MY DSS INFESTED TORTUOUS MISSIONARY JOURNEY: FROM VANGUARD,LAGOS TO ORE BACK TO LAGOS AND TO ANAMBRA

Nwankwo T. Nwaezeigwe, PhD, DD
Odogwu of Ibusa 
President, International Coalition against Christian Genocide in Nigeria (ICAC-GEN)
Email: nwaezeigwet.genocideafrica@gmail.com visit us at https://icac-gen.org

Getting out of the main Oshodi-Apapa Expressway, I boarded a danfo commuter bus that stopped me at Cele Bus-Stop. From there I crossed the Odo Eran Meat Market and subsequently boarded another danfo bus to Lawanson Bus-Stop. From Lawanson bust-stop I trekked down the adjoining Olatilewa Street on which resided a kinsman and close friend Mr. Ifeanyi Okozili. Mr. Ifeanyi Okozili eventually arranged for me to pass the night with another kinsman residing close to him. 
Surprisingly, Mr. Okozili did not believe the accounts of my experience as I narrated them to him. He chose instead to dismiss them as one of such Nigerian (film) Nollywood-style stories constructed to impress listeners. I was not in the sound mind to argue the veracity of my story with him. So I left him with his judgment and went to sleep.
The following morning being Sunday, I departed from them as they were preparing for Church, having thanked both men for their hospitality.  I subsequently bolted away, this time to the residence of another cousin—Mr. Dinma Monyei at Alaka Low-Cost Housing Estate, Surulere. Although Dinma had lately emigrated to the United States of America with his family but, he had handed over the accommodation to his nephew, another relative, although much younger in age to me. However, on the way I decided to branch off into Saint Anthony of Padua Catholic Church, Gbaja, Surulere which was on my way, to receive some divine anointing and direction. 
Although I am from a predominantly Roman Catholic kindred amounting to about ninety percent of the population, I am not a Roman Catholic, having revolted against the faith to become an Anglican during my High School days at Anglican Boys Grammar School, Akwukwu-Igbo, in obedience to the overwhelming approval of my maternal uncle Mr. Vincent Onyeachonam now late, who was a devout Anglican and once worked as the Dean of the Anglican Church in Kano. Thus I am not strange to Catholic Church.
 In addition, I periodically attended Mass in my hometown on invitation as a traditional chief to one occasion or the other. Moreover, whenever I visited Lagos from my base, I often dropped off my cousin and his family with my car to the Church. So on that very day, as I approached the Church, I was led by the Holy Spirit to join the early morning Mass. Finishing the first Mass, I was led by the circumstances of my situation to stay back for the second Mass. At the end of the second Mass, I bought a Bible at the Church premises which became my momentary companion for the next twenty-four hours before disposing of it.
Thus with the Holy Bible tucked firmly in my right hand, I became further disguised as a normal human being returning from Church after a normal Sunday Service. But inside me I knew I was no longer normal as I ought to be defined. I was degenerating psychologically even though the physical strength remained the same and the will to continue the struggle remained undauntedly unperturbed.
On getting to my destination, instead of meeting my nephew, I was confronted by three young men who happened to be his friends. I was informed that he was at that moment staying at Lekki suburb of Lagos. Even though they exhumed an air of hospitality that suggested I should stay with them, I was not still comfortable. I thus decided to venture into the neighboring apartment of a friend from Middle Belt, precisely from Kaduna State who recently retired from the Nigerian Institute of Sports, Dr. Alex Mana. 
When I climbed upstairs to his apartment I was informed by a young man that he had travelled to Kaduna. I then introduced myself to the young man and requested to have a little rest. The young man probably called out to him to confirm before excusing himself out of the apartment to collect something downstairs leaving me alone. In my anxiety I had even suggested to the young man to lock me up in the apartment and go with the key to which he responded that it was not wise to do so.  
After some thirty minutes without the young man returning, I became desperate about my security and decided to look out through the window. When I looked out I saw a Toyota Camry car just reversing on the road adjoining the apartment. I did not need to think twice as everybody including myself is a potential suspect. I immediately left the apartment closing the door without lock and off I went into the streets once again. 
