Editorials Opinion and Analysis
Mud, gin and machineguns
By Nick Tattersall
October 2009
"Push the boat, push the boat" barked Nigerian militant leader Ateke Tom, a glass of locally made gin in his hand, as his "boys" sank knee-deep in mud.
After years as a major gang leader in the Niger Delta, Tom had accepted a presidential offer of amnesty and was due at a disarmament ceremony in the oil hub of Port Harcourt.
But his camp lies so deep in the swamps that at low tide the narrow creeks become almost impassable and the half dozen open boats into which his fighters had piled machines guns, rocket launchers and barrels of ammunition had run aground.
"Mind the crabs," called out one, manning a general purpose machine gun perched on the bow of one of the launches, a chain of bullets around his neck and a bottle of whisky in his hand.
Bursts of automatic gunfire echoed around the mangroves as another fighter -- high on Ogogoro, locally brewed gin -- fired into the air before Tom ordered no more shooting.
Dressed in red berets, black sunglasses and T-shirts emblazoned with "Ateke Tom aka Godfather", these muscular young fighters -- known locally as his boys -- form the core of a militant faction which has regularly proved it has the power to push global energy prices higher.
Its attacks on pipelines and flow stations, kidnapping of oil workers and clashes with the military have helped prevent Nigeria from pumping above two thirds of its oil capacity in recent years, costing it $1 billion a month in lost revenue.
President Umaru Yar'Adua's offer of amnesty to all gunmen who lay down weapons by Sunday is the most serious effort yet to end the unrest and government officials say thousands of fighters have accepted the deal.
But sceptics fear they will return to the creeks and take up arms again if they cannot quickly be retrained and found jobs.
"We must get what we want ... The government are very trickish, we're watching them," Tom said before leaving his camp to disarm, dressed in baggy jeans and a felt cap, a large gold pendant bearing his name around his neck.
CAN THE GOODWILL LAST?
It may lie deep in mosquito-infested creeks, sheltered from the view of military aircraft by tropical foliage, but Tom's camp is less basic than its location might suggest.
A short trek up a stream in a clearing in the mangroves, he has built a single-storey concrete home. A swinging garden chair sits on the terrace among piles of machine guns. Inside, his men help themselves from a well-stocked fridge behind leather sofas, while a flat-screen TV blares out the local equivalent of MTV.
"I will not leave them alone," Tom said, when asked what benefit they would see from surrendering their weapons.
"The government will discuss that with me," he said.
Excited by the prospect of leaving the creeks, his fighters are in the mood to party. One of his commanders offers round a bottle of champagne as another burst of gunfire rings out.
Hundreds of foreign oil workers and wealthy Nigerians have been kidnapped in the Niger Delta in recent years, part of what the militants say are efforts to push demands for a greater share of the natural wealth under their feet.
Most were freed after payment of a ransom, although a few were held in camps like this for months.
"Feel free, feel free, no shakin', we are with you," said one of Tom's fighters, apparently trying to reassure this correspondent.
But after the euphoria of the weapons ceremonies dies down and the stipends are spent, many locals wonder how long the goodwill can last. For every Tom who takes amnesty, they fear a new commander will emerge, addicted to the militant lifestyle and wanting to make a name for himself.
EXPOSED INFRASTRUCTURE
The oil industry around Port Harcourt is highly exposed.
Hundreds of kilometres of pipeline criss-cross remote parts of the creeks and flow stations perch above the water line, easy targets for anyone with a speedboat and some explosives.
Having freed their launches from the mud and transferred their weapons to larger powerboats, Tom and his boys speed down the main channel towards Port Harcourt, passing the burnt-out shell of a flow station they attacked last September.
Across the water, a rusting sign erected by Shell reads "High Pressure Oil Pipeline: Do Not Anchor".
The flotilla of militants passes a vessel belonging to the joint military taskforce (JTF) guarding a houseboat for oil workers. Soldiers wave and many of the rebels respond with thumbs up. But one points his machinegun and pretends to fire, cursing with alcohol-heavy breath into the wind.
Crowds line the streets of Port Harcourt to watch the rebels march from their boats to a dilapidated amusement park called "Tourist Beach" where the defence minister and other dignitaries inspect their weapons.
It is a suitably surreal venue.
"Welcome to Tourist Beach. You'll like it here, they have monkeys," said one of Tom's boys, a litre bottle of whisky in one hand and a rocket-propelled grenade launcher in the other.
Source: Reuters
