienated potential allies across Nigeria’s diverse political landscape. What could have evolved into a broad coalition instead deepened ethnic and regional fault lines, weakening the strategic positioning of the Igbo in national politics.
Beyond electoral choices, the Igbo political challenge is also structural. The absence of a unified political leadership or central coordinating body has made it difficult to articulate and pursue long-term collective interests. Internal divisions, elite fragmentation, and the rise of competing advocacy voices, some constructive, others reactionary, have further complicated alignment. Additionally, separatist agitations, while rooted in legitimate grievances, have sometimes overshadowed pragmatic engagement with Nigeria’s political institutions, limiting opportunities for negotiation and influence.
The cost of this misalignment is not merely political; it touches the Igbo brand itself. A people known globally for enterprise and intellect risk being perceived domestically through a narrower lens of political disunity or agitation. This perception, whether fair or not, has implications for investment, partnerships, and national integration.
The way forward requires a recalibration, one that does not dilute Igbo identity but strengthens its strategic expression. First, there must be a deliberate effort to build political coalitions beyond ethnic lines. Nigeria’s complexity demands alliances; no single group can achieve national power in isolation. Second, Igbo leaders across business, academia, and civil society must converge on a shared political agenda that prioritizes inclusion, infrastructure, security, and economic development for the region within the Nigerian framework.
Third, political engagement must shift from emotional mobilization to strategic negotiation. This includes cultivating influence within major political parties, supporting diverse candidates across regions, and investing in long-term policy advocacy rather than election-cycle enthusiasm. Finally, the Igbo diaspora, arguably one of the most powerful in Africa, should be more intentionally integrated into political strategy, leveraging its global networks for both advocacy and investment.
Igbo dynamism remains undeniable. The challenge is not capacity, but coordination. If the same ingenuity that built global commercial networks can be applied to political alignment, the Igbo will not only preserve their cultural and economic stature but also secure a more decisive role in shaping Nigeria’s future.
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♦ Publisher of the Guardian News, Professor Anthony Obi Ogbo, Ph.D., is with the School of Communication, Texas Southern University. Dr. Ogbo is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is also the author of the Influence of Leadership (2015) and the Maxims of Political Leadership (2019). Contact: anthony@guardiannews.us
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