The Last Bature

The Last Bature

A policeman’s tale set in 1960s post-colonial West Africa

by

Kenneth C Ryeland

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Kenneth C Ryeland

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For the many subjugated people of Africa. In the hope that one day, they may be blessed with honest leaders

Contents

Map of the Republic of Nibana

Author’s Note

Chapter I:....The Law’s the Law

Chapter II:....SDPO Mike Stevens

Chapter III:....The Federal Republic of Nibana

Chapter IV:....Trouble Brewing

Chapter V:....The Road to Yula

Chapter VI:....Glorious Mud

Chapter VII:....Blood and Guts

Chapter VIII:....Inspector Bello Akure

Chapter IX:....Interesting Observations

Chapter X:....Wild Hills

Chapter XI:....Conspiracies Galore

Chapter XII:....Road Rage

Chapter XIII:....Unexpected Revelations

Chapter XIV:...Countermeasures

Chapter XV:....Police Business

Chapter XVI:....Dirty Tricks

Chapter XVII:....Military Matters

Chapter XVIII:....Agents’ Dilemma

Chapter XIX:....Difficult Times Ahead

Chapter XX:....Pirates Everywhere

Chapter XXI:....Homeward Bound

Chapter XXII:....Consequences

Chapter XXIII:....Full Circle

Map of the Republic of Nibana

Author’s Note

There is no country called Nibana on the West African coast. Indeed, there is no country quite like Nibana anywhere in the world; it is merely a figment of my imagination.

The Last Bature (A Hausa word pronounced / Batuuree / meaning white man, European or colonial government officer.) is a work of fiction, but the general background and many of the situations described reflect my own observations and experiences resulting from several years living and working in West Africa during the immediate post-colonial era of the 1960s.

The lifestyles, language, attitudes and opinions revealed in this work are prevalent of the era, and all the characters – with the exception of those people of note referred to by their true names – are fictitious and not intended to represent any living people.

Kenneth C. Ryeland

November 2008, Berkshire, England.

Chapter I

The Law’s the Law

The day had been very hot and Mike Stevens was pleased he was now off duty and could enjoy his first cold beer of the evening at the Kabala Club bar. The car park was full, as usual, and as he parked his black three-litre Rover saloon, Mike noticed that the manager of the Nibanan Motor Company had once again come to the club in a new and unregistered Land-Rover fitted with trade plates. Mike had warned the manager about the misuse of trade plates on previous occasions, but clearly his warnings had been ignored yet again.

That’s it, said Mike to himself. He’ll be getting a ticket this time. I’m sick of telling the bloody man.

The Nibanan doorman saluted smartly as the white man walked through the main entrance to the club and Mike acknowledged the salute with a slight wave of his swagger stick.

Are you well, Baba? (This is generally taken to mean father, but can also be used as a term of endearment when addressing an elder of the tribe.) said Mike as he stopped to read one of the notices pinned to a board on the wall behind where the old doorman was sitting.

Yesa, I am very well, sa. I hope master is well, replied the doorman, smiling broadly at the white man.

I am very well, thank you, Baba. Especially now that I’m off duty, quipped Mike.

You go catch plenty big palaver job, sa, retorted the doorman as Mike walked away from the entrance hall into the main lounge and bar area.

It was not often that Mike Stevens attended the club in his police uniform, but he felt the need from time to time. It was necessary to remind the expatriates who gathered there that he was a policeman and would behave like a policeman, even if he had to deal with his friends and fellow expatriates in the course of his duty.

Several Europeans turned and greeted Mike as he strolled across the lounge towards the bar, where the steward welcomed him with a smile and said, A cold beer, sir?

Mike nodded and the steward made his way into the back room to select a cold beer from the large bottle cooler.

I’ll get that for you, Mike, said a young white man approaching from the other end of the bar.

Come on, Neville, you know my rules. I’ll pay for my own beer, thank you. said Mike, in a friendly voice.

You coppers and your rules; what does it matter if I buy you a beer? No one is going to think I’m trying to bribe you, Mike, said the young white man, flippantly.

