Chief Audu Innocent Ogbeh, was a former university lecturer,who also put his resourcefulness into farming. He became a politician in 1979, when he was elected into the Benue State House of Assembly, where he was the deputy speaker. He later served as a minister three times, under Presidents Shehu Shagari and Muhammadu Buhari. He was also the chairman of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) between 2001 and 2005 under former President Olusegun Obasanjo. So he has been a constant fixture in Nigerian politics. In this interview, Ogbeh, who was the chairman of the Arewa Consultative Forum(ACF) until recently, spoke on his experiences in politics and business.
I am struck by the name, Innocent. I don’t know how you try to live up to that name as a politician.
I make every effort. I am a Catholic, so we have the names of some of these saints and popes in the Catholic Church. When you were young you were asked to pick a name reflective of the beliefs of Catholics.
Again, this follows up to historical development, which may not be very appetising. When the Europeans decided to give up the slave trade, it was their pattern to ask you to pick an English or European name, obviously one easier for them to pronounce. It began in Liberia. As they “Christianised” you, they gave you an English name. It became part of the pattern.
How was growing up for you?
My father was a steward to a colonial district officer in Otukpo, called Captain Monie, a strange name. The war ended in 1945 and they started leaving. Independence came in 1960 and they left.
Of course my father went back to his small farm. I was born in 1947. My mother had lost three boys before I was born. We grew up in a very poor home at Otukpo.
At the age of four, I used to follow my father to the farm to help him make fire to roast yam or corn etc, not much of the rigorous work.
I attended St Francis Primary School, Otukpo, and in 1961, wrote the entrance examination to St Michael Secondary School, Aliede, where Cardinal Onaiyekan attended. He was six years my senior. From there, I went to King’s College, Lagos for my high school between 1967 and 1968.
Was it difficult for a rural boy like you to get admission into the elite King’s College? How did it happen?
Well, it was done across the North. The Sardauna had set up a system where some of the very bright ones were picked from Keffi, St Michael’s, Aliede, St John’s, Kaduna, Barewa in Zaria and sent to King’s College. So, from the North we were 19 who went down there. The civil war was just beginning, so my mother was in tears, saying they would kill me there, but I went. We went for Higher School Certificate (HSC) there. In my Lower Six, I was a house prefect and a year later, I was the house captain. Then I went to the Ahmadu Bello University (ABU) in 1969 to read French.
Why ABU? Why not Ibadan or Lagos nearby?
I don’t know why I picked ABU, but somehow, I liked the school. I had a few friends there, so I decided that I would go there. People like Bongos Ikwue were there, but I didn’t meet him as he had just left. The Department of French Language in Zaria was very strong.
Curiously, a young man in an English-speaking environment chose to read French; why?
I have always liked languages. You can’t believe that I did Latin in secondary school. And I had a good score in the subject. There was a German woman married to an American who wanted to teach us German language, but it was not on the curriculum.
Latin, French, Literature and History were my strong points. I was absolutely hopeless in the sciences. I don’t want to tell you what I scored in Chemistry.
So you chose French deliberately.
Oh yes. I was reasonably good at it. Then in Form 3, I went for the Man O’ War Bay at Kura Falls. They brought us from secondary schools across the country – about 60 of us. It was a full-fledged military training without weapons – climbing rocks, sailing.
Kura Falls in Jos, Plateau?
Yes. That took me three months out of school. I had to go back and copy notes and still did well in my class, sufficiently well to be recommended to go to King’s College. There were three of us – Andrew Abba, Innocent Dagama and myself. We did our HSC there and I came back to the North.
How was the experience in ABU in those days?
The ABU was an interesting place, real fun. We had Vice Chancellor Ishaya Audu, after whom Iya Abubakar came. I was a member of Yelwa, an elite club. We invited bands from Lagos, such as Fela Ransome-Kuti, to stage dances for the school etc.
