NIGERIA: BANG, BANG, YOU'RE DEAD

 

My kindergarten class at the American International School in Lagos (I am in the middle, second row, and 4th child on the right)

When we were living in Lagos, Nigeria, I was five and six years old. I was a feisty, out-going kid, who liked repeating sayings I'd picked up from my friends at school. For instance, when we had company, I'd hide by the front door, and as soon as our guest entered the house, I'd jump out and shout: "Bang, bang, you're dead, fifty bullets in your head!" If it was a good-humored guest, they'd pretend to get shot and stumble backward, and I'd think this was hilarious. 

Nigeria's military dictator at the time of our arrival was General Yakubu Gowon who had been in power since 1966. He was overthrown in a coup d'etat in July of 1975, and General Mutala Mohammed was appointed head of the new government. After the coup, the government closed the borders and the airports, and all essential businesses, plus imposed a dusk-to-dawn curfew. It was a bloodless coup, but intense, nonetheless, and in a strange way, exciting. We had a short-wave radio and listened to BBC and Voice of America broadcasts, which said that not much news was coming out of Lagos since the borders were closed and journalists couldn't get in. 

Life, more or less, went back to normal. The Nigerian borders and airports were re-opened, and General Mutala Mohammed became a popular leader with the people. But there was growing anti-American sentiment in Nigeria. I believe it had to do with US interference in Angola's struggle for independence since it was Soviet-backed. Nigeria was fervently pro an Independent Angola, believing that a strong and independent Angola would serve as a counterweight to apartheid South Africa, as well as the  Ian Smith regime in Rhodesia. In January of 1976, the Nigerians staged a protest against the American Embassy, and stormed the US consulate in northern Nigeria, making a show of burning the US flag in protest. The Nigerian demonstrators demanded that their government break diplomatic ties with the United States, and there were rumors of further violent demonstrations and that another coup was imminent.

Meanwhile, the next match in the World Championship Tennis Tournament was scheduled to be played in Lagos on February 9 - 15, the first professional tennis tournament in a black African country. The US Ambassador, who was an avid tennis fan, held a reception at his residence in honor of the tennis stars who had just arrived in Lagos. My parents were at this reception and met Arthur Ashe, Stan Smith as well as heavy-weight boxing champion Archie Moore (my mother later mentioned in her letters how Stan Smith was extremely polite, and she described Arthur Ashe as very good-looking). World-famous soccer legend Pelé was also in Lagos at the same time, to play in an exhibition match that was sponsored by Pepsi, and to aid in the running of a new soccer school in the area.  

Everything and everyone was about to collide with each other in a spectacular way. In mid-February, Lagos finally erupted. 

On the morning of February 13, I was at the American International School in my kindergarten class, and we were making Valentine's Day cards for our parents and preparing for our upcoming Valentine's Day party. Our teacher interrupted our festivities and told us to drop what we were doing and quickly line up at the door. We were escorted to the lunchroom where all the students in the school gathered and told to wait. We had no idea that we were in grave danger. 

A short time before, General Mutala Mohammed was assassinated in his car on his way to work, along with his Lieutenant. His car was machined gunned out and blood splattered (this bullet-riddled black Mercedes-Benz is now displayed in the Nigerian National Museum in Lagos as their most famous artifact). It was an attempted coup carried out by rival factions within the Nigerian military and led by Lieutenant Colonel Buka Suka Dimka. The reason why we students and teachers at the American International School were in danger, was because the school was on a Nigerian Army base. It was also General Mohammed's residence and the seat of power. Immediately after the assassination, the rival army factions had a shoot-out on the base, and my school was caught in the middle of it. Two hundred children were trapped in the cross-fire. 

Since my father was head of security at the US Embassy, frantic parents were calling him and demanding to know how he was going to save their children. My father told them that he was working on it and that his daughter, too, was at the school. In truth, he had no idea how he was going to get the children and teachers out of there safely. Fortunately, one of the senior officers at the embassy was able to get through to the base commander and negotiated a cease-fire, long enough for the students and teachers to be bused out with white flags flying from the windows. 

I remember being confused as we were being loaded onto the buses, the older kids crying, and our driver, a Nigerian man, wide-eyed and sweating profusely - suddenly responsible for the safety of a busload of international children - driving us through the chaotic streets. There was mayhem as military families were frantically trying to get out of town in terrible traffic jams, cars bumping into each other, and running over sidewalks. People acting hysterically, and shot-up cars all around the city. The police headquarters also got shot up, and civilians killed in the crossfire. 

The Nigerians thought that the United States and the United Kingdom were behind the coup d'etat, and the C.I.A. was involved. Nigerian university students displayed signs that read: "Down With British Imperialism." General Gowon, who had been overthrown by General Mohammed had been a close ally of the UK. He fled to England after he was deposed, and was living there in exile. Violent protests erupted outside the US Embassy and the British Embassy. My father was inside the US Embassy as an angry mob, who managed to break through an iron gate, chanting "C.I.A. Must Go!" threw rocks and bricks through the windows and tried to storm their way in. Nearly every window of the building was smashed, and only the iron bars on them kept the rioters from entering. 

Meanwhile, my mother was at the embassy annex in the visa section, where she sometimes did work for the American Consul. The visa section was crowded that morning, and the American Consul told the group of applicants that everyone had to leave and advised them to go home as quickly as possible. My mother, and the others, were then told that gunshots are being heard around the city and that armed soldiers were in the streets. When they went into the courtyard they could clearly hear the rat-a-tat noise of machine gunfire. They gathered around a car radio and heard that the military government had been overthrown by "young revolutionaries." My mother immediately thought of me, knowing that my school was surrounded by soldier's barracks, and what her "sense of adventure" had ultimately gotten me into!

As for the World Championship Tennis Tournament, it was postponed due to the unrest. But that was about to turn into an even bigger ordeal. 

My mother and I made it home, while my father was still stuck at the embassy. When my little neighbor friend came over, I apparently said to her matter-of-factly: "We can't play outside. There's been a coup and people have been shot."

The coup attempt was crushed several hours later by government troops, and there was a manhunt for Dimka and his co-conspirators. That was followed by seven days of national mourning for General Mutala Mohammed. 

A couple of days after the coup, the Nigerian minister of sports told the tennis tournament organizers that the tournament could continue. However, he failed to clear it with the new president, so when Arthur Ashe and Jeff Borowiak were playing a match in the semifinals, a group of soldiers entered the stadium and forced the players off the court at gunpoint. There's an exciting backstory of how these athletes had trouble getting out of the country. Pelé had to even disguise himself as a pilot. 

Weeks later, Dimka and his co-conspirators were found. They were executed by firing squad on national television. The execution took place on the beach a mile from our house. Our steward, Pius, had rushed over there on his bicycle to witness the gruesome event.  

A few days after the coup, with anti-American sentiment still lingering heavily in the air, my mother caught me skipping down our street singing another obnoxious little saying I'd picked up at school: "Hey, hey, hey, get out of my way, I just came from the U.S.A!" My mother immediately grabbed me and pulled me into our compound. These sayings were no longer cute nor funny. 

By that early spring, my mother and I left Nigeria forever. Mom had contracted hepatitis and the American doctor in Lagos ordered her back to the States to get medical treatment. My nanny, Grace, cried into a tissue, as our car pulled away from our house for the last time, but my mother refused to look back. 

After a short respite in the US during the summer, and my mom making a full recovery, we were off to my father's next assignment in Tel Aviv. 

The next two years, though not without drama, would be the best years of my childhood. 

A picture from the yearbook that year