Oil Baron moves to rescue a detained reporter

29 Mar Oil Baron moves to rescue a detained reporter

Hunter had no idea how long he had been asleep or how he had managed to drift off. At some point, his exhaustion must have somehow conquered his discomfort – until his slumber was invaded by a tall, imposing figure wielding an extremely bright light.

“Are you awake?” the figure asked in a deep, raspy voice. The accent was unmistakably Ijaw, the predominant tribe of the Niger Delta.

Hunter shielded his eyes with his hand. “I am now,” he said.

Once his eyes adjusted, Hunter saw his visitor had the face of a man in his early seventies and the fit, muscular body of a man in his early forties. He was not that lucky with his head which, as far as Hunter could see, was bald. The man held up a lantern that sent bright light bouncing off the room’s dark walls. Hunter was grateful for the opportunity to get a better look at his surroundings, although he would have appreciated it a bit more if the light hadn’t given him such a splitting headache.

The man knelt down next to Hunter and set his lantern on the floor. “I suspect you could use some water,” he said, “and probably some food.” He walked to the door and fetched a bottle of water from a small brown carton Hunter had not seen. He wondered if the room had been prepared for him.

“Start with this. I’ll have the boys get you something to eat in a few minutes.”

“No!” Hunter barked.

The man was startled. But he understood.

“I assure you that the water is fresh,” he said. “It was retrieved and stored before the last oil spill, and it’s been boiled to kill bacteria.”

Hunter looked directly into the man’s eyes. “I will take nothing from you until you tell me who you are, where you are keeping me, and why.”

The man carefully studied Hunter’s face, but made no comment.

“In return,” Hunter said, “I will tell you who I am and why I came to Uredo.”

The man’s lips curled into a small smile. “I am impressed with your strength,” he said. He took a swig from the bottle. “In fact, it’s almost as refreshing as this water.”

Hunter’s eyes followed the man’s demonstration. The water did look refreshing, and Hunter would have loved to chug down every drop of it, but before he did, he needed to know exactly with whom he was dealing. He held the man’s gaze and waited.

After a minute or so of complete silence between them, the man stood up and walked out of the door. He returned a moment later, dragging two wooden chairs into the room.

From the open door Hunter had heard some agitated voices outside the room but decided to be silent about it, and to listen to the old man.

“I’m an old man,” he said with a small smirk. “If I squat or sit on the floor too long, I won’t be able to stand up again easily.”

Despite his circumstances, Hunter couldn’t help but let out a laugh. He grimaced through the pain as he pulled his body off the floor and positioned it in the hard-backed chair. His bruises still throbbed, but sitting up in a chair made him feel marginally better and less vulnerable.

The man positioned his chair directly across from Hunter and sat down. His posture was perfect. He almost looked as if he were posing for a photograph rather than preparing for a casual chat with a stranger.

“My name is Repe Goodman,” he stated in a formal tone. “I hold the title of Chief. I represent the traditional ruler of this village.”

Hunter tried to maintain a similarly formal posture, but his bruised abdomen forced him to hunch over a bit. “I am pleased to meet you, Chief,” he said, “although I sincerely wish it had occurred under different circumstances.”

It was now the Chief’s turn to laugh. He flashed a pleasant smile. Hunter was not prepared to adopt such a nonchalant demeanor. Chief Goodman may have appeared to be a peaceful and affable gentleman, but appearances have the potential to deceive. Hunter was well aware of the fact that ritual killings were rampant throughout Nigeria, and a man who identified himself with traditional rulers might still take part in traditional rituals.

The Chief appeared to have noticed Hunter’s apprehension, but rather than address it directly, he chose to press onward. “One of the ruler’s sons says he has heard about you.”

Hunter’s eyes widened.

The Chief’s smile grew bigger, but still seemed guarded. “If you are who you say you are—if you really are Hunter from The News Hub —perhaps your presence could be beneficial to us,” he said, “but you’ll need to relax.”

“Relax?” Hunter said.

“Your identity must be confirmed before the ruler will order the young men to release you,” he explained. “You may be stuck here for a while.”

Hunter sat back in his chair. “Can you define ‘a while’?” he asked.

Chief Goodman shrugged. “It’s hard to say,” he said. “It could be a few hours or it could be a few days. My intuition tells me that you will be out of here shortly after dawn tomorrow, but I’m afraid that I cannot guarantee that.”

Hunter could hear the voices from outside clearer now that the door was open. Although he could not see them, he could sense their energy, their frustration, and their determination. Tribal war songs echoed throughout the building. Hunter was grateful the Chief remained seated stoically across from him. As much as they might have enjoyed taking out their anger at the oil companies on an outsider, they wouldn’t disobey the Chief.

“So, I am a victim of circumstances?”

Chief Goodman let out a long, tired sigh. “It’s so tragic,” he said. “Perhaps we should have known better. The situation in Urodo never should have come to this.”

Hunter’s professional instincts kicked into gear. “What is the situation?” he said, “and what has it come to?”

The Chief raised the bottle of water, poured some down his throat without touching it with his lips and then offered the bottle to Hunter It was clearly a gesture of trust—if you will trust me enough to drink my water, I will trust you enough to tell you our story. Hunter accepted the bottle and drank the same way. The cold water splashing down his throat was refreshing. He sighed with satisfaction

Hunter saw a change in Chief Goodman’s body language. He relaxed his shoulders and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “We believed the oil companies when they promised us they cared about us,” he said with sadness. “As a journalist, you probably think that we must be fools to accept their word at face value, but I assure you, we were never foolish—naïve perhaps, but never foolish.”

Hunter shook his head. “There’s nothing foolish about wanting a better life,” he said. “I’m sure that’s what the oil executives promised you.”