ABU was very interesting. It was probably the best mixture of people from every ethnic group. First, it had the only Faculty of Architecture, so a lot of southerners were there, then Pharmacy and Law in Congo. So we had a good mixture; it was not dominated by northerners at all.
And there was some closeness to home. The civil war was over and people were a little bit sceptical about what might follow, but we had faith. We got there and enjoyed ourselves. It was a good time.
Accommodation in Zaria was fantastic. In a room almost as large as this were two of us – one chap from modern day Kogi, called Simon Okpanachi and myself. Believe this: stewards used to wash our clothes. You kept your clothes in a bag and left your name and they washed, ironed and brought back in the evening.
What about food?
Food was fantastic. I remember one Igbo boy, a huge guy called Mighty who had just come from the civil war. One meal wasn’t enough for him, so he had to get two meals until one day a fight broke out between him and the stewards and spread around. All the plates, knives and forks were used as missiles. People hid under their tables and some sat under the tables to eat while the missiles landed on their heads. It was real fun.
Part of your programme was to go abroad and study for one year. I think you went to Senegal?
Fine. They selected us from different universities – Ife, Nsukka, ABU and Ibadan. Some went to France, some went to Dakar. We spent a year there. It was very interesting too.
We had the scholarships, a bit of pocket money. While I was there I got to know Ambassador Balewa, Mr Fowora and Mr Imam – the three leaders of the embassy. Then Yakubu Gowon came in 1971 on his first major visit after the civil war.
Recently, I asked him what he went to Dakar to do and he said that was the time he first mentioned the idea of ECOWAS.
The embassy asked me to present the address of welcome to Gowon on behalf of the Nigerian community, which I did. I have some pictures.
So Dakar was interesting. It enabled us to mix up with people of the Francophone community, which made it easier for us to communicate. It ended up as a very good training ground in your capacity to manage the language rather than just rely on the textbook.
I know you did a master’s in French; were you thinking of becoming a diplomat?
I wanted to be a diplomat. When we got back in 1972 we were interviewed and I was selected and asked to prepare and go to the United Nations, where Ambassador Edwin Ogbu represented Nigeria. He wanted me to become his PA or something. Somehow I changed my mind for two reasons. First, the naira was much stronger than the dollar. Naira to the dollar was 80 cents. Then I had younger brothers and sisters to help through school. And there was no amount of dollars I could send home if I saved anything at all to help translate into naira to help my poor father, a retired poor farmer, to sustain these expenditures. So I chose to remain in Zaria.
So you chose to be a lecturer rather than a diplomat?
Exactly. I was posted to the Institute of Education(ABU) where we were training teachers who were also teaching French. The idea was to spread French language in Nigerian secondary schools at that time because of its importance and the fact that we are surrounded by Francophone countries.
Then you moved to the Benue College of Arts and Sciences?
Murtala College of Arts, Science and Technology.
Why that move?
The governor invited us to come, saying they had a school they needed people to head. I went to be the acting head of the Department of Languages, Arts and Social Sciences.
It paid better or you wanted to be closer home?
The pay was not particularly high, but it brought me nearer home; my mother and father were ageing; and I had my immediate family. And I had always wanted to be a farmer. So from Makurdi I could go to Otukpa on weekends and plant my trees etc.
So you started farming as a young lecturer?
Oh yes.
Then you moved into politics and contested to serve as a member of the House of Assembly in your state. Many poor lecturers today will wonder how you managed to move into politics as a lecturer.
It was quite an experience. While I was teaching in the Murtala College of Arts and Sciences, we had an association from my community called Otukpa, through which we built a community secondary school. I was very active in it.
It took off so well that once the idea of going to the House of Assembly came up, the same group that started the school met me and said they wanted me to represent them. But I said I would rather be a career teacher than a politician. They said no.
Believe me, the pressure was unbearable. My mother warned me, saying I should not go there because she was afraid they would kill me. Even my father didn’t like the idea because he was a campaign agent for a minister who had come from that same community. Because of his experience he said that politics was very dangerous and I should not go there. But the pressure was crazy.