No, but I like to keep my business dealings and my private life separate, it’s easier that way, said Mike as he touched the bottle to check that it was cold before nodding to the steward that he may begin to pour the beer into a pint glass.

Business dealings? queried the young white man, with something of a sneer. Who are you going to arrest at the Kabala Club, the bloody gardener, one of the stewards or the doorman?

Mike ignored Neville’s poor attempt at sarcastic humour and said, No, but I shall be arresting you if you don’t stop using your bloody trade plates illegally, in a tone that did not give any room for misinterpretation.

Bloody hell, Mike, it is Christmas you know and in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a bloody white man, said Neville, somewhat taken aback.

It’s not Christmas, Neville, it’s the 19th of January 1964, and I don’t care what colour you are; I will not have trade plates used for anything other than business activities. It’s difficult enough stopping the Nibanans from abusing the law, without having to worry about people like you, Neville. When you’ve been in this country a bit longer, you’ll realise how important it is for us whites to obey the law to the letter. This is the third time I’ve warned you, so I shall be issuing you with a fine of two pounds in the morning. It’s your own fault, Neville. You should use your own car, though I suspect you’re saving on petrol by using unregistered company Land-Rovers, not so?

Neville did not answer immediately; instead, he called to the steward and ordered himself another beer. He then turned to Mike and said, I suppose you’re right, Mike. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. Here’s your two quid; send me an official receipt in the post.

Mike looked at the proffered pound notes for a moment or two and said, Thanks, Neville, you know it’s for the best in the end. We have to show the Nibanans there’s no favouritism; otherwise, the place would be ungovernable. Now let me give you some advice regarding those pound notes in your hand. I would be much obliged if you would put them back in your wallet. What do you think it looks like to the other members and especially the club stewards, Neville? Use your head for God’s sake. Wait for the fine notification to arrive in the post and then pay the two pounds to the Native Authority treasurer at the Town Hall, and be sure to get a receipt. That’s the proper procedure, OK?

OK, said Neville despondently, placing the banknotes back in his wallet.

As Neville Watson walked away from the bar with the fresh bottle of beer the steward had just brought to him, leaving Mike Stevens standing there alone, he muttered quietly to himself, Bloody coppers, they’re all the same.

The bar steward, having now moved further along the bar to the small sink to wash some of the dirty beer glasses, smiled wryly to himself. He had witnessed many similar exchanges between the white policeman and other expatriates before, and he was pleased that the white policeman behaved in this way. It demonstrated impartiality, a very important attribute for a policeman in Nibana. It was the reason that this particular white man commanded respect from most of the Nibanans in Kabala: he was not corrupt and he was scrupulously fair. It was exactly what the majority of ordinary Nibanans wanted from their policemen and soldiers, but the evils of tribalism and nepotism had always intervened, making life very difficult and sometimes very dangerous for millions of Nibana’s people.

Chapter II

SDPO Mike Stevens

Mike Stevens had been a policeman for most of his adult life. Born in Birmingham in 1922, he left school at the age of fourteen and busied himself with various dead-end jobs before coming to his senses some twelve months later. To his father’s great relief, Mike eventually found himself a good job at the Birmingham Small Arms company (BSA) as an apprentice toolmaker and he started work immediately at their factory on the corner of Golden Hillock Road and Armoury Road in the Small Heath district of the city.

When Mike joined the company in 1937, the world was carefully watching the antics of a certain chancellor in Germany. Despite the British prime minister of the day, Neville Chamberlain – ironically a former director of BSA – pursuing a policy of appeasement towards the Nazis, the company wisely turned much of its motorcycle production facilities over to the manufacture of Bren guns, Lee-Enfield rifles and the formidable Browning 0.303-calibre machine guns fitted to Spitfires and Hurricanes. When war eventually came, the company was in the happy position of being able to meet government orders to supply the various aircraft factories with machine guns and the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) with Bren guns, rifles and motorcycles.

