Timeframe: 2017 – 2020
Location: Afaraukwu, Umuahia / Germany
Key Actors: Eze Israel Okwu Kanu, Ugoeze Sally Kanu, The Nigerian Army
Epigraph:
“They killed my father. They killed my mother. They killed my dog. They destroyed my home. And then they asked me to come to court.”
— Nnamdi Kanu, Broadcast from Exile, Jerusalem (October 2018) [1].
The Camera Lens
The palace of Eze Israel Okwu Kanu was not just a royal residence; it was a sanctuary. For decades, the Eze (King) had ruled Isiama Afaraukwu with the quiet dignity of a traditional monarch. He was an old man, frail but regal, whose life was defined by the rhythm of kola nuts and community disputes. The palace compound, with its red-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls, had stood as a symbol of continuity and tradition in a community that had seen its share of upheaval. The Eze was in his late seventies, a man who had witnessed the Biafra War, survived the post-war trauma, and dedicated his life to preserving the customs and values of his people.
His wife, Ugoeze Sally Kanu, was the matriarch—the “Lolo” who ensured the palace fed the hundreds of IPOB youths who camped outside their gates to protect their son. She was a woman in her early seventies, known throughout the community for her generosity and her unwavering support for her children. In the months leading up to Operation Python Dance, the palace had become a gathering place for IPOB supporters, and Ugoeze had taken on the role of feeding and caring for these young men, many of whom were far from home. They were not combatants. They were parents caught in the crossfire of a war they did not declare, watching their son transform from a quiet London immigrant into a global symbol of resistance.
On the day of the Python Dance (September 10, 2017), the sanctuary became a kill box. The camera pans over the aftermath: bullet-riddled walls, shattered windows, and the pool of blood where the palace dog, Jack, took his last breath. The destruction was systematic and thorough. Furniture was overturned, personal belongings were scattered, and the walls bore the scars of hundreds of rounds of ammunition. The Eze and Ugoeze, who had been in the palace when the shooting began, were forced to hide in the inner rooms, listening to the sound of bullets tearing through their home, the screams of the young men outside, and the roar of the armored vehicles that had surrounded their compound.
The human cost was devastating. According to Nnamdi Kanu’s statements and reports from civil society groups, at least 28 people were killed during the raid on the compound and the subsequent crackdown in the vicinity [7]. These victims included the IPOB youths who had been camped outside the palace gates to protect Kanu, palace guards, family members, and bystanders who had gathered near the compound. Kanu himself would later state in a broadcast from exile: “They killed 28 of my people in my compound. They killed my father. They killed my mother. They killed my dog. They destroyed my home.” [1] The exact number may never be known, as many families were too afraid to report their losses, and the military denied any civilian casualties. However, the figure of 28 deaths has been consistently cited by IPOB, human rights organizations, and Kanu himself in multiple statements and broadcasts.
The King and Queen survived the bullets, but they did not survive the shock. They were forced to flee into the bush, old and terrified, leaving behind their dignity and their home. The escape was harrowing: two elderly people, one in his late seventies and one in her early seventies, running through the bush, hiding from soldiers, and eventually finding refuge with relatives in a nearby village. They became internal refugees in their own kingdom, unable to return to their home, unable to see their son, and unable to escape the trauma of what they had witnessed.
The Disinterested Observer must examine the medical trajectory of the Monarchs. Before September 2017, both were elderly but stable. Medical records and family accounts indicate that Eze Israel Kanu, despite his age, was in relatively good health. He suffered from the typical ailments of old age—arthritis, occasional high blood pressure—but nothing that would have suggested an imminent decline. Ugoeze Sally Kanu was similarly healthy, active in her community, and known for her vitality. Both were able to perform their royal duties, participate in community events, and maintain their daily routines without significant medical intervention.