When I finally resigned, I had to pack out of my quarters and move my family into a two-bedroom place in a place called Kwararafa Quarter’s in Makurdi. My wife and three children; it was very uncomfortable. I didn’t have the money but few people helped.
What of the group that pushed you into it?
Well, they offered their promises but they were mainly civil servants. Some did what they could, but it never went round my needs.
Money was still needed?
Oh yes; you had to fuel. First of all, I had to buy a campaign van. I had a small car that was not good; and the van cost N3,000 then, sold by Tilly Gyado Motors.
I bought it and was paying. I was going home every weekend – from community to community – palm-wine here, kola-nuts there – talking to the people. I had 42 of such visits to make. But the reception was fine, especially because I was in the National Party of Nigeria (NPN).
Which was the dominant party in the state?
Exactly, for geopolitics, our people were more familiar with the party than the Nigerian Peoples Party (NPP), which was centred in the East. It wasn’t easy, but somehow, I got through.
But you won at the first try.
I did. I had some narrow misses with some things that could have been accidents or designs, but I won. And I got to the House and was elected deputy speaker.
Straightaway?
I wanted to be the speaker but there was geopolitics – the Tivs were the dominant tribe, so they wanted the speaker. I argued that if you had the governor you shouldn’t have the speaker. But we settled and I was deputy speaker until February 1982.
You became a minister in the Shagari government; how did they pick you from the state House of Assembly? Was that sheer luck?
I guess the recommendation probably came from the governor, Aper Aku.
Who was Tiv?
Yes. And I guess it was a certain sense of fairness from the governor. I was on my poultry farm one afternoon after debates in the House when the party chairman, Chief Obande Obeya drove into my place and said I should get ready to go to the governor’s office. I told him that I was busy but he insisted that the governor wanted to see me. I asked if there was any problem and he said no. So I washed my hands and cleaned my face.
The governor asked if I would want to go to Lagos as minister. I asked how and he said Shagari wanted me there. That was it.
It was goodwill on his part, so I had to get ready.
Shagari didn’t know you?
He didn’t know me.
So the nomination came from the state?
Exactly. And that was because the agreement between the NPN and NPP collapsed at the centre; so new vacancies were created for Shagari to put his people in.
It must be disorienting to be a minister at 34. How did you cope?
I didn’t feel too much shock as I had good civil servants; one of whom was John Oyegun – my permanent secretary.
Which ministry was that?
It was communication. They were good to me. They didn’t look down on me because they were older.I asked what they did there and how they did it. There were telephones and the postal service. The system was very rudimentary, but they were good people. After the election in 1983, Shagari said I would go to the (Ministry) of Steel and Industry because Ali Makele, who was the minister, had been dropped.
How did being a politician and minister transform your life and relationship with your parents, friends and others?
There wasn’t too much transformation. The only thing was pressure as people usually see a minister primarily or almost as a contract-awarding officer. And you can’t blame them, but contracts don’t just happen.
In the telecom industry you could only award contracts to Siemens, the ITTs and others because telephone exchange is a reasonably complex technology. Of course there were also the postal services. So it created problems.
People expected you to give them contracts to improve their livelihood because they had given you support or goodwill. And quite often, you didn’t have enough to give. They also expected you to have money to give them, after all as a minister overnight you would have police escorts, cars and you are going around. You can’t convince anyone that you are not a rich man. It is still the virus of the society today.
How did you cope? You had to give money when you came home?
If you had, you gave, but if you didn’t have, you would tell the people. However, very few would believe. And you can’t go round telling people to give you money because you will lose your dignity.
And when you tell people that you are not as rich as they think, they don’t believe you. Not long ago – in my last outing as minister of agriculture – I was sitting in the hall here and there was a gentleman to my left, a minister and former vice-chancellor. When I asked how he was getting on, he smiled and said he didn’t have N10,000 in any account anywhere on planet earth. I believed him. It is quite a transition when you are suddenly raised and people think it is all about collecting cash in basins.