I decided thereafter to leave Lagos and move back to the East in an apparent bid to seek alternative exit from Nigeria through either Warri Port or the Republic of Cameroon. In doing so I decided to cut off all the possible routes that seemed vulnerable.  From Alaka Bus-Stop Surulere I took a bus to CMS Bus-Stop Lagos Island, from where I boarded another to Aja. From Aja I took another one to Epe, from where I linked up the Lagos-Benin Expressway off Ijebu-Ode. 
From that point, because it was getting dark, I decided to take a local cab to the Ondo State boundary town of Ipayi separating Ondo State from Ogun State, hoping to lodge in a local hotel there for the night. But on getting there, I discovered that the available room was not well protected and it appeared to me that my picture had been distributed to these hotels on the Highway, because of the suspicious process of identification that followed my request for accommodation. 
Under such state of suspicion I was compelled to leave the hotel and boarded another local cab to the next town on the Highway—Agunlejika where I again sought refuge in a make-shift Guest House. Again, being suspicious of the hemp-smoking infested environment, I again bolted away back to Ipayi, from where I was aided by the Army security check-point to board a haulage lorry to Ore. 
When I disembarked at Ore I thought that with the hustling and bustling scene of the night that no one would notice my fugitive identity. But it was not long after I stepped down from the heavy-duty vehicle, I was approached by a supposedly motor park official demanding my destination. I told him that I was not going to anywhere, but he insisted and followed me until I sought refuge in a local restaurant where I ordered food just to force him into retreat. In consequence of that he seemed to have momentarily withdrawn his pursuit.
 After eating I decided to stay with the proprietor of the restaurant and her maids until they were ready to go to bed at about 1am. Thereafter I stepped out, only to surprisingly notice the same young man hanging around with another young man who he sent to demand money from me to enable him pray for me. I responded that he needed not to pray for me but that I was going to give him something to buy food. I then handed him the sum of five hundred naira, and he began to pray for me stating that I am a good man and nothing would happen to me. Seeing the hope of my proceeding to the East evidently dimmed by the emerging circumstances, I decided to make a recoil journey back to Lagos, more especially as the money with me was fast depleting without the hope of replenishment.
As I emerged on the Expressway I noticed a haulage lorry loading some women with their wares. I then approached the driver who informed me that the back of the lorry would cost me the sum of five hundred naira while the passenger seat in front will cost me the sum of one thousand naira. I quickly gave him the sum of one thousand naira indicating my choice of the front seat, which he received and signaled me to move round and mount the lorry.
 Few minutes later I was on my way back to Lagos. We entered Lagos at about 5 am and headed towards the lorry terminus at Iddo Motor Park. I decided to disembark at Oyingbo Bus-Stop, just few distance from Iddo, handing over my extra-shirt and Bible to the Driver’s assistant as gifts. From Oyingbo I trekked to Costain Bus-Stop using familiar short-cut routes to avoid any form of risk. 

From Comrade Adewale Adeoye’s Office to Refuge at My Cousin’s Church in Ayilara-Surulere and to Face-to-Face with the DSS at Dr. Faseun’s Century Hotel, Okota-Lagos

From Costain I boarded an Ikeja-bound Danfo Commuter bus stopping at Maryland, where I attempted to see an undergraduate school-mate at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka and now a colleague in the Civil Rights Movement—Comrade Adewale Adeoye to ask if he could help me secure a safe haven with Aare Ona Kakanfo Gani Adams—the National Coordinator of Oodua People’s Congress (OPC). On getting to his office Comrade Adeoye was however not around, having left early in the morning from his home for a live-TV program. I established contact with him through his assistant in the Office and he promised he would be coming back as soon as he finished his program. I waited until he informed me that he was on his way back and that it would take about thirty minutes to get to his office. 
I waited for the thirty minutes as he said, but he did not return. I waited for another thirty minutes yet no news about his coming back. I later discovered that he could no longer pick calls from his office assistant. It was then I began to suspect that his phone call might have been intercepted by the DSS, as it appeared to me that all the over one thousand phone contacts in my phone had been put under security surveillance by the DSS. My fear was further aggravated by the sound of Police siren blaring towards our direction. 
