A Militant tells Hunter about Asari Dokubo, Cynthia White

03 May A Militant tells Hunter about Asari Dokubo, Cynthia White

“This is a rather small room for a journalist of your calibre.”

Prebiri stepped through the doorway into Hunter’s double room at the Presidential Hotel and let his eyes soak up his new environment.

“How much space does a man on the move need?” Hunter replied with a grin.

Prebiri smiled back. “We don’t have such things in my line of work.”

“I’ll bet you don’t,” Hunter said.

The two men shook hands. The visitor was tall, and almost skinny. But Hunter sensed that Prebiri liked him, which was an important key to the process. Beyond that, he needed to convince Prebiri that he could be trusted, an objective that would not be easily achieved. Prebiri hadn’t acquired his position in the politics of the Niger Delta by trusting strangers.

“Please sit down,” Hunter said as he motioned to the sitting area. “Would you care for something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

Prebiri made himself comfortable on the sofa. He appeared to be quite physically fit and his demeanour was serious to a fault. Hunter was about to drop down into the chair adjacent to the sofa when he heard footsteps in the hallway outside of the room. He abruptly jumped back to his feet and turned toward the door.

“It’s all right, Mr Hunter,” Prebiri assured him. “My security detail is patrolling the corridor.”

Hunter scratched his head. “I didn’t notice them outside when you came in.”

“You’re not supposed to notice them, sir,” Prebiri stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Nor should you notice the men staking out the lobby or the men patrolling the hotel’s exterior.”

Hunter nodded. “I guess if you notice them, the covert operation doesn’t work.”

Prebiri nodded back and then smiled. Hunter was keeping score. Hunter finally lowered himself into his chair, ready to commence the interview. “Per the arrangements made with your representative over the telephone, there will be no audio or video recording of this discussion.”

Prebiri nodded once more.

“I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me,” Hunter said. “I suspect you’ve heard about the attack on the Dove field?”

Prebiri smiled again. That’s three, Hunter thought. Perhaps Prebiri is more amicable that I had anticipated.

Before Hunter had the chance to say anything more, he noticed that Prebiri’s smile had mutated into a chilling sneer. There had only been three seconds of silence and Hunter was already feeling some sinister vibrations.

“I take it you are pleased with the news,” he said.

“I certainly am,” Prebiri said. “The mission went off without a hitch.”

Hunter drew in a deep breath. “You are connected to the DNDR?”

“The DNDR is our creation. We are all one – I mean the exploited people of the Niger Delta, Hunter,” Prebiri said with pride.

Maintaining his professional decorum, Hunter scribbled the quotation into his notebook. He was sincerely unnerved by the information. “I guess that explains the demand for Asari’s release,” he said.

“Asari’s work will continue whether or not that demand is met,” Prebiri said. “As important as he is as an individual, the movement is much greater than one man. Justice for the people of the Niger Delta will not be denied. The revolution is inevitable.”

Prebiri’s tone was stern and steadfast. Hunter juggled the situation’s good and bad news inside his head. The good news was that he now had a direct connection to the militants at the Dove facility to further his investigation. The group was intent upon making a statement, and even Asari’s release, unlikely as it was, might not prevent further violence from taking place.

Hunter decided to dive right into the deep end of the discussion. “Can we talk about the Dove situation?” he asked quietly.

“Absolutely,” Prebiri said. “Such things do not resolve themselves, Mr Hunter.”

“I think they eventually do, no matter how long it takes.”

“The issue is more complex than it looks, Hunter,” Prebiri continued. . “We are most certainly to be portrayed as crazy lunatics, as criminals who have no reasoning behind our violence. I assure you, sir, our reasoning is sound. Nobody enjoys violence. Asari doesn’t and I don’t. ”

Hunter wasn’t so sure about that last statement. He had travelled all over the world. He had encountered intrinsically sadistic individuals. At this particular moment, however, he felt no need to interject his thoughts regarding violence and psychotic pleasure.

“Asari has spent decades trying to bring justice to Nigeria through all the proper channels,” Prebiri explained. “He ran for office. He educated people, and organized rallies. He pursued just about every peaceful means of demonstration that he could fathom. First, he was dismissed. Then he was laughed at. Then he was taunted and ridiculed. Finally, as the atrocities in the country continued and he refused to disappear or remain silent, he was imprisoned—not because he was a criminal, although charges were filed against him, but because the government needed to make an example of him. The politicians who had pimped the land to the oil magnates wanted to show everyone what might happen to them if they dared to challenge their authority.”

Hunter noted Prebiri’s words, although he knew from his research that Asari’s story extended well beyond the realm of simple good versus evil.

“Has a deadline been set regarding a response to the DNDR’s demands at Dove?” Hunter asked.

“They are waiting for the initial responses from both One Oil and the government,” Prebiri said. “You’ve most likely heard the publicity mantra: ‘We never negotiate with militants.’ In truth, they always do. Every government does. It’s not in their best interest to appear weak, but then again, it doesn’t do them much good to allow blue-collar oil workers to be sacrificed for the appearance of saving face.”

“Will you allow One Oil to save face?” Hunter asked.

