A Morning of Violence

Sixty years prior, in the early hours of January 15th, 1966, Nigeria experienced its first coup d'état, which resulted in the assassination of many influential political figures and senior military personnel. This coup was led predominantly by officers from a singular ethnic group within the country.

As noted by Max Siollun, a respected historian who relied heavily on the Police report produced by the Special Branch following the coup's failure, he identified the leaders of the uprising as follows:

Major Emmanuel Arinze Ifeajuna,

Major Chukwuemeka Kaduna Nzeogwu,

Major Chris Anuforo,

Major Tim Onwutuegwu,

Major Chudi Sokei,

Major Adewale Ademoyega,

Major Don Okafor,

Major John Obieno,

Captain Ben Gbuli,

Captain Emmanuel Nwobosi,

Captain Chukwuka,

and Lt. Oguchi.

I personally reviewed the Special Branch report and can affirm the accuracy of Siollun's claims. These names indeed represent all the leaders behind the January 15th, 1966 coup, and any alternative lists are bogus.

The victims of this tragic event included:

Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, the Prime Minister of Nigeria (murdered),

Sir Ahmadu Bello, the Sardauna of Sokoto and the Premier of the Old Northern Region (murdered),

Sir Kashim Ibrahim, the Shettima of Borno and the Governor of the Old Northern Region (abducted),

Chief Samuel Ladoke Akintola, the Aare Ana Kakanfo of Yorubaland and the Premier of the Old Western Region (murdered),

Chief Remilekun Adetokunboh Fani-Kayode SAN, Q.C. CON, the Balogun of Ife, who was my father, (abducted),

Chief Festus Samuel Okotie-Eboh, the Oguwa of the Itsekiris and the Minister of Finance (murdered),

Brigadier Samuel Adesujo Ademulegun, Commander of the 1st Brigade, Nigerian Army (murdered),

Brigadier Zakariya Maimalari, Commander of the 2nd Brigade, Nigerian Army (murdered),

Colonel James Pam (murdered),

Colonel Ralph Sodeinde (murdered),

Colonel Arthur Unegbe (murdered),

Colonel Kur Mohammed (murdered),

Lt. Colonel Abogo Largema (murdered),

Alhaja Hafsatu Bello, the wife of the Sardauna of Sokoto (murdered),

Alhaji Zarumi, traditional bodyguard of the Sardauna of Sokoto (murdered),

Mrs. Lateefat Ademulegun, the wife of Brigadier Ademulegun, who was then eight months pregnant (murdered),

Ahmed B. Musa (murdered),

Ahmed Pategi (murdered),

Sgt. Daramola Oyegoke (murdered),

Police Constable Yohana Garkawa (murdered),

Police Constable Musa Nimzo (murdered),

Police Constable Akpan Anduka (murdered),

Police Constable Hagai Lai (murdered),

and Police Constable Philip Lewande (murdered).

To emphasize the brutality of the coup leaders, I wish to recount the chilling circumstances of some murders and abductions:

Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa was seized from his residence, tortured, humiliated, and eventually executed, his body discarded in a bush along the Lagos-Abeokuta highway.

Sir Ahmadu Bello was assassinated in his home, alongside his wife Hafsatu and his loyal aide Zurumi, who attempted to protect him with a sword. Chief S. L. Akintola was shot dead in front of his family as he exited his home, while Chief Festus Okotie-Eboh faced severe brutality before being executed, with his remains left in a bush.

Brigadier Zakariya Maimalari was killed by the same young officers who had attended a party at his residence the previous night.

Brigadier Samuel Ademulegun tragically met his end alongside his eight-month pregnant spouse in their bedroom.

Colonel Shodeinde was murdered in a hotel, while Colonel Pam was captured from his own home and subsequently executed.

Many of the individuals murdered that day endured unimaginable humiliation and torment, the details of which I refrain from disclosing here.

The mutineers also targeted our home, the official residence of the Deputy Premier of the Old Western Region, where they almost killed my brother, sister, and me before taking my father, Chief Remi Fani-Kayode. What I observed that morning was both traumatic and devastating, reflecting the horror witnessed by the entire nation.

That morning was one of violence, brutality, and terror. The aftermath of these events continued a cycle of bloodshed that has significantly altered the trajectory of our history, with consequences that linger to this day.