Visibly appearing undisturbed by my state of despondency, I calmly told his assistant who had earlier helped me to buy a plate of rice and cold sachet (pure) water to cool off momentarily, that I would be leaving for somewhere and that he should inform his boss that I would be back as soon as I finished with the appointment. As soon as I stepped out of the compound into the main street, I saw a Police patrol van parked some distance away from the office. I decided to courageously move against its direction but took a detour into the next street by my right hand, about three poles away from the position of the Patrol van. 
Taking precautionary short-cuts, I found myself at the main Maryland Bus-Stop. From there I boarded another Danfo Commuter bus to Ojuelegba Bus-Stop. From Ojuelegba Bus-Stop I decided to walk down the road to Lawanson to avoid the risk of being tracked down at the Lawanson Bus-Stop using alternative side-streets to connect and disconnect the main Street. I eventually returned to Mr. Ifeanyi Okozili’s apartment, and because it was on Monday neither Mr. Okozili nor his wife was around, except their eldest son who had just completed his High School and was awaiting admission into the University. Being a familiar figure with the family it was not difficult staying with the boy until both husband and wife arrived.
Mr. Okozili was surprised to see me in a more haggard form than he left me previously. I simply informed him that it was the same matter I narrated to him earlier that I was still in. We then stayed out talking over issues even though absent-minded given my circumstances, but I had to follow along. Just as we were talking, two of his neighbors joined us. Not long after, one of them brought his android phone beside me and began to snap both of us in a friendly but sinister manner as I soon come to realize.
I then got up and told Okozili that I would like him to help me seek alternative place to pass the night outside his apartment since it was easily open to intruders. Moreover, the man with whom I passed the night earlier had his mother-in-law and so it was no longer possible for me to pass the night there. He tried to convince me to sleep in his apartment assuring me that nothing would happen to me. But mere assurance from a human being would not convince me to risk my safety under a doubtful security situation. I immediately told him I was leaving and before he could utter another word I was off on my heels. 
I decided to locate my cousin—Oyibo, married to a man from Imo State living within the same Lawanson vicinity. They had moved from their previous accommodation to another. So it took me some difficulties to locate their new apartment. When they saw me in a state of utter despair both she and her husband were in near state of tears. I wanted her husband to escort me to the residence of another cousin— Pastor Paul Nwandu, who is the Head Pastor of their Church; but the serious health challenges of her husband, could not permit that. I then requested that I should be given the address of his apartment which is at Gowon Estate. 
As the address was being written I noticed a middle-aged man sneaked by the side of the dwarf fence adjoining the street and was suspiciously listening to our conversation all the while. When he noticed that I had noticed his presence he quickly fled the scene. It was then I suspected that the information about my fugitive status as a wanted man might have spread beyond what I expected. They had informed me that they were having an All-Night Prayer session that day at their Church in Ayilara Street of Surulere, and so there shouldn’t have been any point staying behind in the house even if it was desirable. 
I handed over my shirt and pair of trousers with a pair of shoes contained in an impoverished polythene bag and informed them that I was leaving for Pastor Paul’s apartment in Gowon Estate. I then trekked down to Lawanson Bus-Stop to pick a bus to Odo Eran from where I would connect Cele Bus-Stop and then take a bus to Gowon Estate. Getting at the Bus-Stop it was difficult to get a bus to my destination, being that it was already getting late in the night. After some fruitless patience I decided to join them at the Church.
Getting to the Church which was at Ayilara Street within Ojuelegba suburb, I joined them in the Service. But after sometime I became too weak and sleepy to continue with them. So I called my cousin and ask her to provide me a space within the Church to sleep for a while. I was taken to a spare room behind the main Church Hall where I fell asleep. By the time I woke up it was some few minutes before 4 am and both my cousin and her husband had departed. I was left with few people who could not risk going home at that ominous time of the night. By exactly 4:20 am I left them to trek to Century Hotel at Okota. 