Mike Stevens’ existence thus far had been largely happy, if not a little dull. He enjoyed serving his apprenticeship at the BSA and was well on his way to becoming a skilled toolmaker. However, his life soon spiced up when Adolf Hitler inadvertently changed Mike’s future forever by sending the Wehrmacht to invade Poland. Anxious to do his bit for Britain and hoping to experience some excitement, Mike, with the blessing of his employer who promised to keep his job open, joined the Second Battalion of the Royal Warwickshire Regiment on the Monday following the declaration of war on Sunday the 3rd of September 1939. The recruiting sergeant had studiously ignored the fact that he was a few months short of his eighteenth birthday, and Mike, full of excitement, began his basic training immediately.

His Battalion, equipped with Brens and Lee-Enfields manufactured by BSA, utilising machine tools that Mike had probably made, soon embarked for France with the BEF. After a relatively uneventful period on the Franco-Belgian border – often referred to as the ‘Phoney War’, though it certainly was not phoney as far as the Royal Navy was concerned – things began to fall apart. The entire BEF had no choice but to retreat to the sea at Dunkirk when faced with overwhelming firepower from the German armoured divisions as they rolled relentlessly through Western Europe towards the Channel ports.

Mike’s Battalion was involved in the costly rearguard action at Dunkirk during the first three days of June 1940, but despite all the odds, he was one of the lucky 338,226 British and Allied officers and men evacuated from the stricken port. Mike’s escape on the last ship to leave before the Waffen SS stormed the town was, in his estimation, nothing short of a miracle.

After a period of rest, re-training, re-equipping and re-deployment in the UK, Mike’s Battalion eventually saw serious action when they landed at Sword Beach on the morning of the 6th of June 1944.

Having fought their way off the beaches, the Battalion faced fierce opposition at Caen, taking many casualties. Later, after further heavy fighting in Belgium and Holland, Sergeant Mike Stevens, along with Field Marshal Montgomery’s 21st Army Group, crossed the River Rhine into Germany in March 1945. At the time, Mike was just twenty-three years old and he had seen more than his fair share of trouble in the last six years.

Though the war in Europe ended in May 1945, Japan fought stubbornly on until August. However, twelve months after the final victory celebrations, Mike received his demob papers and made his way home. Within weeks, he had rejected his old job with BSA, married the girl next door – almost, she actually lived several streets away – and joined the Birmingham City Police Force as an ordinary constable, learning his trade the hard way by pounding the beat around the bombed-out streets and slums of Aston and Nechells.

Seven years later, having been a police sergeant for five of those years, Mike became disillusioned with the direction of modern policing in Britain and, in a moment of frustration, he applied for a police inspector’s job in the British Crown Colony of Hong Kong. No one was more surprised than Mike, or his wife, when the Crown Agents granted him an interview in London. He acquitted himself well and the interviewing officer invited him to take a written test. Four weeks later, he received a letter confirming his appointment as an inspector.

Five years later, having attained the rank of superintendent in the Hong Kong Police, (It did not become the Royal Hong Kong Police until 1969, when Queen Elizabeth II bestowed the title and Princess Alexandra became the commander-general of both the regular and auxiliary forces.) Mike Stevens applied for a senior police post in the West African Colony of Nibana. Though he had enjoyed his time in Hong Kong, having been instrumental in setting up the very successful Police Tactical Units to combat the criminality of the triads and the looting and rioting they inspired throughout the colony, Mike Stevens had become disheartened. Over recent years, the policing work had tended to concentrate on catching the endless stream of illegal immigrants and shipping them back to mainland China, from whence they came. Well aware of the reception they received on their return to the motherland, and what happened to them after that, Mike did not feel he could continue with such work, hence the submission to the Nibana Police Force.

Justifiably, Mike’s application was successful. The colonial administrators were desperate to recruit experienced officers, able to handle the increasing civil unrest that had gripped the colony recently.

In the early months of 1958, just four years prior to Nibana’s independence, Mike was assigned to Kabala where he occupied the position of district police officer – not the most dynamic of titles, but it was equivalent to a chief superintendent in the UK – with responsibility for the eastern sector of the massive Northern Region of Nibana.

Delineated by the Kuna/Laguna railway line as far as the River Enube, the river itself as far as the border with the Eastern Region, and the whole length of the border as far as Yula and the Omdu Hills in the east, Mike’s sector covered more than one-third of the country. (Approximately 120,000 square miles.)