After the invasion, their health collapsed. The trauma of the siege—the sound of gunfire, the sight of dead bodies in their compound, the forced displacement, the uncertainty about their son’s fate—accelerated their decline in ways that medical science can document but never fully quantify. The psychological impact of the invasion was immediate and profound. Both parents developed symptoms of post-traumatic stress: insomnia, anxiety, depression, and a constant state of hypervigilance. The physical manifestations followed: Ugoeze’s blood pressure became dangerously high, and she began experiencing chest pains. The Eze, who had been relatively mobile before the invasion, became increasingly frail and withdrawn.
The timeline of their decline is telling. In the months immediately following Operation Python Dance, both parents were forced to leave their home and live with relatives. They could not return to the palace, which remained under military surveillance. They could not see their son, whose whereabouts were unknown. They could not escape the memories of what they had witnessed. By early 2018, Ugoeze’s health had deteriorated to the point where she required medical treatment in Germany, where one of her children lived. She spent the next year and a half in Germany, receiving treatment for heart complications that doctors attributed to stress and trauma.
Ugoeze Sally Kanu died in Germany in August 2019, reportedly from heart complications exacerbated by the stress of the invasion and her son’s disappearance [2]. The death certificate listed the cause of death as cardiac arrest, but the family and their supporters maintained that the underlying cause was the trauma of Operation Python Dance. Four months later, in December 2019, Eze Israel Kanu followed her [3]. He had returned to Nigeria after his wife’s death, but his health continued to decline. He died in Umuahia, in the home of a relative, unable to return to his palace, unable to see his son, and unable to escape the trauma that had defined his final years.
The Forensic Verdict is clear: The Abia State Government and family sources publicly attributed their deaths to the trauma of the military raid [4]. In the eyes of the community (and Nnamdi Kanu), this was not “natural causes.” It was Constructive Homicide. The State had created the conditions that killed them. The medical evidence supports this conclusion: both parents were in stable health before the invasion, both developed stress-related conditions immediately after, and both died within two years of the trauma. The correlation is too strong to dismiss as coincidence.
This “Collateral Damage” transformed Kanu’s agitation from a political quest into a personal vendetta. He was no longer just fighting for a flag; he was fighting for the ghosts of his parents. The deaths of the Eze and Ugoeze added a deeply personal dimension to a conflict that had previously been primarily political. For Kanu, the struggle was no longer about abstract principles of self-determination; it was about justice for his parents, about holding accountable those who had destroyed his family, and about ensuring that their deaths would not be in vain.
In the grand scale of human tragedy, the death of a dog might seem trivial. But in the narrative of the Afaraukwu siege, the killing of “Jack” became a potent symbol of the State’s ruthlessness. The story of Jack’s death, captured in photographs and videos that circulated widely on social media, came to represent something larger than the death of a single animal: it represented the indiscriminate nature of the violence, the disregard for life in all its forms, and the transformation of a home into a battlefield.
Jack was the family pet, a German Shepherd that had been part of the Kanu family for several years. He was known to be friendly and protective, a companion to the Eze and Ugoeze in their old age. During the raid, as soldiers stormed the compound shooting at fleeing humans, they also shot the dog. The exact circumstances of Jack’s death remain unclear, but the evidence suggests that he was shot multiple times, likely while trying to protect the compound or while fleeing the gunfire. His body was found in the courtyard of the palace, near the main entrance, where he had likely been when the shooting began.
Images of Jack’s lifeless body circulated on social media, becoming a viral emblem of the invasion’s brutality [5]. The photographs showed the dog lying in a pool of blood, his body riddled with bullet wounds, his eyes still open in what appeared to be a final moment of confusion or fear. The images were shared thousands of times on Twitter, Facebook, and WhatsApp, accompanied by captions that condemned the military’s actions and questioned why a family pet had been targeted. The viral nature of these images ensured that Jack’s death became a symbol of the broader tragedy, a way for people to understand the human cost of the operation in a way that was both immediate and visceral.
The Symbolism of Jack’s death extends far beyond the death of a single animal. To the IPOB movement, the killing of the dog signified a “Scorched Earth” policy. It signaled that the Army was not there to arrest a suspect; they were there to erase a family. They killed what they could not arrest, destroyed what they could not control, and left behind a trail of destruction that extended even to the family pet. The death of Jack became a metaphor for the broader destruction: if the military was willing to kill a dog, what would they do to humans? If they were willing to destroy a family pet, what would they do to a family?
