Lesson from My Brother's Assassination
Published: 22 October 2013 By Abiodun Giwa
DELE GIWA
On October 19, 1986, my eldest brother - Dele Giwa - journalist and editor-in-chief of Newswatch Magazine - to whom I was third in line by birth was assassinated with a letter bomb in Lagos, Nigeria. Sadly, I had not been part of his memorial for the past 27 years, because those I believed had connections with his murderers had hijacked the memorial, and bought over those they were capable in the family.
I remember my brother everyday. I believe that I don't have to be in the company of people I distrust to remember him annually. The same blood runs in our veins. I need no approval of any mortal to know who is my blood brother. My life in the last 27 years of Dele's assassination has become a bundle of experience, exposing me to human foibles; that anyone can disappoint you no matter the relationship, when it comes to the issue of money, material and survival.
I was in the Church on Sunday the day of the assassination, my first son -three years at the time - on my lap, when my nephew came in with the information that there was trouble, and that he needed my attention. On arrival at the gate of my brother's Adeniyi Jones' residence in Ikeja, Lagos State, I saw that the library window panes were mangled and the wall around the window blackened with smoke. I asked my nephew about what had happened. He asked me to follow him inside and I did. On our way inside through the pathway to the back of the house where the entrance door was located for security reasons, I saw the two cars that were packed in the space had their windows broken. I asked again from my nephew about what had happened. He was silent, led me through a broken back entrance door, and as I stepped inside I saw the floor was wet with blood.
I asked again whether my brother was well. At this point, my nephew said, "It was a bomb."
"A bomb!" I exclaimed. The next question that I asked was whether my brother was alive. My nephew walked ahead of me into the library. What I saw in the library gave me a glimpse that my brother had been killed. But my nephew assured me he was alive and that he talked on the way to the hospital. I asked for the name of the hospital my brother had been taken, my nephew said he had been instructed not to reveal the name to avoid his attackers tracing him to the hospital. I left the house and went to his Newswatch office. In his office I got information about the name of the hospital he had been rushed, and that he had passed away. Few minutes later, I came face-to face with my brother's corpse on a hospital stretcher, his eyes closed. I was devastated. I thought within me that a battle I was unsure how it would end had begun.
Eight months earlier, I had with the consent of my immediate elder brother, youngest sister and my nephew, in my room and a parlor apartment at Ogba prepared a letter co-signed by my immediate elder brother, calling Dele's attention to what we portended as danger to his life, based on development within his home. We all monitored events around him and prayed that those targeting to kill him should fail. And here I was eight months later starring at Dele's lifeless body on a stretcher. There were people privy to the letter that I sent to him, and the initial disagreement we had over it. But after he investigated the content of the letter and he discovered the truth, he asked me about the source of my information, and I told him. He said he had already confirmed my source and he told me he had confronted the people concerned. This did not end our alertness about his need to stay alive, and our alertness paid off for the information from the effort.
About three weeks before his assassination, I received an insider's information from his home about a telephone call to him in the night from the head of the State Security Service, SSS, that someone had given damaging information about him to the military government, and that he needed to make a move to undo the damage.
Consequently, De called his deputy who lived in a building in the same compound with whom he discussed the issue behind my informant's window. Dele and his deputy were unaware someone heard their discussion. Dele was worried about who could have given deadly information about him to the government for what he knew nothing about. The next day, my informant came to my house. After he told me about that incident, I implored to him to take it easy, and I assured him that my brother will survive the ordeal. My informant was worried about the letter that I sent my brother alerting him about the danger to his life; he said someone in the house had glimpsed and read on his library table, and that I may not be free to visit my brother's home again. I told him not to worry about that that the most important issue was my brother's life. The following week, men of the Military Intelligence invited my brother for questioning on allegations that he wanted to ferment a socialist revolution; he was into gun running and wanted to employ a police officer who was relieved of his job for criticizing the government. Dele denied the first two allegations. I knew my brother was not anywhere near getting involved in matters of the the nature of the other two allegations.
It remained how to know who may have given the deadly information against Dele to the government following his assassination. The lawyer he had asked before his assassination to file a suit for his protection against the Military Intelligence officers for questioning him on deadly allegations limited his searchlight on the government, and the government had said continuously it was not the culprit. At this point I knew I had become a target for my writing a letter to inform him of the danger around his home, but felt secured with the unity among us in the family. Those of us who were his siblings remained together with our nephew for a while, believing we were struggling to ensure we were not overwhelmed by the hawks that appeared as good Samaritans, but wanted to dictate to us what we must do as a family. Soon, it became clear to me that self-preservation and survival had become a goal for some of us. I heard that one of the guys who represented the powerful people who had taken control saying if they asked someone to do their bidding and he or she refused to cooperate, they will deal with such a person.
After this power influenced Dele's former wife in the United States to withdraw the power-of-attorney she gave me to represent her and the children on Dele's estate, I was deserted by others who had witnessed me writing a letter to alert Dele about the danger to his life. I decided to stand alone from that moment. My brother's memory will be evergreen and forever in my mind. We were close. I knew his trouble started with the publisher of the Concord Press over the woman who became Dele's last wife. Dele loved; he did not betray anyone, but he was betrayed. I believe he was killed for love and that his spirit of innocence had fought and achieved vengeance for him in repose.