Now, six years on, Mike, having attained the position of senior district police officer (Equivalent to an assistant chief constable in a large county force in the UK.) some three years ago, was well known and respected by the civilians in the major townships on his patch, and well liked by his officers and men.

He thoroughly enjoyed his job and always looked forward to his eighteen-month tours of duty, even though Nibana was now no longer a British Colony. Naturally, Mike and his wife also enjoyed their three months of home leave in the UK, but they were always pleased to get back into their ‘colonial’ lifestyle.

When Mike initially joined the Nibana Police Force there had been quite a few senior British officers serving, but over the years many of them had left or retired and had not been replaced by other expatriates. Now, Mike was the last white policeman in the Northern Region. However, notwithstanding his solitary position and the occasional feeling of isolation, he still enjoyed his work and had an excellent professional relationship with his boss, the Northern Region police commissioner, who, quite naturally, was a Nibanan and a member of the Usmar tribe.

Chapter III

The Federal Republic of Nibana

The Federal Republic of Nibana, situated on the West Coast of Africa, had been but one of the many British colonies in the sub-Saharan region of that continent. The huge tract (Approximately 350,000 square miles.) that eventually became Nibana was colonised in dribs and drabs by the British. First, the coastal area around Laguna – the largest township on the coast at that time and a major slaving port – became a British Protectorate in 1860. The arrival of the British did not please everyone in Laguna, especially the Oba (A regional king to whom many chiefs owed allegiance and homage.) and many of his tribal chiefs, since the first thing the new British governor did was to close the huge slave market in the centre of town and declare the trade illegal.

Slowly the British extended their influence into the hinterland, colonising large areas as they moved inexorably north. The Enube River – navigable from the Enube Delta to Lake Soko – was a great help to the British quest for territory and by the early part of the twentieth-century, there were two Royal Navy gunboats patrolling the whole length of the river as far as the lake in the north-west and the delta in the south-east.

The tribes of the north proved to be formidable fighters and it took the British Army’s Royal West African Frontier Force several years to subdue them. Consequently, full control over the northern tribesmen had to wait until 1911, when Sir Frederick (later Lord) Lugard marched his army from Laguna, surrounded Kabala City and positioned a huge field gun in front of the city gates so that all the inhabitants could see it from the walls. Lugard then ordered the sacred gates of the city blasted to smithereens and, predictably, the sultan of Kabala surrendered forthwith, in awe of the power of the great cannon. With the capitulation of Kabala, the whole area to the north-east of the Enube River fell into eager British hands.

The British, realising that the northerners were a proud and noble warrior-people, introduced indirect rule thus enabling the sultans and emirs to continue with their traditional role as leaders of the people. As a result, the north settled very quickly and many of the young warriors among the population joined the Royal West African Frontier Force in search of adventure and a regular wage. With the expansion of the army, the British were better placed to maintain full control over the more primitive and rebellious Yuba and Obi tribes in the south.

In 1914, the Colonial Office in London decided that the massive northern territories should conjoin with the southern Protectorate to become the Colony and Protectorate of Nibana, administered by a British governor-general.

Though tribalism proved a major problem for the British, they managed to subdue its more insidious aspects and soon the new colony began to concentrate on commerce instead of the tribal warfare and illegal slave trading that had blighted the region for centuries – the acquisition of slaves being the sole reason for the wars of course.

The British encouraged the people to exploit Nibana’s natural resources in an attempt to ensure its future prosperity. Very soon, the colony was exporting tin, iron ore, palm oil, cotton, groundnuts, timber, cocoa and sugarcane to the UK and elsewhere in the vast British Empire.

All went well in Nibana for many years until after the Second World War, when international pressure on the British – mainly from the United States – saw the Westminster government begin to dismantle Britain’s Empire throughout the world; beginning with India in 1947.

Despite the problems and difficulties that ensued after granting independence to Ghana, (Previously known as the Gold Coast. The first of the British West African colonies to be granted independence in 1957.) the British continued to shed their African possessions as quickly as they dare without being seen to be in undue haste, and Nibana’s turn came in January 1962. The country was to earn the distinction of being the last of the West African colonies to gain independence.