I trekked to Idi Araba using familiar network of streets and then landed at Sadiku-Ilasa Bus-stop along Oshodi-Apapa Expressway. Instead taking a bus to the popular Cele Bus-stop, I decided to trek through the adjoining Isolo suburbs to locate Dr. Frederick Faseun at his Century Hotel, Okota for possible assistance. Getting to Okota/Ago Palace Way junction I decided to board a bus. Just as I board the bus, a middle-age woman whom I saw standing seemingly aimlessly at the bus-stop jumped inside the bus and immediately began to make calls. Spontaneously I disembarked from the bus and began to trek down the street. Trekking further away, I boarded tricycle which to me to my destination which incidentally had a Police Station directly opposite.
 Dr. Faseun who is now late was the founder and leader of the dreaded Yoruba ethnic militia—Oodua People’s Congress (OPC). We had worked together as allies in constructing a functional inter-ethnic cooperation between my Igbo ethnic group and his Yoruba ethnic group in the face of the perennial danger of growing Muslim Fulani subversion of Nigerian unity. So after fleeing from my cousin’s Church I decided to run to him for refuge. 
When I got to the Hotel where he also used as his office, it was too early then, but because of my familiarity with his security details, I was allowed inside the compound without questions. I stayed there protected until he arrived at about 8am and on seeing me, left every other person waiting for him to demand the reason of my presence in such a distress appearance. After narrating my ordeal, he asked what I wanted him to do for me under that circumstance. I responded that he should help me to cross the Nigerian border into the Republic of Benin. He agreed to do that but insisted that I should first take my bath and eat before we proceed further on that. 
However, just as we were concluding our discussion, two men marched into the Hotel Open Bar where we were sitting and sat at an adjacent bar table. Being that he had had many ugly contacts with the DSS as well, he knew them and signaled to me that we should change topic. So we began talking about his ill-health which had made it impossible for him to climb upstairs to his office. Indeed he told me that he was nearly dead some two weeks before then if not for God’s Grace. Unfortunately Dr. Faseun later passed on about a year.
 Few minutes later, another set of three men and a woman came inside the Bar and sat at another table beside us. It was then that he beckoned on his Secretary and directed her to take me upstairs to his office. I was then taken to his office by his Secretary where I stayed for about ten minutes before the Secretary came to tell me that Dr. Fasehun directed her to take me out of the Hotel premises through an alternative door because he would not be able to contend with the DSS over my matter.
 I was subsequently smuggled through a private staircase and a private side door into Frederick Faseun Street, where I saw packed at a short distance, a black tinted-glass minibus, the type common with the officials of the DSS. Being familiar with the area, I tactfully trekked down the street and took a detour to my left into the next available street, and from connected the next two streets from Century Hotel into the main Ago Palace Way. 
Bursting into Ago Palace Way I boarded a bus to Mile 2 Bus Stop. From Mile 2, I boarded another bus to Apapa Warf. Getting to Apapa Warf, instead of boarding another bus to Apapa, I decided to trek through the haulage truck park and eventually landed at Airway Bus-stop, Apapa. From there I took a direct bus to Victoria Island, where I met Rear Admiral Godwin Ndubuisi Kanu for the second time. 

Second Fugitive Journey to Admiral Ndubuisi Kanu and Subsequent Return to Anambra State

Admiral Kanu on seeing me was highly disappointed, but nevertheless, in line with his benevolent carriage, he attempted once again to mobilize some Igbo leaders in Lagos State, including my kinsman, Prof. Pat Utomi, but to no avail. Each man he contacted gave one excuse or the other. He accommodated me in his residence for the night, hoping to find a solution to my predicament the following day. 
The following day he invited the civil rights activist Dr. Fred Agbeyegbe and the Administrative Secretary of Ndigbo Lagos, Kalu Onuma, both of whom were his tenants within the same office complex, but they failed to show up throughout the day. Later in the day I was invited to his office where he demanded to know my next line of action. Confused and psychologically impaired, I just moped at him without answer. Seemingly confused as well as visibly irritated by my muteness, he ordered me back to the conference room where I was staying.
