By Andrew Agbese
It used to rain tear gasses in Lagos, in the years following the annulment of the June 12, 1993, presidential elections.
Having betrayed the wish of the masses, Nigerians, especially those in the Southwest frequently took to the streets to register their opposition to the military and street protests became the order of day
Things got worse during the Abacha regime when the goggled General differed from his predecessor’s approach of benevolent dictatorship and settled for the kinetic approach that can better be described as ‘kill and go.’
Protests for the validation of the June 12, 1993 elections, became a highly sensitive matter as it was the equivalent of a civilian organised coup against the military
It was during one of those protests that I had an encounter with Barnabas known more by his notorious alias of Sgt. Rogers.
I can’t remember what took me to Yaba on the fateful day when I ran into one of the protests led by NADECO leaders to demand for the swearing in of Chief MKO Abiola- acclaimed winner of the June 12 elections- as Nigeria’s president.
Second Republic governor of Ondo State, Chief Michael Ajasin and Chief Anthony Enahoro were there with other top NADECO leaders.
Ajasin, probably in his 70s at that time, did not allow age to preclude him from agitating for a cause he believed in though he was looking frail.
Together with other top NADECO leaders, they marched to address the crowd even as soldiers and other gun wielding security agents were telling them to back off.
I decided to stand and watch how the confrontation would go when I saw among a group of young men coming to the direction I was, a bearded fellow with familiar features.
I could bet it was a face I had seen before but couldn’t at that instant, recall where or under what circumstance we’d met.
He was wearing something like an ash colored buba with trousers.
I don’t know if it was the way I was looking at him that made him also fix his gaze at me, but he was definitely looking at me.
Lost in the midst of total strangers I thought I could do with an ally in case things got out of hand so I walked up to him and after exchanging pleasantries, he asked;
“I know you somewhere, abi?”
It was when he spoke that the memory clicked. “Barnabas!” I screamed.
Barnabas was a boy I knew too well. We lived at the same quarters in Maiduguri and I believe we even attended the same primary school at a time.
I had forgotten totally about him as the last I saw of him was in our Form1 in secondary school.
He was in the company of three other young men that day.
He couldn’t recall exactly where he knew me but he must have thought that for me to have called him a name very few people knew him with, meant that I knew him well enough, so (with the benefit of hindsight) he decided to play along.
I asked about his elder brother, Ananda, and maybe it was the confident way I said it that left him with no option but to loosen up.
Ananda, his elder brother was my senior in secondary school and Barnabas used to visit him regularly. The elder brother was one of those seniors we idolised for thier deviousness. In his case, his constant wearing of faded blue jeans and his penchant for holding a copy of James Hardley Chase books endeared him to us, the junior students.
Barnabas responded. He said Ananda was in Damboa.
He asked where I work and I told him I came to Lagos to see if I can get a job in any of the major newspaper houses.
As a trained security agent, he decided to use a line that could resonate with me so he said he’s working with Punch.
Even then I thought that wasn’t probable because he wasn’t someone I could recollect with interest in writing but, since people change, I gave him the benefit of doubt.
He said anytime I want to see him I should go to Obalende, those drinking joints near the cemetery and described a particular spot owned by one lady. He added that even if he’s not around, I could take whatever I wanted and tell the lady I was from him.
He took my house address and promised to check on me when he’s free.
He did. One certain night, while was sleeping, (I was then staying at my uncles house at Talabi street, off Adeniyi Jones), when the security man came to wake me up that some people were looking for me.
‘At this time?’ I asked.
The security man was carried away by the flashy sports car they came with and the signs of good living all over them and assumed they were too important to be ignored.
I went with him to see who it was and it was Barnabas.
He came with two other men in one small posh car wearing a t-shirt on shorts but looking radiant and smelling good and his beards gleaming under the beam of security lights. Yes, the good life was written all over them
Barnabas said he came to pick me so we could go and interview Abraham Adesanya.
I could easily have sneaked out of the house and ask the security man to cover up for me since I was staying at the boys quarters but I told him there was no way my uncle would allow me to go out by that time of night. (It was few minutes past midnight).
After trying to persuade me for a few minutes, he gave up and left.
I did not have an inkling he was a security agent with special skills but it struck me as odd how he could afford the kind of car they were driving and even wondered aloud how he had transformed so rapidly.
It was after Abacha died that the puzzle fell into place.
A neighbour had handed me a copy of The News magazine that had an interesting cover story.
It had the picture of a man wearing a black kaftan and a bandolier strapped around his shoulder with the title ‘Man who kills for Abacha.’
I quickly went to the cover pages to read the story. It was when I got to the part that the killer’s name was mentioned as Barnabas Mshelia, that the magazine fell off my hands!
Barnabas’ surname is not Mshelia, but the mention of the first name hit me.
I now recalled our last encounter and couldn’t help but thank God that I did not go with him that night.
The magazine gave a vivid description of him and the role he played to sustain the regime including some that were quite scary.
That explained the night visit and the air of opulence.
The following questions came to my mind:
What was his real purpose for coming to my house at that time of the night?
What would have happened to me if I had followed them out in that time of the night?
And why did they mention Abraham Adesanya?
Well, those are questions I can’t answer.
But I thank God I did not go out with them.