Chief Goodman folded his arms across his chest. “Yes,” he said, “and for a while, they appeared to be making good on that promise.” He pulled in his legs and resumed a more serious posture. “Nearly twenty years ago, their contractors came to town and held meetings with the villagers about building a flowstation. It was a good idea because a flowstation is where oil from all the wells in the neighbourhood is processed. They talked about all the jobs that would be created and how much money the station would bring to the region. There were skeptics in the crowd, but for the most part, people were ready to get on board. Something needed to happen. The fishing industry was working, but it’s so unpredictable. You never know when nature will turn against you.”

Hunter nodded. Fishermen and farmers did very important work, but they were always at the mercy of forces that reached beyond mortal beings.

“I must admit,” Chief Goodman then said, “from the get-go, their talk actually had some merit.”

“In what way?” Hunter asked.

“When the facility was under construction, many local labourers were recruited to work on the site,” the chief explained. “They were hired to perform a variety of tasks—carrying supplies, digging ditches, and laying concrete.”

Hunter listened intently, trying to conjure up a mental picture of Urodo before its people got angry with oil companies. “I assume your people were being paid well,” he said.

“Very nicely,” the Chief confirmed. “Some of the more skilled labourers were actually put on salary with the construction firm, but most of them were casual workers.”

“When did things go wrong?” Hunter wondered.

“There were signs of impending problems once construction of the facility was completed,” Chief Goodman replied.

Hunter scratched his chin. “Was that because the company no longer needed the workers?”

“Exactly,” the Chief said. “The financial joyride came to a crashing halt for quite a few people. Many workers were expecting to secure jobs in the oil company itself, but unfortunately, that didn’t happen.”

He took another swig of water and then offered the bottle to Hunter again, who gratefully accepted it.

“Were they led to believe those jobs existed?” Hunter asked.

“Probably. The workers seemed so sure of themselves. I can’t believe so many people would accidentally get the wrong impression.”

Hunter rubbed his stinging eyes. “Certainly, the oil company could’ve employed a few of these people, especially after making so many promises.”

Chief Goodman shook his head. “As it turned out, the oil company never made any promise to anyone in Urodo. The stories were told by managers of the construction company that built the flowstation. It was simply contracted to throw up a building. I guess the workers kept asking about new jobs once the construction was finished, so the contractors just told them they could work inside.”

Hunter took a swig of the water, trying hard to resist his urge to drain the entire bottle. It was very important at that moment that he and Chief Goodman continued to share.

“When the oil company started operation here,” Chief Goodman continued, “it made some efforts to keep us contended. It gave some money to the local government for its humanitarian efforts. It also paid for the classroom block for our school, as well as for a few other enriching amenities.”

“I imagine that once they made their token contribution, the money was cut off just as quickly as the jobs were,” Hunter remarked.

“No, it wasn’t nearly as quickly,” Chief Goodman told him. . “The oil companies didn’t get where they are by being stupid. They know how to play the game. They continued to dole out contributions on a regular basis, and then on a semi-regular basis, and then on a random basis.”

“And then not at all,” Hunter concluded.

Chief Goodman let out a long sigh. “After the first oil spill, the company was unhappy.”

“How convenient,” Hunter cracked.

“Something like that. They said the spill was caused by sabotage, but we didn’t believe our youths were responsible, so our relationship with the company went sour.”

“How long did the spill last?”

Chief Goodman bit his lip. “They contracted the cleaning job out and the contractor engaged some of our boys, but the job was poorly done because of weak supervision. The workers always looked busy, but they didn’t do a very good job of cleaning the water. I don’t know if there was anything they could do about the air.”

“The elders of the community were given large gifts by the contractor, weren’t they?”

“Greed crosses international borders, Mr Hunter,” Chief Goodman said. “No one can prove anything, but there is reason to believe the town elders were bribed to keep out of it. The money was intended to placate them.”

“Well, I hope they were adequately compensated,” Hunter remarked sarcastically

“Ha!” the chief said. “They probably think they were, but I’m sure whatever they received was a mere pittance compared with what they could have been awarded in a court of law.”

“Probably,” Hunter agreed. “That payment, however, would have been public, and the elders would’ve had to spend it cleaning up the village. When they accepted money under-the-table, they could pocket it.”

Chief Goodman was impressed with Hunter’s logic. “Yes,” he agreed. “At least two elders quietly left town in the space of six months.”

Hunter let out a disgusted grunt and held out the water bottle for Chief Goodman.

“No,” the Chief said, “please finish it. I think you need it much more than I do right now.”

Hunter was happy to do just that.

Chief Goodman sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. “We were warned about the oil companies, you know.”

Hunter threw back the last swallow of water. “By whom?”

“By our own educated sons,” he said. “Some young men from this village have dedicated their lives to seeking knowledge that would benefit their countrymen. They have been fortunate enough to travel, study at universities, and work with large companies. Several of them warned us that the oil magnates would see us as easy prey. They would take advantage of us. Our young men have some idea of how much money the oil companies are generating in this area.”

The Chief shook his head and sighed rather heavily. “But I have a story to tell you. I have a friend who witnessed the discovery of oil in Oloibiri. He said foreign engineers came looking for oil in 1953. They were all over the swamps and the forest and some of the people thought the white people were looking for palm oil. He said when they eventually discovered it, the white men threw a party at their houseboat and invited everyone from the village to see samples of the oil they had been looking for and there was jubilation everywhere. But go to the Oloibiri community now and witness the neglect and poverty there.”

Hunter was ready to ask more questions, but the conversation came to an abrupt halt when Chief Goodman rose from his chair.

“I will see to it that you are given something to eat, Mr Hunter,” he said. “Then I will make arrangements for you to be released but sorry I can’t tell you when that will be.”