When the British finally handed the reins of power to the Nibanans, they placed them in the hands of the Usmars. No one thought of having elections; that would have complicated matters and anyway, the ‘wrong’ people may have ended up running the country.

The British had favoured the Usmars due to their deferential attitude and formidable soldiering skills, not to mention their tendency to do whatever the British wanted. This had not pleased the Yubas, a generally noisy and troublesome tribe, who thought they were the favourites and therefore in the running to form the first government.

Notwithstanding the thoughts of the Yubas concerning the future governance of the country, the Obis, a very clever, business-orientated tribe, also nurtured ambitious aspirations regarding the future of Nibana; consequently, they too were somewhat upset at the British decision to place the Usmars in power. Thus, in 1962, the country became independent, with more than half the population (the Obis and the Yubas) wondering what would happen to them the moment the last British soldier and administrator clambered aboard the ship for England. The situation simply exacerbated the distrust among the tribes and set the country firmly on course for disaster.

Having appointed the Usmars to govern, the British then endowed Nibana with a bespoke system of parliamentary-style government. It was similar to that of Westminster except it was organised on a tribal basis, with the various regional chiefs becoming politicians by appointment rather than by the traditional public vote. Therefore, the Usmar chiefs occupied all the government posts and the chiefs from the Yuba and Obi tribes became the opposition. The British wanted Nibana to be a showcase, proving to the world that a democratic (well, almost), free and independent African state could succeed in the post-colonial era, something that had eluded so many of the former colonies in Africa and elsewhere.

However, a month after the lowering of the Union Flag for the last time at Government House in Laguna, the old hands at the Colonial Office in London were gleefully collecting their winnings from the wagers they had made prior to the arrival of some alarming reports that had started to filter through from Nibana.

The Usmar politicians – as the old hands at the Colonial Office had foretold with great accuracy – had let the British down with a mighty thump. Almost from the outset, they began to raid the treasury to buy houses, cars and luxury items for themselves and their families. Within a matter of months the one hundred million Nibanan pounds (Par with the British pound until 1967.) the colonial masters had left in the treasury was gone, and the consequences soon began to impinge on everyone in Nibana.

Since the independence celebrations on the 1st of January 1962, the quality of life for everyone in Nibana began to deteriorate rapidly. Even under British rule, life could be hard for the ordinary Nibanan, but now their lives had become even harder and more difficult due to the nepotism, tribalism and corruption that abounded in every nook and cranny of their society.

Given that the treasury had become a private bank for the Usmar ministers and politicians, the infrastructure started to crumble at an alarming rate. Schools and colleges – except those in the Usmar-dominated Northern Region – had to fight for funds. Hospitals in the Eastern and Western Regions could no longer administer drugs and treatment because they had no money to buy them or pay the doctors. The railways stopped working because the staff had received no pay. The electricity began to fail more often than ever before due to a lack of maintenance, and the Nibanan Water Corporation could no longer guarantee clean, fresh water for the few who were connected to the mains system.

Because the Usmars ran the government, they decided, secretly, that in future its departments and ministries would only employ Usmars. Many of the indigenous private companies in Nibana also had pressure brought to bear on them when the government threatened financial sanctions should these companies dare to employ new people who were not Usmars. Only in the foreign-owned private companies were the Yubas and Obis treated fairly.

Expatriates soon began to leave in droves, sick and tired of the disorder around them. Some, mainly government officials and utility managers, had to ‘retire’ early under a harsh indigenisation programme. Unfortunately, there were very few suitably trained Nibanans to take over the airports, railways and utility industries and so the country plunged even further into decline and chaos.

The fifty million indigenous people who lived in Nibana generally belonged to three main tribes: twenty million Usmars, whose acknowledged homeland was the desert and scrubland of the Northern Region; thirteen million Yubas occupied the rich farmlands of the Western Region and ten million Obis lived in the densely forested, delta-dominated Eastern Region. To complicate the situation further, there were three main religions practiced in Nibana. Islam tended to be the major religion of the Usmars in the north. A mixture of Islam, Christianity and Animalism flourished among the Yubas in the west and the Obis in the east were almost exclusively Christian.

