By Cecilia Ibru
Yesterday, the author narrated how she fell ill in the midst of her travails and her efforts to save herself and her bank. Today, she shares her experiences at the Kirikiri Prison and her flight to her village for safety.
As I reflected on these achievements, my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a commotion. It was almost midnight, and a sense of urgency filled the air. The female commandant of the prison had arrived, and the warders snapped to attention, fearing her wrath.
She walked sternly towards our vehicle, her voice cutting through the night. “Sister, what are you doing here?” she demanded.
To my surprise, she turned out to be the sister of my cardiologist – the very doctor who had been treating me throughout my ordeal with the CBN Governor’s legal onslaught. The commandant immediately calmed down as her sister explained that my treatment was inhumane. As a patient on high doses of blood thinners, I had been denied rest since 9:00 a.m., and here I was, still being subjected to further interrogation at nearly midnight. Even though the judge had ordered that I be taken back to the hospital for continued treatment, the authorities were intent on keeping me in custody.
The commandant re-assured my doctor that she would expedite the paperwork for my release. After about fifteen minutes, she returned to inform us that the documents were ready but needed to be presented to her superior.
While waiting, the next-in-command to the female commandant approached me, insisting that I follow her into the prison reception to sign some papers. I refused, requesting instead that the documents be brought to me in the car. She saw this as a sign of distrust and insisted that I enter the prison. I stood my ground, saying I would wait until the commandant returned and that I would only sign in the presence of my cardiologist.
Fifteen minutes later, the commandant returned and spoke to my cardiologist in Igbo. My doctor then reassured me, urging me to accompany her into the prison briefly to sign the papers. Trusting her, I stepped inside.
The moment I did, a prison officer moved swiftly behind me, holding a pair of handcuffs. Panic gripped me. I stopped signing immediately, fearing that I was about to be forcefully thrown into the female wing of Kirikiri Prison.
My cardiologist quickly intervened, speaking again in Igbo to the commandant. She gestured for the officer to step back. Moments later, we left the prison premises and returned to the hospital. It was well past 1:30 a.m.
Shielding my family
During this period, I made a firm decision to keep my husband unaware of the events unfolding in Lagos. He was upset that I had left Maryland so abruptly without informing him, but I instructed my eldest daughter to ensure that no one told him what was happening. Each time I had the chance, I would call him to re-assure him that I was fine.
Meanwhile, the media was awash with propaganda from the CBN Governor, who had launched a well-funded campaign to justify his attack on banks. He controlled the press, silencing any dissenting voices. Many believed that his actions were driven by regional bias, as the flourishing banks in the South were being targeted while the struggling banks in the North were left untouched. He was even accused of nepotism, as he had not initiated any banking projects in the North despite his position.
At the time, Oceanic Bank was working with a northern client to develop the Kano Economic City. We had sponsored a team -including the project promoter, an architect, a lawyer, and our executive director – to Dubai to design the architectural plans. The project had gained the full backing of the Kano State Governor, who assured us that the President himself would lay the foundation stone.
However, just weeks before the CBN Governor’s crackdown on the banks, something strange happened. On the day of the scheduled foundation-laying ceremony, we waited endlessly for the President’s arrival. Hour after hour, we were told he was on his way – until dusk fell, and finally, an apology came. The President would not be attending, but he promised to reschedule. That rescheduling never happened.
When Oceanic Bank came under attack, the Kano businessman behind the project rushed to the CBN Governor for help. He promised to take over, and that was the last we ever heard of the Kano Economic City.
A return to the village
As the pressure mounted, many sympathisers urged the CBN Governor to reconsider, pleading with him to give us a chance to address any alleged shortcomings. But I was warned that he was determined to imprison me, with charges already prepared by his lawyers.
My grandfather always said: “If you are under attack, go home.” Taking his advice, I returned to my village.
Once I arrived, arrangements were made for my pastor and a doctor to see me. After prayers, the doctor sedated me so I could get some rest. Meanwhile, the CBN Governor intensified his campaign against me, placing my name on a nationwide “Wanted” list. Television stations repeatedly broadcast my supposed fugitive status, putting law enforcement on high alert to arrest me on sight.
But in the village, I felt safer than in Lagos. I was too exposed in the city, uncertain of who might be spying on me. The rumour was that Erastus Akingbola had been forewarned about the CBN Governor’s plans and had wisely fled abroad before the clampdown. Since he was absent, the full force of the CBN Governor’s wrath fell on me.
That peace, however, was short-lived. Within days, I received reports that search parties were combing Edo and Delta states for me. My pastor advised me to return to Lagos and face the situation. He believed I had nothing to fear – that God would defend and protect me.
The doctor, however, was more concerned about my health. My blood pressure was dangerously high, and he warned that any further stress could be life-threatening. I was advised to take time to recover before facing any further trauma.
Still, I knew I had to return to Lagos. But I refused to go by road – it would expose me to the risk of police arrest. One of our customers graciously provided a private aircraft, and by 8:00 a.m., I was back in Lagos.
When I arrived home, the house was eerily quiet. My security detail had been withdrawn by the new Managing Director of Oceanic Bank, Mr Aboh, a former Executive Director at First Bank. Rumours swirled that he was supposed to be the MD of First Bank before Sanusi took over. Sanusi’s appointment itself was said to have been politically engineered by the then Chairman of First Bank.
As I sat in my now-empty house, I realised that my battle had only just begun.
After my unexpected detention at EFCC, my lawyers arranged for a private security company to send operatives to my house. Previously, I had four security men stationed at my gate, but only two were sent this time, and I was required to cover their salaries. Additionally, one of my drivers was withdrawn.
One day, a customer visited me and, upon leaving, handed some money to the security personnel. They were visibly pleased, and when he inquired about their numbers, one of them replied that there were four in total – two for the day shift and two for the night shift. Concerned about the inadequacy of the security for such a large compound, he asked for the total wage bill for four security officers for both day and night shifts, including relief staff. When I told him it was about N1 million per month, he generously offered to cover the cost every month until I informed him otherwise. This unexpected act of kindness, coming from a Muslim customer, overwhelmed me.
The post The Night at Kirikiri Prison appeared first on Vanguard News.