My memory of that fateful morning remains vivid. Around 2:00 a.m., my mother, Chief (Mrs.) Adia Aduni Fani-Kayode, entered the room I shared with my brother and sister. I was just six years old. My older brother, Akinola, was away at boarding school, and my sister had yet to be born.

The coup's perpetrators cut off the lights, plunging us into darkness as we heard the roar of trucks approaching. The large vehicles took some time to reach us along the lengthy driveway of our home. When they arrived, uniformed men armed with flashlights lined up, preparing to invade our house, calling for my father to come out.

Defiantly, my father stepped out to confront them after gathering us for a prayer. He believed it was better to face the danger alone than allow them to come inside and harm us. The moment he stepped out, they attacked him. I saw them beat him, bind him, and throw him into a truck.

Their opening remark was, "Where are your thugs now, Fani-Power?" My father's sharp response was characteristic of him: "I don’t have thugs, only gentlemen." It provoked them further, resulting in an even more severe beating. They bound him and dashed into our house, wreaking havoc by shooting into the ceilings and furniture, and creating sheer terror among us.

From the balcony, my mother cried out, focusing solely on her husband in the truck below, pleading for his life. "Don’t kill him! Don’t kill him!" she wailed, and her cries echo in my memory. In that chaos, I lost sight of my siblings, standing frozen in fear in the middle of the passageway, surrounded by armed men.

Unexpectedly, a soldier approached me, placing a hand on my head, assuring me, "Don’t worry, we won’t harm your father. Stop crying." He repeated this assurance three times, which calmed me down. I saw kindness in his eyes, and for the first time that morning, I found relief from my terror.

I then rushed to comfort my mother, asserting that the soldier had promised my father would be spared, instilling hope amidst the chaos. I held onto that soldier's words; remarkably, I didn't cry again for the remainder of the ordeal.

Years later, I spoke to Captain Nwobosi, one of the mutineers who led the attack on our home. He confirmed my memories of that night, stating he remembered my mother’s screams and my tears, claiming he was the one who reassured me about my father’s safety. I have no reason to doubt his words.

As the mutineers took my father away, my mother's cries filled the air, but I remained strangely calm. Their next target was Chief S.L. Akintola, my dear uncle. My mother alerted him about the attacks, pleading for information on my father's whereabouts.

When the mutineers reached Akintola’s residence, he was prepared, with armed officers positioned within. Upon their arrival, gunfire erupted, stalling the mutineers for at least an hour. Reports indicate that their intention was to capture both my father and Akintola, transport them to Lagos with other abducted leaders, and execute them together. Akintola’s resistance cost him dearly; he defended himself, wounding two soldiers.

Eventually, he surrendered, waving a white flag, only to be immediately executed in cold blood before my father, who could only watch in horror, still restrained. The soldiers' rage was palpable, fueled by their wounded comrades. Following Akintola's murder, they proceeded to Lagos with my father.

Arriving at Dodan Barracks, he was tied up and left with hostile guards. Miraculously, two hours later, loyal troops, led by Lt. Tokida, stormed the building, rescuing him amidst a dramatic firefight commanded by Captain Paul Tarfa. En route to his freedom, my father remained unharmed despite the chaos unfolding around him, something I attribute to divine intervention.

Tragically, three of the soldiers who previously guarded my father perished during the shootout, as did two soldiers from the rescue team. Furthermore, providentially, Lt. Kashim Ibrahim was also saved from death that morning by loyalist forces.

Following the abduction, confusion engulfed the nation; everything was thrown into disarray, with widespread anxiety gripping the populace. Only two days later did my father manage to contact us, assuring us of his well-being. Justice Ademola, a close friend of our family, helped and offered his comfort during this chaotic time, leading to joyous tears from my family when they heard my father's voice.

In retrospect, the soldier who promised my father's safety that fatefully chaotic morning had a profound impact on me. I believe God's message was conveyed through him during those moments of turmoil.

The events of January 15th, 1966, were intolerable, indefensible, and utterly barbaric. They set forth a disaster that changed our nation's course forever, crippling our progress and political growth. Had these events never transpired, Nigeria's history would have unfolded quite differently. We sincerely hope to never witness such atrocities again.