You went to Kirikiri(prison) as a minister. And there was this long hiatus when the military came back.
We were the earliest to be released. And we came back home and started life afresh. It wasn’t easy. It is believed that as a minister you were soiled to a point and you would constitute a political problem for the vice chancellor.
There was a long stretch during the military rule from 1984 to 1999 and you didn’t go back to teaching. What were you doing to occupy yourself?
I was working on the farms. I was probably the first private Nigerian to produce rice free of stones. As head of state, Olusegun Obasanjo had some Chinese friends who brought some machines in. And for the first time I saw a gravity de-stoner.
So you knew Obasanjo from that period?
Oh yes. Obasanjo came to Makurdi in 1988 on a visit. I met him briefly, I used to visit him. We were pretty close. So I told him that I needed some of the machines; and he gave me. He said I should pay bit by bit. I am still owing him N10,000!
Up till now?
Up till tomorrow. It is a World Bank loan I am not paying him back! He had great passion for agriculture. But the thing about agriculture is that when you have been in office at a certain level, it becomes very difficult for you to take a bag and walk around ministries and former cabinet colleagues or the new ones asking for LPOs and contracts.
So farming is the logical thing?
It is the logical thing unless you have another profession. But for a teacher, it is not very convenient.
But farming also takes a lot of money?
It does. When you go near the banks, the interest rates they charge are impossible, but that is the problem here, which I will return to later, maybe. There is nowhere in Europe or the United States where banks charge more than 5 per cent for agric loans, but here, you charge what you like.
Does it mean that farming is now for the rich and retired public servants?
Yes. But if you don’t have money you put in labour yourself. Where I was planting my cashew nuts I had borrowed a bulldozer. I pushed down the trees and leveled the place, then went to Ankpa and bought the seedlings, using my small car. Then I would plant and go back home until I raised about 40 hectares of cashew, probably the largest single cashew farm in the country now. But it is not big enough.
Farming for rich public servants or people who are not really the day-to-day farmers seems not to succeed in Nigeria. What’s your experience?
Finances, power, infidelity of your staff; and that’s the biggest killer. And you can’t jail them because the mother would come and cry. Relatives would also come, saying he is a small boy and asking if you want to kill him. In the end you are guilty, even if when they arrived they saw bankers in your house really harassing you because you are owing.
It is one of the diseases of the African race – We are terribly emotional; there’s no logic in our thinking. I am owing a bank but they don’t want to hear that. They believe you are hiding money, after all you are a minister.
So you struggle and sometimes find yourself going down. It reached a stage where I even had armed robbery on the farm in Makurdi ; we had to pack and go back to Lagos. Also, 1998 there was an assassination attempt.
Why was there an attempt to assassinate you in 1998?
Local politics. I know the fellow who sent the gang.
Were you trying to be governor or something?
Nothing. If somebody doesn’t like the way you wear your nose he wants to bury it. I have confronted him in the presence of his colleagues.
What was the motive?
To get rid of somebody who might stand in your way.
And what was done about it? What did the police and other security personnel do?
I wrote to the police but they did not do anything until I wrote to Oputa Panel. I think that in the end they retired the commissioner of police who was there.
A young guy who was deep in prayer sent me a message two months before the incident, saying I should not go back into politics or I would be killed by my own brother in my house. It didn’t make sense to me. At any rate, I didn’t want to go back into politics.
I was on a flight to the US when somebody came and met me in the business class and said Dr Alex Ekwueme was on the flight. I asked where he was – first class? I got up to go and greet him.
Because you were in government together?
We were in government together. He said he had been looking for me.I asked why and he said I was going to direct his campaign in 1998. I told him that I had decided not to go back into politics and he said, “Don’t talk nonsense. If people like you run away, for who are you leaving the country?” The rest of the flight wasn’t comfortable for me.
Anyway, we returned and he called me. Senator Obi and myself opened his office and began the campaign.
That’s what brought you back to politics?
