hose who are well-versed in the art of appraisal may find this a queer form of review. A personal reflection sounds more like it. Maybe the accounts of war fought by an aggrieved people who felt their collective destiny threatened by series of misgivings deserve more than just a review. Especially if the fundamentals of such wrongdoings are perceived not to have been righted 33 years after they culminated in a shattering explosion.

The book, Surviving in Biafra ALSO SEE: SurvivinginBiafra.COM

Alfred Obiora Chukwukadibia Uzokwe's account of the Nigerian civil war is a stirring tale of mammoth proportions; a wholesome, unpretentious, yet candid account of wartime survival as seen from the perspective of a growing child. Little wonder "Surviving in Biafra" is raw, untainted and has a tinge of originality to its simplistic narrative form. There is an element of transposition to the past whereby you are compelled to grow along with Alfred and his siblings during a war, which arguably remains the singular most undiminished mishap in the political history of Nigeria.

It reminds me in the main of one such compelling narrative. I refer to Mabel Segun's "My Father's Daughter". But how does a childhood memoir of one child growing up in a loving home and serene environment compare with the traumatic experience of another who was forced into 'maturity' by the gory sights of an unsightly event?

Even with the juxtaposition of the settings (and elements) of peace and war, you cannot help but experience a shade of involvement in the two books, a factor that is generated largely as a result of the narrators' prowess at drawing their readers. Which man or woman has not experienced the passage from infancy to adulthood? And who in our 'wasted generation' would not remember the happenstances of our gradual drift away from palpable sanity at independence in 1960, to an odious struggle to maintain a rational balance in 2003?

If the reader feels a pervading aura of fiction in the narrative adventure of this war child, then it is nothing to make meat of. Few authors of sombre subjects would deliberately bring an 'element of disbelief' into their works. Alfred Uzokwe's style re-presents the drumbeats of war in unusually low tones. Yet the echoes of its reverberation are prolonged, deeply penetrating and riveting like the endless ripples occasioned by the drop of pebble in a pond.

Beneath the simple narrative presented from the viewpoint of a child growing up to observe an event for which he has more questions than answers, is a seething indignation and acute sense of injustice at the 'wrongs' of it all. And this is often characterised by the barrage of questions being asked by the child and the instant answers now made available with the benefit of hindsight.

Despite the absence of the 'boom-boom' echoes of war and the disturbing egotism of most war accounts with which we are strangely familiar, Uzokwe has not failed to pass his message across. Painting a grim picture of an event as revealed by a 'remote participant', he adorns the persona of a child-narrator, telling his story with carefree innocence. And the significance of it all? We get a story relayed effectively of one family's survival through a debilitating war and its attendant wreckages. The issues surrounding Biafra, the execution of the war and the after-effects of the pogrom are as instructive as ever.

A significant aspect of Biafra as historical account is that whenever a book is to be published, there is always a heady mix of anticipation and speculations as to its contents and the message being put across by the author. Is it going to re-open old wounds? Would there be distortions? Is it yet another attempt to massage somebody's ego, while at the same time flinging mud in the direction of other people with whom the author is less pleased? Has it been bankrolled by another politician who'd rather not allow sleeping dogs to lie? These are the usual questions tugging at the discerning minds.

Col. C.O. Ojukwu in 1966

Chief Chukwuemeka Odumegwu-Ojukwu, himself a central figure in the conflict, once published a book few years after he came back from exile. "Because I am Involved" (Spectrum Books, Sept 1989) could not have been published at a much better time. For one, the first book from an exiled warlord is expected, in the firebrand characteristic of its author, to stir the hornet's nest. The events of the moment have also helped institute the sort of coloration with which spin-doctors are often in tune.

No less significant is the widespread report of his controversial romance with ex-beauty queen, Bianca (nee Onoh), which then was blooming - both in its intensity and depth of controversy. But when the anchor was dropped, many people got a literary shock, because the awaited 'bestseller' was stripped of the much anticipated 'controversial' elements.

In like manner, is this issue of deflated expectation going to turn out a disappointment with "Surviving in Biafra"? As the election fever grips all stakeholders and the Nigerian situation continues its precarious drift, Alfred Uzokwe with the publication of this book, would have added velocity to the ongoing consciousness in the mind of agitators. Thus, a few comments here and there, commendable or disparaging, should be expected.

And still on the political undertones of "Surviving in Biafra ", have we learnt the inherent lessons of a civil war? Is this war Nigeria's undiminished albatross? Obviously, there is no going to the moon to search for an answer. This is because all the characteristic elements preceding the gory days of old have continue to hang ominously over our heads. It is disturbing that the evils of yesteryears have simply refused to abate and the main actors - and (or) their offspring - have also refused to hearken to the voice of reason.

Maybe with this foolish obduracy of ours, we may be approaching a lasting solution to our problems. Just may be.