*_By Ibraheem A. Waziri_*
23-02-2025
Tags: #IBB, #BookLauch, #Autobiographies, #AJourneyInService
On February 20, 2025, Nigeria marked a pivotal moment in its historical and literary landscape with the launch of *A Journey in Service*, the autobiography of General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida, the nation’s former Military Head of State. Held at the Transcorp Hilton Hotel’s Congress Hall in Abuja, the event drew an illustrious crowd: President Bola Tinubu, former Presidents Yakubu Gowon, Abdulsalami Abubakar, and Goodluck Jonathan, alongside business magnates Aliko Dangote and Abdulsamad Rabiu. Beyond the fanfare and the nearly N17.5 billion raised for the IBB Legacy Centre—mistakenly dubbed a presidential library in early reports—the memoir’s released, reignites a profound discussion about autobiographies. Far from being vessels of absolute truth, such works are meticulously crafted narratives, designed to logically articulate an author’s perspective while justifying their actions and thoughts—past, present, and future. Babangida’s *A Journey in Service* embodies this, offering a lens to explore the constructed essence of autobiographical storytelling.
Autobiographies are, by design, subjective endeavors, distinct from impartial chronicles. They weave personal accounts from memory, intent, and selective disclosure, often prioritizing coherence over unvarnished fact. Babangida, who governed Nigeria from August 27, 1985, to August 26, 1993, remains a divisive figure. Known for deft political maneuvers—earning monikers like “Maradona” for his agility and “evil genius” for his cunningness—he oversaw a tumultuous era marked by economic upheaval and democratic setbacks. His most infamous act, the annulment of the June 12, 1993, presidential election—widely deemed Nigeria’s freest, at that time, won by Moshood Abiola—has haunted his legacy for 31 years. Nigerians anticipated *A Journey in Service* as a chance for clarity or confession, yet its launch reveals a narrative sculpted to reflect Babangida’s self-perception. He acknowledges Abiola’s victory, a move Tinubu hailed as “unusual courage,” but frames the annulment as an unauthorized act by General Sani Abacha and other officers while he was in Katsina, sidelined by circumstance. This selective disclosure suggests not a full unveiling but a justification, repositioning him as a leader constrained rather than complicit.
This subjectivity underscores a broader truth: books, especially memoirs, filter reality through hindsight, bias, and audience expectation. Babangida’s 420-page work, reviewed by former Vice President Yemi Osinbajo, promises insights into his eight-year tenure—economic reforms like the Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP), infrastructure feats, and banking deregulation—yet sidesteps a complete reckoning. Critics highlight glaring omissions: no confession regarding the October 19, 1986, assassination of journalist Dele Giwa by parcel bomb, widely linked to his regime; no accounting for the $12.4 billion Gulf War oil windfall, per the 1994 Pius Okigbo report; and no remorse for the executions of coup plotters like Mamman Vatsa in 1986 and Gideon Orkar in 1990. Babangida’s claim that he feared Abiola’s assassination if he took office—a speculative justification—casts him as a reluctant actor amidst a military cabal, absolving himself of agency. These silences, as much as the revelations, illustrate how *A Journey in Service* constructs a narrative that defends rather than fully discloses, a deliberate choice aligning with autobiographical norms.
The memoir’s role as a legacy-building tool further amplifies its constructed nature. Launched as Babangida, now 83 (born August 17, 1941), nears life’s twilight and Nigeria approaches the 2027 elections, the event doubled as a fundraising spectacle for the IBB Legacy Centre. Billion-naira pledges from Dangote, Rabiu, and others—totaling N17.5 billion per ThisDay—underscored Babangida’s enduring clout, 31 years after stepping down. The title *A Journey in Service* reframes his rule as a patriotic endeavor, softening the authoritarian edges of his “evil genius” persona. By admitting Abiola’s win while distancing himself from the annulment’s execution, he crafts a complex portrait: a transformative leader navigating chaos, appealing to admirers who credit him with modernization while mitigating critics’ ire over economic hardship and political repression. This duality reflects a narrative engineered to reconcile his past with the statesman image he seeks today, extending its influence beyond the page into Nigeria’s political present.
The historical context of Babangida’s tenure enriches this analysis. His regime followed a series of military coups, inheriting a nation battered by oil-dependent economics and factional strife. The SAP, intended to liberalize the economy, sparked inflation and unrest, while his annulment catalyzed protests and deepened ethnic divides, paving the way for Abacha’s reign. *A Journey in Service* likely glosses over these ripple effects, emphasizing achievements—like the Third Mainland Bridge or Abuja’s development—to counterbalance failures. This selective memory mirrors how autobiographies prioritize legacy over accountability, inviting readers to weigh Babangida’s narrative against Nigeria’s collective experience.
Reactions to the memoir underscore its status as perspective, not fact. Tinubu, a June 12 activist turned president, praised its candor as setting “records properly,” perhaps reflecting political pragmatism. Afenifere, a pan-Yoruba group, rejected it as too late to mend the annulment’s “ogbonge damage,” echoing Yoruba grievances. Activists accused Babangida of exploiting Nigeria’s accountability vacuum, a sentiment rooted in decades of unresolved justice. Literary scholar Pius Adesanmi, were he alive, might have called it a “textual performance,” blending truth and theater. These responses reveal a fragmented reception: the book’s narrative is interpreted through readers’ biases, not universally embraced as truth, highlighting the elusive nature of autobiographical authority.
Yet, this constructed nature does not diminish *A Journey in Service*’s value—it enhances its complexity. It offers a window into Babangida’s mind: his rationalizations, regrets, and aspirations amid a career of calculated risks. Goodluck Jonathan, at the launch, urged preserving such narratives to enrich Nigeria’s political archive, a call to institutionalize personal histories. Readers, however, must approach it skeptically, recognizing it as one voice in a cacophony of perspectives—those of June 12 activists, SAP victims, or silenced journalists. Its significance lies not in claiming absolute truth but in sparking reflection and debate, forcing Nigerians to confront their history’s ambiguities. For youth, as commentators suggest, it provides leadership lessons—resilience, adaptability—albeit through a self-justifying lens that demands critical parsing.
Comparatively, *A Journey in Service* fits a global tradition of autobiographical narrative-building. Nelson Mandela’s *Long Walk to Freedom* blends triumph with curated humility, while Barack Obama’s *Dreams from My Father* navigates identity with selective introspection. Babangida’s work, with its wit (per Osinbajo’s review) and strategic candor, joins this lineage, tailoring Nigeria’s military past to a personal saga. Its launch timing—amid economic woes and democratic flux—amplifies its relevance, positioning Babangida as a commentator on leadership in crisis, a narrative thread justifying his past while influencing future discourse.
In conclusion, autobiographies like *A Journey in Service* are not absolute truths but woven narratives serving their authors’ ends. Launched on February 20, 2025, Babangida’s memoir—through selective revelations, strategic omissions, and legacy-driven intent—justifies actions like the annulment while shaping his present stature and future remembrance. As Nigerians grapple with its contents, it stands as a testament to storytelling’s power: not a final word, but a provocation to question, analyze, and seek broader truths it skirts. In a nation wrestling with its past—where military rule, economic policy, and democratic betrayal remain raw—such narratives are vital, not for certainty, but for the conversations they ignite, urging a deeper reckoning with history’s many voices.