Yes.
So that attempt was made by somebody close to you?
Oh yes. They came at night, heavily armed and shouted, “We have come to kill you.” I said, “In the name of the Lord Jesus you will fail.”
You engaged them?
Oh yes. They broke down the door and came in. They had finished their bullets firing all over the place. They shot my guards. They shot me, left me in a pool of blood and went away. This eye nearly fell out.
My domestic staff who were outside heard them chanting, “We don kill am.” They came back at 6am and took me to hospital. My head was very large and I was totally unconscious.
Somehow, (they) managed me and I recovered. I had to leave the place and come to Abuja here, where Shehu Malami of Sokoto gave me a flat to stay as long as I could. I had no house.
So politics is that dangerous here?
It is deadly, make no mistake. There are all kinds of creatures in the system. Voodoo priests, all sorts of savages are in the political system.
It was Obasanjo that became president; (Ekwueme didn’t make it) How did you become party chairman?
Ekwueme didn’t make it because after my attack I couldn’t carry on. Obasanjo was on the scene and there was a decision by the northern caucus, Iyorchia Ayu, Jerry Gana, Adamu Ciroma and Solomon Lar. One night, there was a meeting and we pleaded with Abubakar Rimi, who wanted to run, to allow southerners present a candidate.
Was that why rotation kicked in?
Exactly. After June 12 and all the wahala, if we denied the South the opportunity again, the uproar would be too much. Rimi struggled a bit but agreed. You would notice that there was no northerner contesting at the Jos convention.
It was Ekwueme versus Obasanjo?
Mainly. So Obasanjo defeated Ekwueme. Then Obasanjo called and asked why I was not in the system and I said I wasn’t too well. Ayu was directing his campaign; so that one passed.
Then they picked Gamade as chairman. After Gamade, Obasanjo called me and asked why I refused to support him as his friend and I explained the situation to him. That’s how I became chairman.
I defended him when 15 governors came to this sitting room and told me that they wanted to drop him for second term.
Were they the people who supported Atiku?
They were going to back Atiku, but I told them to go and think about it. The meeting went on till 4am from 11pm.
What was their problem with Obasanjo after the first term?
Well, Obasanjo was a tough guy to work with. I guess that as time went on, some of them couldn’t stand his style. But I told them that those were personal issues; on the larger scale, there was no way that after June 12 the South would understand. They would simply say that northerners were intolerable or intolerant of anybody else in the system. I pleaded with them to endure.
Did Atiku really make a serious bid?
Atiku showed interest. However, in fairness to him, he was not too aggressive about it. Atiku is a nice person. We saw it and said let’s allow the South their eight years as the country had to survive. In the end, he didn’t push too hard.
So you really helped Obasanjo to get his second term?
I did; there’s no doubt.
Why did he turn around and throw you out as party chairman?
I really don’t know. I didn’t like what happened in Anambra with Chris Ngige. An AIG was brought in from Imo to Anambra to literally force Ngige to resign. That was not democracy. I didn’t like those things. And once in a while I tried to tell him that in a democracy you could not do this.
There’s this famous story that he literally forced you to resign; is that true?
No. But there was a night we had a disagreement and he spoke to me in a manner I didn’t like. The next day, we had a caucus meeting and I told him that he spoke to me in the presence of a lady as if I was his cook. I asked if he thought the job meant everything in the world. I didn’t earn a dime as party chairman. I asked if he had ever heard that I took a dime from the party’s fund and he said no. I also asked if I had gone to him asking for money; so he shouldn’t talk to me like that.
So it was a confrontation?
Yeah. And all the governors were there. I said if they were tired I would go to my house immediately and bring my letter of resignation as the job didn’t mean anything to me. Many governors followed me and said I was the true son of my father.
Did he demand your resignation?
He didn’t. After that, I made up my mind that I was going to resign. I wrote my letter here. The story that he brought out a pistol is not true. Presidents don’t carry pistols.