Prebiri leaned forward. “Hunter ,” he said softly, “we are talking about the survival of our region—its people, its resources. Speaking only for myself, I can honestly say that I really don’t care who looks good or bad in the eyes of the public. If the oil companies are willing to clean up their horrific mess and slink out of the Niger Delta forever, I am perfectly willing to let them do so with their so-called dignity intact. I will even publically kiss the CEO’s cheeks and throw the executives a bon voyage party. I will call a world press conference and lie through my teeth about the wonderful partnership the oil companies have allegedly established with our people. If that’s what it takes to end the desecration of the land and its people, so be it. I will always know the truth, anyway. I am much more interested in saving my country from destruction caused by greed than in winning a public relations muscle-flexing contest.”

Hunter met Prebiri eye to eye. “How much muscle do you have, Mr Prebiri?”

Prebiri laughed without mirth. “That is not for me to say. I am just one of Asari’s loyalists and therefore affiliated to the DNDR. So I can’t give you definite numbers.”

Hunter watched him closely.

“No, I can’t,” Prebiri replied “but if you want an idea of the people in the struggle, our numbers are legion.”

The men held each other’s eyes for a tense moment.

“I assume you say that so that your adversaries, whoever they may be at any given time, will fear your strength.”

Hunter tried very hard to disguise his fascination as he watched the imaginary wheels spin inside Prebiri’s brain.

Prebiri finally heaved a long, deep sigh. “Numbers rarely tell the entire story,” he said.

Very true, Hunter thought. “I take it that your men, however many there may be, are well-armed?”

Prebiri nodded. “We have significant and effective firepower.”

“Automatic rifles?”

“Yes.”

“Explosives?”

“Yes.”

“Grenade launchers and the like?”

“Yes.”

Hunter took a moment to collect his thoughts. “You also have boats,” he said. “The boats that attacked the Dove facility have not been identified as stolen.”

Prebiri nodded once more, appearing pleased by the journalist’s deductive abilities. “We have a more-than-adequate fleet of speedboats.”

“How many vessels?”

Prebiri shrugged.

“Twenty?” Hunter asked. “Thirty?”

“In that vicinity,” Prebiri asked. “I don’t keep exact numbers.”

Hunter couldn’t help but laugh. “Someone in your organisation keeps exact numbers, sir ,” he said. “You wouldn’t risk not knowing the precise number of people, weapons, and vessels you had at your disposal.”

Prebiri shrugged in a manner that told Hunter he was right. But Hunter was more interested in the motives behind the arsenal than the firepower itself.

“How long has the DNDR existed?” he asked. “Is it a new collective or has it been working underground for ages?”

Prebiri drew in a deep breath. “The passion of the DNDR is as old as the problems that exist in our country,” he said. “You’ve covered them for The Hub already, Hunter —poverty, exploitation, injustice, environmental degradation, and countless others.”

Hunter nodded.

“The DNDR was officially organized in recent years to demand accountability for the travesties that have taken place due to massive greed,” Prebiri continued. “Conventional justice did not come about. Peaceful demonstrations were mocked and ignored. We decided it was time to stop begging and to take matters into our own hands. As the old adage goes, ‘If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.’”

“Tell me how exactly the DNDR started, How does Asari’s team sit in DNDR, and who do people like Cynthia White, a spokesperson of your struggle, work for now? If she is truly a woman, she must be some woman to have also been Asari’s bodyguard.”

“Who told you all that?” Prebiri shook his head in disbelief.

Ignoring the question, Hunter leaned forward. “What does the DNDR do?” he asked.

“We bring criminals to justice,” Prebiri answered in a straightforward tone. “Yes, it is our own brand of justice, but it is justice all the same.”

“For example?”

“We attack people who try to kill our people in the name of security,” he said. “We also take it upon ourselves to question our people who are guilty of colluding with those who have destroyed the Niger Delta. Their power, control, and status have kept them from prosecution. We are thus levelling the playing field and forcing them to face adjudication.”

Hunter took some notes and sat back. “Can you provide an example?”

Prebiri crossed his legs, striking a prideful pose. “In 1998, the Ijaw people decided to duplicate MOSOP’s strategies,” he explained. “We declared the Ijaw territory off limits to the Nigerian military and issued an official halt to all oil extraction from the land.”

“I recall that,” Hunter said. “It was called Operation Climate Change.”

Prebiri nodded, clearly approving of Hunter’s knowledge. “Correct,” he said. “Unfortunately, the dictum was not respected. Within days, the Nigerian military saturated the Delta and Bayelsa states. They marched in nearly 15,000 soldiers and commenced a series of attacks that resulted in dozens of civilian deaths. It was a merciless and remorseless slaughter.”

Hunter sensed that Prebiri was becoming emotional at the recollection.

“Ijaw militants tried their best to retaliate,” he said. “They shut down some oil facilities in their area. Over the next several years, the resistance became more powerful. A well-armed militancy evolved, one so steadfastly defiant and exquisitely trained that the government could not contain it.”

“If I recall correctly, fights also broke out among militant factions,” Hunter said.