If Babangida said he did not kill Dele and the question about who killed him remained hanging, why did no one in the Nigerian media write about what they knew of how Dele was haunted out of his employment in the Concord Press by the publisher, who claimed the woman who fell in love with Dele was his girlfriend. As at the time my brother was killed, Babangida did not appear to me as Dele's enemy, Abiola was.
I remember my brother everyday. I believe that I don't have to be in the company of people I distrust to remember him annually. The same blood runs in our veins. I need no approval of any mortal to know who is my blood brother. My life in the last 27 years of Dele's assassination has become a bundle of experience, exposing me to human foibles; that anyone can disappoint you no matter the relationship, when it comes to the issue of money, material and survival.
I was in the Church on Sunday the day of the assassination, my first son -three years at the time - on my lap, when my nephew came in with the information that there was trouble, and that he needed my attention. On arrival at the gate of my brother's Adeniyi Jones' residence in Ikeja, Lagos State, I saw that the library window panes were mangled and the wall around the window blackened with smoke. I asked my nephew about what had happened. He asked me to follow him inside and I did. On our way inside through the pathway to the back of the house where the entrance door was located for security reasons, I saw the two cars that were packed in the space had their windows broken. I asked again from my nephew about what had happened. He was silent, led me through a broken back entrance door, and as I stepped inside I saw the floor was wet with blood.
I asked again whether my brother was well. At this point, my nephew said, "It was a bomb."
"A bomb!" I exclaimed. The next question that I asked was whether my brother was alive. My nephew walked ahead of me into the library. What I saw in the library gave me a glimpse that my brother had been killed. But my nephew assured me he was alive and that he talked on the way to the hospital. I asked for the name of the hospital my brother had been taken, my nephew said he had been instructed not to reveal the name to avoid his attackers tracing him to the hospital. I left the house and went to his Newswatch office. In his office I got information about the name of the hospital he had been rushed, and that he had passed away. Few minutes later, I came face-to face with my brother's corpse on a hospital stretcher, his eyes closed. I was devastated. I thought within me that a battle I was unsure how it would end had begun.
Eight months earlier, I had with the consent of my immediate elder brother, youngest sister and my nephew, in my room and a parlor apartment at Ogba prepared a letter co-signed by my immediate elder brother, calling Dele's attention to what we portended as danger to his life, based on development within his home. We all monitored events around him and prayed that those targeting to kill him should fail. And here I was eight months later starring at Dele's lifeless body on a stretcher. There were people privy to the letter that I sent to him, and the initial disagreement we had over it. But after he investigated the content of the letter and he discovered the truth, he asked me about the source of my information, and I told him. He said he had already confirmed my source and he told me he had confronted the people concerned. This did not end our alertness about his need to stay alive, and our alertness paid off for the information from the effort.
About three weeks before his assassination, I received an insider's information from his home about a telephone call to him in the night from the head of the State Security Service, SSS, that someone had given damaging information about him to the military government, and that he needed to make a move to undo the damage.
Consequently, De called his deputy who lived in a building in the same compound with whom he discussed the issue behind my informant's window. Dele and his deputy were unaware someone heard their discussion. Dele was worried about who could have given deadly information about him to the government for what he knew nothing about. The next day, my informant came to my house. After he told me about that incident, I implored to him to take it easy, and I assured him that my brother will survive the ordeal. My informant was worried about the letter that I sent my brother alerting him about the danger to his life; he said someone in the house had glimpsed and read on his library table, and that I may not be free to visit my brother's home again. I told him not to worry about that that the most important issue was my brother's life. The following week, men of the Military Intelligence invited my brother for questioning on allegations that he wanted to ferment a socialist revolution; he was into gun running and wanted to employ a police officer who was relieved of his job for criticizing the government. Dele denied the first two allegations. I knew my brother was not anywhere near getting involved in matters of the the nature of the other two allegations.
It remained how to know who may have given the deadly information against Dele to the government following his assassination. The lawyer he had asked before his assassination to file a suit for his protection against the Military Intelligence officers for questioning him on deadly allegations limited his searchlight on the government, and the government had said continuously it was not the culprit. At this point I knew I had become a target for my writing a letter to inform him of the danger around his home, but felt secured with the unity among us in the family. Those of us who were his siblings remained together with our nephew for a while, believing we were struggling to ensure we were not overwhelmed by the hawks that appeared as good Samaritans, but wanted to dictate to us what we must do as a family. Soon, it became clear to me that self-preservation and survival had become a goal for some of us. I heard that one of the guys who represented the powerful people who had taken control saying if they asked someone to do their bidding and he or she refused to cooperate, they will deal with such a person.
After this power influenced Dele's former wife in the United States to withdraw the power-of-attorney she gave me to represent her and the children on Dele's estate, I was deserted by others who had witnessed me writing a letter to alert Dele about the danger to his life. I decided to stand alone from that moment. My brother's memory will be evergreen and forever in my mind. We were close. I knew his trouble started with the publisher of the Concord Press over the woman who became Dele's last wife. Dele loved; he did not betray anyone, but he was betrayed. I believe he was killed for love and that his spirit of innocence had fought and achieved vengeance for him in repose.
If Babangida said he did not kill Dele and the question about who killed him remained hanging, why did no one in the Nigerian media write about what they knew of how Dele was haunted out of his employment in the Concord Press by the publisher, who claimed the woman who fell in love with Dele was his girlfriend. As at the time my brother was killed, Babangida did not appear to me as Dele's enemy, Abiola was.
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