The late Chief Emeka Odumegwu-Ojukwu, in his book, Because I am Involved, gave a moving account of his years in exile. Excerpts:

The day had nothing special. The sun rose from the east and was wending its way westwards and surely into sunset. I had got up from bed in the usual hour of half past seven, taken my bath and completed my toilet by eight o’ clock. This morning ritual had not changed for many years: the fact of exile had not changed my daily routine—I go to bed very late and wake up late. For years, I had been content with five to six hours sleep every day. During the war, I made do with three hours sleep every night and on exceptionally calm nights, I managed a four-hour spell. As a habit, I do not take breakfast: a cup of coffee, a glass of freshly squeezed orange-juice. I drove down-town from Bingerville, where I had lived for seven years since I moved down from Yamoussoukro. I drove down-town to Cocody where I had my office. The short trip, the lagoon breeze, the lush green of the various plantations right and left, the sweet smell of ripening pineapple, the intoxicating odour of palmwine from the fallen palm tree trees along the way- the Ivorians only tapped wine from fallen palm trees- all these had the effect of completing my waking-up ritual. The day had begun as any other, the office had been the same: the sullen ‘good morning’ from the watchman, the reluctant grunts of my staff that passed for a good morning, the exhilarating and smile-full ‘good morning’ of my secretary. She was Beninoise. I thought for the umpteenth time that she deserved an increase in salary if not for her immaculate and devoted presentation of her work and herself, then for her charm.

Work consisted of checking the previous day’s production figures, then the accounts, the various ledgers: work in hand and work in prospect. For years since I decided to engage myself in some productive enterprise rather than sit, vegetate and wallow in the self-pity, which was the normal fare of an exile, I dug up, washed and calibrated gravel, I dug laterite, I exploded granite rock, I calibrated granite gravel; I dug up and dredged up sand and delivered all to construction sites all around Abidjan. Sometimes, I would drive out to one or two sites. In the office, I met and discussed extensively with the international exile community, with Ghanaians, with the Voltaic, the Togolese, the Beninois, with exiles from Niger. I met with curious journalists, some diplomats and members of the various international organisations. In Abidjan, we maintained most scrupulously the fiction of my enmity with Nigeria – the Nigerian embassy avoided me like the plague. If by chance we met at any social occasions, we pretended total ignorance of each other’s presence. Sometimes, we might speak to each other through a third party as interlocutor.

This, however, did not cut off my contact with Nigeria. I had, over the years, established a courier system between Abidjan and Lagos. I had also established a few telephone links with any part of Nigeria that had international telephone links. This is through contacts in the United States who cross-connected my calls. I h ad, in my service, offices in Lagos and Enugu. There was a constant relay of visitors from home: family, friends and colleagues. I was never short of news from home. I had become aware, since late 1980, that efforts had begun to crystallise and that sooner or later, I and my return to Nigeria would become a political issue. I had heard of Dr. Chuba Okadigbo but had never had the opportunity of meeting him. I was aware that he had taken it upon himself to spearhead the issues of my return home. I had followed from a distance his initially single-handed efforts to sow the seeds of discussion. I had become aware of his courageous and single-minded mobilisation of opinion both within his political party and without – amongst the Igbos and their friends. I was aware, for sometime, that for sometime this brilliant political tactician had raised the issue of my continued exile from the status of the unmentionable to a subject of open national debate. So, it was that on this nondescript day, lacking in any distinction whatsoever, I got home from work to be informed that a certain Dr. Okadigbo had arrived from Lagos, was at the Hotel Ivoire and was anxious to meet with me.

I turned right back and drove past my office once more, into the Hotel Ivoire. At the reception, I found a gentleman, I later recognised as Dr. George Obiozor. He was manoeuvering the French language with each of his five senses, his four limbs and anything that could move on his body. He recognised me with relief, abandoned his conversation with the reception and took me to see Dr. Okadigbo. The first meeting was polite and very restrained and not until some two hours later in my sitting-room in Bingerville did the atmosphere relax. The drive home had been full of platitudes and probing questions. He divulged his mission over lunch and by the time coffee was served, Chuba and I had become as childhood friends-we spoke with joy without inhibitions. On that unauspicious, yet memorable day, I learnt for the first time that the President of my country had decided to put an end to the agony of my exile. When Chuba left many hours later-for we talked deep into the night – I decided to become once again a practising Christian.