Language could also be a source of problems and misunderstandings. With over two hundred different tribes in Nibana, each one speaking its own language, life could be difficult. However, apart from the three main tribes, the remaining tribes were so lacking in numbers they had no influence whatsoever on Nibanan affairs and had to learn Yuba, Usmar, Obi or English in order to communicate effectively.

The official language of the country, English, was spoken widely in the main towns and villages of the south and was essential for inter-tribal dialogue. In the north, however, Usmar, and to a lesser extent Hausa, were the predominant languages and few people outside the main conurbations spoke English.

The English spoken by Nibanans tended to fall into just two categories: excellent and pidgin. The majority of speakers utilised the latter form, which could vary in intelligibility enormously. Much depended on how much exposure to Received Pronunciation English the speaker had experienced. Naturally, the well-educated Nibanans spoke excellent English, often better English than some of the British people living in Nibana.

Before independence, the tribes mixed quite freely and it was as common to see many Yubas and Obis in the north, as it was to see Usmars in the south. However, as the country spiralled out of control, many people decided it would be safer to return to their native regions.

Thus, a great movement of people began. Slowly at first, but recently it had become quite noticeable. Notwithstanding the desire of many to go home, the minority in steady employment tended to stay put for fear of jeopardising their standard of living. With unemployment running at sixty per cent and with no welfare available for anyone, they thought it wise to hang on to their jobs. Consequently, there were still quite a few ‘strangers’ in each region and they all tended to live in the Sabon Gari of each township. (The Strangers’ Place. The name often shortened to ‘Sabo’.)

Despite the exodus of expatriates immediately after independence, there were still approximately twenty thousand of them living in Nibana. Many were British, but there was a small community of Lebanese Christians. They were the traders and entrepreneurs of the country and quite a few of them enjoyed dual Nibanan/Lebanese citizenship.

For many years, the Royal West African Frontier Force, the forerunner of the modern Nibanan Army, had been quite small by Western standards, but a year before independence the army chiefs in Laguna – mainly Obis – had embarked on a rapid, but secret, recruitment and training programme. The reason for this clandestine increase in military strength soon became apparent just twelve months after independence.

In the early hours of the 25th of January 1963, Obi officers mounted a military coup in Laguna, killing many of the Usmar politicians and exiling the Yuba opposition MPs. The Obi military then placed the country under strict marshal law, with curfews and roadblocks in operation in all the major towns. Civil liberties were suspended and military law superseded all civil law. Very quickly, the poor, downtrodden citizens of Nibana found themselves worse off than when they had been living under a corrupt civilian government. Hyperinflation and food shortages followed the coup together with food rationing, designed to quell the frequent rioting in the streets by desperate and hungry citizens.

Now, twelve months into the military takeover, with the country having lurched from one crisis to another and the indigenous population well and truly subjugated, no one thought it wise to complain about the way the military ran the government. Once everything had been brought firmly under their control, the Obi military high command began to concentrate on making themselves rich.

Foreign oil exploration teams in the Enube River Delta had discovered large reserves of oil, and the high-ranking army officers soon became very busy selling exploration and extraction permits to all the major oil companies. Naturally, little of this cash ended up in the national treasury. Instead, the generals used it to improve the military infrastructure, provide new and sophisticated weapons systems and generally keep the Obi military machine sweet. Any surplus, and there was a great deal of surplus, mysteriously evaporated, finally turning up in the Swiss bank accounts of the members of the Army Ruling Council of Nibana.

Notwithstanding the abominable behaviour of the military, nearly all the people of Nibana held the Nibana Police Force in high regard, both before and after independence, because it had always conducted its business in a fair and equitable manner. This was due to the foresight of its succession of senior British officers since its inception in 1899 until independence; consequently, the evils of tribalism and nepotism had hardly touched the force. Thus, it was able to recruit successfully from all the regions of Nibana.

The police force had remained neutral during the recent coup and this had bolstered its reputation and earned it