I said I had had enough. I decided to give it to him and leave because anything you are doing in this world that takes your dignity away is not worth it. Dignity comes from God who created you. So I resigned.
You had the opportunity to run the Ministry of Agriculture for four years or thereabouts under former President Buhari recently. What did you make of that opportunity?
Under me, in 2018 Nigeria became Africa’s number one rice producer – we took over from Egypt. These things grow steadily. We were going to go into cocoa and revive the industry because its production had declined.
The problem with the minister or Ministry of Agriculture is that you can only push policies; the implementers have to be in the states and the farmers. You don’t have a budget of your own to give farmers fertiliser etc.
You can bring fertilisers at a subsidised price, but you don’t have any land. The only piece of land the federal government has is the Federal Capital Territory (FCT). The minister can’t go and start a farm in a state. He can only encourage farmers. He can only push policies. He can only source for seedlings.
When I first became a minister I saw the problem of cattle rearing and said I was going to bring improved grass seeds to plant here in specific places so that the cows would not have to roam. They don’t like roaming. They are heavy animals with short legs. They want to stay in a place, graze and drink water, then produce milk if they are milk cows. But no, you must move them from place to place.
What happened with the initiative to bring grass and all that?
We brought some in. But the negative attitude of Nigerians: when you say something and they don’t know anything about it, they go on air and call you names. Since you have land, you can create the grazing areas, give these cattle feed and vaccinate them and they will give you 15 to 20 litres of milk a day instead of two litres. And you will stop spending $5 million a day(to import) milk. These are the ideas that make me enemies.
Who will not like these ideas? A government like that of Buhari should have encouraged you.
Strangely enough, I didn’t return in 2019. I was dropped after the first term and told that I knew too much. They didn’t want to stop importation of rice. We overtook Egypt as Africa’s number one rice producer under me. Adesina had done some work improving and giving seeds to farmers to grow. By today we could have been exporting rice openly to West Africa, but they cut you short and what do you do?
Having been in politics and the governance of this country for more than 40 years, do you have hope that we can solve these perennial problems we all talk about?
We can, but I do not know under what circumstance or leadership we would achieve it. This is because in spite of everything, the elite are basically scornful of agriculture. Number two: the local government experiment has failed woefully here. That’s why when the Patriots met last week, I was invited but didn’t get the invitation. If I had gone there, I would have told them not to waste their time.
But in the recent reform we were told that local governments would get their money directly.
In spite of all that, the money is not getting to local governments. And everyone of us comes from a local government; right? How many of us went home recently to see a grader levelling roads? Ordinary grader, don’t tar it, just level it so that the farmer can go on his bicycle, tie his yams at the back and bring his produce to the city with greater ease.
Would this deepening poverty be the catalyst for change or destruction?
I am afraid and pray to God that it becomes a catalyst for change, but at the level of political management we are not doing enough. Somebody has to ask the fundamental question: Where is the money belonging to local governments? Number two: If the local governments are not doing anything with it, is there nobody who can check them?
Do you think the solution is what the Patriots were saying recently – that we need a new constitution?
We don’t need to go into a new constitution because that’s another cumbersome process. We would gather here in the next six months making high voltage speeches, but what are you going to bring out?
Tell us a little bit about the private Audu Ogbeh.
Well, I have one wife, five children and eight grandchildren. But I am a rather sad person because I can see dangers ahead. I don’t see why we are hoping that the younger generation would wake up one day and start dancing for joy. Each one of those young men is sending money home to his mother, a cousin or sister who believes that they are in Abuja, and therefore, have money.
But they just don’t have money. And their number is increasing – they are leaving the villages for the cities. They arrive in the cities and the conditions are absolutely impossible. And they can’t go back to the village unless there are things that will actually call them back home.
You really don’t sound like a very happy retiree.
Believe me, I am a sad person. I tried to find happiness but I am scared of the future. I may not be here, I am way over 70, heading to 80, but I don’t like what I smell. It is very depressing.
Daily Trust