So it came that after that first visit, the speck in the desert that was so far away and that seemed so unattainable now began to move again – towards me.

After many more visits to me from Lagos on the same subject of my homecoming, the speck moved faster-towards me. First, it became the size of a moth, a ping-pong ball, a cricketball, and just as I was going to reach out, feel and finally cuddle it, it disappeared.

After thorough negotiations, the Federal Government agreed to announce that I could come home by December, 1981. That week, between Christians and New Year, 1982, was the longest week in my life. Then it happened. There was a coup in Ghana on the 31st of December. Now, don’t say: but what has that got to do with it? Plenty. Ghana and Nigeria have their history intertwined. They did two things one after their history: Independence and coups. Check the records since 1960. The first coup in Ghana took place in December, 1965, in Nigeria it was January, 1966 (cross-check).

Ever since, it had seemed a tacit understanding between the two countries to outdo one another. So, this coup happened and naturally, the Shagari administration, beleaguered by opponents within and a barely containable economic crisis, decided not to rock the political boat in whaever form. A wise thing to do, but where does that leave me? In the cold embrace of a lonely exile: I was happy that my young friend Jerry Rawlings had made it. I sent him a congratulatory message. Then I began to review my own situation – what had I done wrong? I reviewed the negotiations which ended in such an anticlimax.

First, it was the visits to Abidjan by emissaries of the Shagari government. To me, the talks were at first mere ideas. Then, the ideas concretised into viable projects, and much later still, the project hardened into full-scale negotiations. I met and discussed with Alhaji Shinkafi, the boss of the Nigerian Security Organisation (NSO) in London. The final details were presented to President Houphouet-Boigny who took particular interest in the proceedings.

The Nigerian government, by this time, was warming up to the political advantage which my freedom could shower on it. The politicians, never a group to miss an opportunity to score political points leaked it to the press that I was to return to Nigeria a free citizen with no impediments whatsoever, and all my family assets held by the government since that concerned my homecoming was treated with utmost deliberation. At the final meeting, which was at the instance of President Houphouet-Boigny, the then Minister of Internal Affairs, Alhaji Ali Baba, was also present. The Nigerian government did consider announcing the freedom of Gowon and myself, to come back home, in one fell swoop! Government later changed its mind thinking it would be imprudent to make the two announcements at the same time for security reasons.

At this point, I was actually asked whether or not I had any objectives. How could I raise objections? Gowon and I were not twins, in fact nor in deed. An eventual return home was infinitely better than no return at all. I, of course, answered that I had no objections. All indications had then shifted to an end of 1981 announcement for me. New year came and went in Nigeria and the expected announcement did not take place. So I waited. Finally, in May 1982, it happened. It was announced that I was free to return home.

Was my ‘pardon’ conditional? Were there any conditions at all? No, nothing could be further from the truth; it is easy to say I would not have accepted such a condition, but this point was never in issue. The real reason for my ‘pardon’, as I see it, was not so much partisan and not so much a party affair. It was Shagari’s wish to be remembered as an active participant in the national reconciliation process. He wanted to go down in history as the President who closed the chapter on a painful national episode.

By Shagari’s announcement, I was no more an exile. By that announcement, I became, in fact, a tourist in Cote D’Ivoire where I had spent thirteen most-hospitable years of my life. I prepared slowly for my home return. The preparations developed their own momentum and very soon, it became more a period of frienzied activity both physical and mental. http://www.thenationonlineng.net/2011/index.php/news/27948-my-life-in-exile-by-ojukwu.html

Yes. This short excerpt from his mentioned book confirms one of the eulogies being poured on him being a man of letters. He writes prolificly. In fact he is a prolific flowing writer. Yes he commands English. I love it. Whatever a person speaks or writes is function of the brain. He has brain.

How did he get his french connection i wonder.

Was it via cameroon?

france supported Biafra

dim- ojukwu's( ikemba of nnewi) command of english is so good( sexy is more like it), an orator is what he is. He reminds me of the past foreign affairs minister( ajomujobia). Wow!!! Why won't bianca fall. May his soul rest in peace ( i wuld surely love 2 read his book).

Yes, he seems more like a writer.

And didnt he study history btw.

In any case, he seems to have enjoyed his time in ivory coast. Given the fact that he spent most of his life outside the east for the most part, i'm sure he probably found it a bit hard adapting when he was stationed permanently there by the war.

Must have been a huge relief for him when it finally ended.

Adeiu ikemba