December 5^th, 2023 made it exactly 20 years that former Senate President, Dr Chuba Okadigbo, was buried in his hometown, Ogbunike in Oyi Local Government Area of Anambra State. For those who knew the cerebral politician, his death marked the end of an era in the politics of the nation particularly with regards to the doctrine of separation of powers and the independence of the three arms of government.

After two decades of the anniversary of his death, his wife, Senator Margery Okadigbo(Odibeze) in this interview went down memory lane on the life and times of late Oyi of Oyi.

The former Chairman of the Board and Management of the Nigerian National Petroleum Company Limited (NNPC) spoke to some journalists on her experience as Chuba Okadigbo’s widow among other issues.

December 5^th, 2023 makes exactly 20 years that your late husband and former Senate President, Dr Chuba Okadigbo, was buried in your hometown, Ogbunike in Oyi Local Government Area of Anambra State. He died on Thursday, September 22^nd, 2003. Recently, the 20 year milestone of his passage was well celebrated with a church service attended by the high and mighty in the land. How would you describe these past 20 year period without him. What were the successes the family has achieved, and what are the challenges so encountered. And if l may add, the regrets that you have?

Wow! Like you said, 20 years has been like 20 days, you can even say 20 minutes. But I think the only thing that brings to mind the fact that 20 years has gone, is my youngest son, (Chinedu), who we call ‘Chu’. He was just ten (10) years old when his father, Chuba, died. And today, I see a young man of 30 years old. At times when I see the young man, that’s when I ask myself, when did all this happen (Chuba Okadigbo’s death)? I also ask myself, what happened to my 10 year-old, who used to wrap himself around me? Now, he’s a big boy. So it’s been 20 years of so many things that one cannot lay hands on. Even when I go to the village (Ogbunike, in Oyi Local Government Area of Anambra State) and I go to Chuba’s grave, it’s as if he was just buried last week. (Okadigbo was buried on December 5, 2003). I still don’t see the 20 years, and I would say everything is all to the glory of God, because we’ve had our down moments in these past 20 years. In 20 years, I lost a son (Mr Obiajulu Okadigbo). In 20 years, we lost another son (Mr Pharoh Okadigbo). We’ve lost two sons in 20 years, and to the two sons we’ve lost, we’ve also gained grandchildren. But that is what life is all about. You lose some, you gain some, and that’s the cycle of life. We are not always going to be here from beginning to the end. Even the friends we meet along the road, we also lose them. But at the end of the day, what we have are the memories, and those memories are what we hold on to, and nobody can take those memories away. Not even death can take the memories away, because those memories are just etched in the heart, and that’s what you replay.

What have these memories reminded you in 20 years?

Well, it reminds me of what Chuba stood for all his life. You and I, before now, have had quite a long banter on Chuba Okadigbo, the man, his memory, and what he stood for. So, those are memories. You meet people and they have different versions of Chuba. Even with me, I learn every day about this man who I married. I don’t know him completely. And through other people, I know him, because people have different stories about the man, Chuba Okadigbo. People on the outside have had different relationships with him.

Yes, what actually was on your mind that day (September 25, 2003) when his death occurred, in terms of how you were going to cope with life without him, with the children, and how the future will fare for you and the family? What were the initial fears concerning him?

Well, first of all, with his passing, it was a shock! Chuba actually died on my laps. He put his head on my laps, and that’s where he took his last breath, and that’s in the car, going to the National Hospital in this Abuja. It was a period when the health workers were even on strike. And coming back from the National Hospital, when we put him in the morgue (mortuary), there were some drama, even on that day. When we got to the hospital, and the ambulance opened and the mortuary attendant on duty was told that the man he was going to be receiving that night was Dr. Chuba Okadigbo, the man quickly took off. He simply ran away! They (hospital officials) had to chase him because he said he couldn’t believe it. So that is how Chuba was seen by people, even by the common man. He was larger than life. I mean, the mortuary attendant telling you that it’s not possible that Senator Okadigbo is the one in the ambulance. But that’s what happened, that’s where we were. I, for one, I was in shock! And even at the time, you’ll be talking to me, I’ll be listening, and it gets to a point where half of what you’re saying just goes. Later on, the doctor said I had what they call ‘selective amnesia’.

So I went through all those shocking moments. My hair suddenly went grey. Every follicle of my body went grey, because it was such a shocking experience, and for many years, I couldn’t look down into my lap, because if I looked down, all I saw was his (Chuba’s) head. So I went through all of that, and it was quite traumatic. But I took a look at the young children, and I said to myself: you know, Margery, going forward, your life is now all about your children. You know, these are children who were very attached to their late father, and I just knew I had to step into the shoes of mother and father. That’s what most widows will tell you, and even a widower will tell you. You find yourself playing the role of both parents. And if you have a relationship with your spouse, l mean your partner, where you talk or discuss a lot, especially a lot of those dreams, those programmes that you have for yourselves as a family, you find yourself the last man standing.