Prebiri rubbed his eyes and nodded. “I suppose that was inevitable,” he said through a sigh. “As much as you hope to keep everyone focused on the greater cause, people still tend to jockey for position. Even those with honorable intentions sometimes found themselves in disagreement with the militant leaders regarding such things as tactics, timing, training, and the use of the media. It’s amazing how much the media comes into play in such things.”

Hunter nodded.

“Everyone wants to be a star,” Prebiri said. “Saving one’s homeland is not satisfying enough for some people. They insist that the rest of the universe must hear about it.”

Hunter nodded again.

“Of course, the in-fighting had other causes as well,” Prebiri said. “Although I cannot prove it, I most certainly believe that either the government or the military, perhaps both, infiltrated the militant movement, and some of their operatives deliberately stirred up tension within the rank and file.”

Once again Hunter nodded.

“And they enjoyed some success in that area,” Prebiri said. “Politicians promising that they could resolve the problems in the Niger Delta, recruited militant units—duly armed, of course—to intimidate their rivals. Some candidates were scared out of the elections, and others found that the phrase political battle ground was much more literate than they had once believed.”

“I see your point,” Hunter murmured, urging urged him on.

“In 2004, Asari retreated into the creeks,” Prebiri said.

“Yes,” Hunter said. “He declared ‘all-out war’ against the government and the oil companies.”

Prebiri nodded. “That’s correct. The results came quickly. Asari’s mere statement helped drive up prices and made the oil market jerky.”

“Did Asari’s religious affiliations concern anyone in the movement?” Hunter wondered. “He had converted to Islam around that time, had he not?”

“As a matter of fact, he had,” Prebiri said. “He actually attracted a significant amount of attention from the American authorities when he expressed his admiration for Osama bin Laden.”

“That’s not the best way to acquire support from the Americans,” Hunter said, “nor do such remarks sit well with the Brits, Spaniards, Kenyans, or Australians. The bombings in Madrid and Nairobi are all attributed to Al Qaeda, as well as the bombing in Bali that took the lives of a significant number of Aussie tourists.”

Prebiri sat back and folded his arms. “Asari’s interpretation of Islam differs from those who worship bin Laden. Unlike bin Laden, Asari fears God and has never been interested in randomly terrifying the entire world. His mission has always been very specific. He wants the people of the Niger Delta to assume control of the oil resources in their region. Outside forces should not be coming in and taking whatever they please simply because they can. Thus, Asari has always believed that one manner of acquiring this control was to reclaim the oil that he insists is stolen from the Ijaw people.”

“He encourages crude oil theft?” Hunter asked. Prebiri tilted his head back. Hunter was watching to see if he would smile again. He looked like he might, but he didn’t.

“You may call it that if you wish, Hunter ,” he said. “In my opinion, and that was Asari’s argument, we are not the thieves. The oil was stolen from us. We merely chose to do whatever was necessary to repossess our property.”

Hunter had been expecting that response, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue over semantics, so he redirected the conversation. “It has been estimated that 10 percent—perhaps more—of the oil exported from Nigeria every year is actually bunkered illegally.”

Prebiri did not respond. He simply stared back at Hunter with a stoic expression.

“Sir, that amounts to approximately several billion dollars’ worth of oil,” Hunter said.

“What’s your point?” Prebiri asked.

“Who amasses that money and where does it go?”

This time, Prebiri did actually smile.

“Again, Mr Hunter , I’m not the one who keeps track of numbers.”

Hunter scribbled down some incoherent notes just to kill some time as he fished his brain for his next question.”

“You may not know the exact amount but we are talking about large sums of money. So who knows?”

“I don’t think that is why we are here, Hunter . To count money?” he shook his head. No!”

“Okay,” Hunter said. “Asari was eventually arrested. I presume that action was not well-received in Ijawland.”

“Certainly not,” Prebiri said. “Nothing had gone well at that point. Even with Asari in custody, government forces continued to attack Ijaw villages. They claimed they wanted to flush out the people they believed were involved in oil bunkering, but that was only part of it. Yes, they wanted to catch the illegal bunkerers, but more than that, they wanted to send a message to all of the people that the government was not to be questioned or defied.”

“This hardly constitutes an act of negotiation,” Hunter said.

“Nor did it stifle the unrest,” Prebiri said. “In fact, the job of recruiting new militants became astonishingly easy. The youths of Ijawland were horrifically enraged. They had seen their villages destroyed and lost innocent family members in the attacks. They vowed revenge.”

“And you offered them an avenue for vengeance?” Hunter asked.

Prebiri nodded proudly. “That contributed to the birth of the DNDR militia.”

“It would be nice to speak with Cynthia,” Hunter said

“I think I have been helpful enough,” Prebiri bounced up, ready to leave. “You are the journalist, Hunter . Be careful about talking to women.”

Even after the meeting with Prebiri, Hunter felt inadequate with the information he had collected. Worse, Prebiri had not provided him with a contact number for himself or anyone in the inner circle. Their meeting had concluded with a sense of “Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

Something about Prebiri’s attitude made it clear that he had no intention of elaborating on his words or clarifying his message. This gave Hunter the uncomfortable feeling that Prebiri was going out of his way not to tell him something. As a journalist, his work was to find the hidden.