Thereafter I was served food and consequently fell asleep. Deep into my sleep I dreamt where I was sitting in an ash-colored Mercedes Benz V-boot car, the kind I once owned but which I had sold off. The car was descending down-hill without a driver while I was sitting on the passenger’s seat at the front. I saw myself descending into a catastrophic end without the ability to stop the car. Out of spontaneous instinct I summoned the courage and apply my foot on the break and immediately the car stopped abruptly. Suddenly, I discovered a group of six girls dressed in school uniforms sitting at the rear seat of the car. Immediately I was awoken by Rear Admiral Kanu’s security detail who informed me that the Admiral wanted to see me. That was on a Thursday.
I looked at the wall clock it was ticking 10 pm. When I arrived at his office, he was visibly irritated by the non-response of the people he had called to deliberate on my situation. He told me he was transferring me to Dr. Fred Agbeyegbe and that the next day being Friday he would not be around. When I tried to plead with him he retorted with a distinctive military command voice that quickly put me off from further speech. 
He thereafter ordered me to follow him. I followed him until we descended down-stairs and into Dr. Agbeyegbe’s office where he said: “Fred! I have brought this man to you to decide what next to do with him. I am leaving!” I know he is your brother too. As he was about to step out of the office, he dropped the sum of five thousand naira for me, saying: “take this”, as he marched out in a military fashion. I tried to follow him but he banged the little gate leading to his residence behind me. I returned to Dr. Agbeyegbe’s office to face the next dose of abandonment. But most significant is the fact that the five thousand naira eventually turned out to be the lifeline that saw to my miraculous exit from Lagos.
 As pointed out earlier, Dr. Fred Agbeyegbe incidentally, although of Itsekiri ethnic group, hails from the same Delta State with me. That was indeed the reason why Admiral Kanu decided to dump me in his office; for even though we are of different ethnic stocks, most people of Delta State origin still regard themselves sentimentally as kinsmen. However, for Dr. Agbeyegbe, that instinctive relationship did not matter to him that night, for instead of delving into my predicament and how to find a solution, he went ahead, in what appeared as involuntary transfer of aggression to narrate how he was instrumental to the creation of Delta State, yet when the Hall of Honor for those who made the creation of the State possible was created, his name was not mentioned. 
He went further to express his misgivings over the choice of the Igbo-speaking town of Asaba as Delta State Capital. I was all the while amused at his solitary idiosyncrasy because the same Delta State had since its creation produced two of his Itsekiri kinsmem as Executive Governors for sixteen years— Eight years respectively by James Onanefe Ibori whose mother was Itsekiri, and Dr. Emmanuel Uduaghan whose father was Itsekiri; yet none of these two noble leaders of Delta State had deemed it necessary to include his name in the said Hall of Fame. 
Having exhausted his hate-filled vituperations against my ethnic group on me by way of involuntary transfer of aggression without regard to the circumstances that brought me to his office at that moment, at about 11 pm, he locked his office and pleaded with the security man outside to allow me sleep with him till the following morning when I could find my way. Indeed, it was like I was in a trance when Fred Agbeyegbe ushered me out of his office and locked the door. At that moment, as I stepped out of his office I saw myself again at the mercy of my adversaries. 
But then I was quick to recall the dream I had a short while ago in Admiral Ndubuisi Kanu’s office, which quickly gave me hope. I then knew that after all, in the midst of all these circumstances, I was not alone as ordinary humans might think but surrounded by the host of Angels who are ever present to implore me to take any initiative that will account for my survival myself in the same manner I applied the break on the descending car in my dream. 
The security man had benevolently handed me an impoverished mat made from disused carton sheets and spread it at the base of the staircase for me to have a sound sleep. But throughout the night I was standing without a single sleep in my eyes, wandering what the next day would bring forth for me. The security man knew that I was not sleeping the whole night and that I was all the while standing. He attempted to find out the reason while imploring me to have some sleep, but it was impossible to tell him because he would not understand. 