So you are so driven, because you want to achieve. It’s like a baton, a relay race. This baton has been handed over to me. It’s now my duty to finish the race, and that’s how I felt, and that has been my driving force for all 20 years. I feel that there’s a baton that’s been handed over to me by my husband, and I must finish that race, and it just doesn’t end with the children. It really extends to grandkids.

Even when my daughter had her babies, I did the cutting of the umbilical cord. So it’s a drive, and you can’t imagine achieving those goals, doing those roles with somebody else, because it’s a programme, it’s like a roadmap that you both set, and you see yourself as that executioner of that roadmap. You must finish it. And until that day when you breathe your last, it’s like you’re in the race alone, so you must finish that race. That’s what 20 years has been.

Did you ever feel intimidated by the enormity of the challenges of raising the kids all by yourself?

In the beginning, like any young widow, you take a look and say to yourself, Oh my God, what happens? Where do I go from here? What do I do? But then there’s a typical American saying that says, don’t get mad, get even. So that drives me, and that’s what I believe has been my success story. What would Chuba want you to do? Those were the things I think about if he was here. What would it be? And the funny thing is that much as everybody saw him as that big, tough guy and all that, he was quite a baby at home. So a lot of times, if things happen, you’ll hear my husband say to me, hey!, how do we handle this? And I’ll be the one to say, wait, hold on. Let’s get to understand what this is all about before we know what to do. How do we handle this? You know, and then he will look at me. I know for a long time his nickname for me was ‘Oxygen’. Then, he would ask, so are you bringing the oxygen to us? And l will say to him, Yes, I’ll give you the Oxygen mask. Just put it on. Let’s go on. So that’s the relationship we had. And he’s a man who allowed me to grow. He encouraged me when I took my baby steps. He was always there. Take the next one. You can do it, he often tells me. You know, so it was just like having another parent or teacher at home. And I had to learn fast. That has always been. I just learned fast. That’s it.

Now, when he came back from the political party rally in Kano, and told you that the police smoked them with a tear gas canister, did you imagine, at that point, especially when he was having that complication, that he would pass away?

No, I didn’t. And the funny thing is that even those who were with him in Kano, he told them not to let me know. So, I didn’t even know he had had that gas spray on him while in Kano, l mean he and former President Muhammadu Buhari, until they came back that day. I was of the impression that he was going to be in Kano for two days, when he came back earlier than planned. All I did get was a phone call to send the cars to the airport to pick him up. So he was coming back earlier than I thought. And when I came back, I asked after him. I came into the house, he was already in his bedroom, he was laying down. I came in, saw him, and he was looking tired. I assume it was just his usual tiredness. And I noticed he had his inhaler next to him.

Was the Oyi’ (Chuba Okadigbo) asthmatic?

Yes, he was. So, l asked him, are you having an asthmatic attack? He said, yeah, something like that. He never told me he had had that encounter in Kano. So it wasn’t until later in the evening that some other people came in. And I think the person who actually gave me an idea of what happened was Senator Sylvanus Ngele. So he was the one who came that evening to know how he was doing and if he was fair. So I was like, what really happened? And without knowing, I got to know that that was really what happened in Kano, that the police sprayed him with teargas canister. So by the next day, his doctor came in to see him and administered medications on him. But later in the evening of that same Thursday, that’s about eight o’clock in the evening, I noticed that he was very restless. You know, taking a turn for the worst. And I quickly put him in the car. Before we got to the National Hospital Abuja, just at the Mabushi roundabout, he gave up.

So, who carries the can? Who’s to be blamed?

Well, these are all the ills of our society, because if we had good emergency facilities, paramedics and things like that, all we needed to do was call an emergency number and they will come to the house to attend to him. At least that’s the first aid treatment before we get to the hospital. Well, that’s not the case here in Nigeria. And all Chuba needed at that point was just oxygen, to at least support him until we get to the airport. Even though, when God says it’s time, it’s time. But heaven helps those who help themselves, too. So that was basically it. For me, being in the car with him, he walked himself into the car and then took a last breath, put his head on my lap and that was it. It was a shock. I’d never seen that. Even at that point, I didn’t even understand that he was gone. It wasn’t until we got to the National Hospital and they took him in, the two doctors who attended to him, Dr. Wada and Dr. Ante, came in and started all their, you know, life is this and that. That was when it dawned on me that indeed something had happened. But even at that, I thought maybe he just had an asthmatic attack, which in the past, he would overcome. Until I came in and saw the whole six foot three of him stretched out. That’s when I knew that clearly life was on a different premise. And it’s been like that. Thereafter, the news of his death was made clear to everybody. (Daily Sun)

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