The Thief and the Patriot

The story of how I became one of the biggest crooks in Nigerian history would be less complicated had I grown up poor and fallen into a life of crime to escape poverty; or had I been raised by people of questionable morals and ethics; or had I stolen, gambled, or trafficked illicit drugs to support my family or addictions. But none of these forces defined my life.

I was born in the mid-sixties, a child of privilege, the envy of my peers, the first fruit of my parents. I grew up in a comfortable home in a stable and loving family. My father earned a master’s degree in civil engineering on full scholarship, and my mother graduated with honours from a top teacher-training college. My father worked his way up to regional chief engineer for the Nigerian Public Works Department in charge of all federal road construction and maintenance across five states. From her beginnings as a primary school teacher, my mother rose to the position of vice principal. My parents made sure their children were well provided for, even during the civil war in the late sixties and austere eighties, when food and foreign goods were scarce.

As far as I can remember, we always lived in comfortable quarters in the affluent part of Gundanya’s government residential area (GRA), where senior government servants lived – one of the benefits of my father’s civil service. We always had a family car, when only the affluent could have afforded one. I saw the admiration of other children of my age as they looked into the back seat of my father’s air-conditioned Mercedes where my brother, sister, and I sat. For official duties and special events, the government provided my father with a car and driver.