He then left me to my predicament. I tried to enquire from the security man when commercial vehicles normally commence their operations around the area and he said around 4 am. At about 2 am I noticed a special nocturnal visitor to Admiral Kanu’s residence which was directly behind his tall office building. The visitor came with one blaring siren that seems to have acted as the signal of his presence. Within thirty minutes the visitor was on his way back. What came to my mind was that a senior Government security official might have visited to advise him against giving me any further refuge. 
At about 3:30 am a Police patrol van drove past the building in what looked like a surveillance mission. I was not ready to risk the daybreak there and must as a matter of personal security take the initiative myself as advised by my dream and depart at the most unsuspecting hour. I chose 4 am. So from that moment, my intermittent conversion with the security man was, what is the time now, and he would calmly tell me looking at the wall clock in his security post.
At exactly 4 am as indicated by the wall clock at the security post, I left the compound trekking along the well-lighted but lonely Kofo Abayomi Street towards Nigerian Institute of International Affairs (NIIA) and 81 Division Nigerian Army Headquarters, praying that I would not confront any security team especially the one particularly sent after me. Just before the gate of Nigerian Institute of International Affairs (NIIA), a young Hausa tricycle-rider arrived and picked me up to the popular Obalende Bus-Stop. 
From Obalende I picked another bus to ketu, then to Mile 12. From Mile 12 I connected Ikorodu and then to Shagamu, all in my bid to avoid the prying eyes of the DSS. It was surprising to note that by the time I got to Shagamu, the Lagos-Benin route has been infested by the operatives of DSS searching for me. I had to disembark from the first Onitsha-bound bus I took from Shagamu immediately after Ijebu Ode Toll-Gate because of the presence of a Fulani DSS official who was already communicating with a stand-by Police team in front. 
I became curious of his presence when he would momentarily look at my face and then return back to his android phone, then would communicate in Fulani language. He even went further to direct towards me the large occult ring in his finger with some sort of incantations in an apparent attempt to spiritually immobilize me. I looked at his hand and discovered that he was carrying a worn-out Baco utility bag with some hard substances that look like mechanic tools but which could be weapons. Apprehensive of the situation and not willing to take any chance, I waited for the next available opportunity to disembark. That opportunity came when we got to the Toll-Gate and the driver wanted to pick a passenger.
 I quickly disembarked from the vehicle and moved straight to the driver and spoke to him in Igbo language that I was no longer willing to continue with the journey because of the urgent call I received from Lagos. He protested that he would not refund the fare to me. I pleaded that he should avail me with any amount from the fare, to which he agreed and gave me the sum of one thousand naira out of the two thousand I paid. Immediately he gave me the money he zoomed off separating me perpetually from my adversary.
 I was a bit confused and desperate to get a vehicle that I ran into a parked trailer with the driver having a private moment with a young lady. I quickly ran into one of the adjoining narrow roads after the Toll Gate without knowing where I was going. I rushed back to the Expressway again moping without knowing what next to do. Thereafter I retreated to my right senses and began to look out for normal commuter buses. 
Not long after, God provided me with an Enugu-bound bus that did not stop at Ore, a point where I might have been fished out. Not only that the driver gave me a condition which was in consonant with my desire that he would not be stopping at Onitsha. Although in the same bus I came to notice the presence a man who looked much like a DSS official, by the act of divine intervention he did not act against me.
My suspicion became apparent when after he opted to disembark at Summit Junction, Asaba, he changed his mind to disembark at Ibusa junction—my hometown direct link road, ostensibly expecting me to step down there. Unfortunately after disembarking, I continued with the bus across the River Niger into Anambra State. I later disembarked at Abba Junction in Anambra State on Onitsha-Awka-Enugu Expressway, from where I linked up with a friend—Dr. Uchenna Nweke aka Beke na Abba who also goes by the nickname Ozowalu in his Abba hometown. 
Ozowalu turned out to be the awaiting DSS hatchet man from whose house I not only escaped death by the whiskers but eventually got a broken hip deformity that formed my fugitive identity for the next more than six years; precisely from that January 2018 to March 27, 2024 when I was wheeled into the operating theater for a hip autoplat surgery transplant at the prestigious Philippines General Hospital, Manila, Republic of the Philippines.