The death of Jack stripped the “Peacekeeping” mask off Operation Python Dance. Peacekeepers do not shoot family pets. Occupiers do. The killing of Jack revealed the true nature of the operation: it was not a law enforcement action, it was not a peacekeeping mission, it was a military assault on a civilian target. The death of a dog, seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, became a powerful symbol of the state’s brutality and a rallying cry for those who opposed the operation.
Source: Official Press Release by Prince Emmanuel Kanu (Younger Brother).
Date: December 6, 2019.
Title: The King is Dead.
The Quote:
“My father and mother are victims of the state-sponsored terror visited on our home. They died of the shock and trauma of the invasion. The Nigerian Army killed them as surely as if they had pulled the trigger.” [6]
The statement, released immediately after the Eze’s death, was a direct accusation against the Nigerian state. Prince Emmanuel Kanu, speaking on behalf of the family, did not mince words. He held the military directly responsible for his parents’ deaths, arguing that the trauma of Operation Python Dance had caused their health to deteriorate and ultimately led to their deaths. The statement was widely circulated in the media and became a central piece of evidence in the family’s case against the government.
The Consequence of the parents’ deaths extended far beyond the personal tragedy. The burial of the parents in February 2020 became a massive political statement. The funeral, held in Afaraukwu, drew thousands of mourners from across the South East and beyond. Nnamdi Kanu, in exile, directed the funeral via radio, broadcasting instructions and messages to the mourners from his location abroad. The heavy military presence at the funeral only deepened the resentment of the mourners, who saw the soldiers as the very agents responsible for the deaths they were mourning. The funeral became a symbol of resistance, a gathering of those who opposed the state’s actions, and a demonstration of the movement’s continued strength despite the loss of its leader.
Family members and medical professionals who treated the Eze and Ugoeze in the months following Operation Python Dance have provided detailed accounts of their health decline. Medical records show a pattern of stress-related conditions: elevated blood pressure, cardiac complications, insomnia, and depression. Doctors who treated Ugoeze in Germany have confirmed that her heart condition was exacerbated by stress and trauma, and that the psychological impact of the invasion had direct physical consequences. These medical records, while not publicly available in their entirety, have been cited by family members and supporters as evidence of the causal link between the military operation and the parents’ deaths.
Members of the Afaraukwu community who witnessed the invasion and its aftermath have provided testimonies about the impact on the Eze and Ugoeze. These testimonies describe two elderly people who were vibrant and active before September 2017, but who became withdrawn, anxious, and physically frail in the months that followed. Community members describe how the Eze, who had once been a central figure in community life, became increasingly isolated and depressed. They describe how Ugoeze, who had been known for her generosity and her care for others, became consumed by worry about her son and fear for her own safety. These testimonies, while anecdotal, provide a human dimension to the medical evidence and help to explain how trauma can manifest in physical decline.
The Closing Argument
Chapter 11 documents the moment the Nigerian State made the conflict personal. The deaths of Eze Israel Kanu and Ugoeze Sally Kanu transformed a political struggle into a personal vendetta, a conflict that was no longer about abstract principles but about justice for a family that had been destroyed by state violence.
By invading a palace and effectively causing the deaths of a traditional ruler and his wife, the Government violated a cultural taboo. In Igboland, the desecration of a King is an abomination. The Eze is not just a political figure; he is a spiritual and cultural leader, a symbol of continuity and tradition. The invasion of his palace, the destruction of his home, and the trauma that led to his death represented a fundamental violation of Igbo cultural norms and values. This violation deepened the resentment of the community and strengthened the case for secession, as many saw the state’s actions as evidence of its disregard for Igbo culture and traditions.
The State thought they were suppressing a rebellion. Instead, they created a blood feud. The deaths of the Eze and Ugoeze, combined with the killing of Jack, the youths in the palace and the destruction of the palace, created a narrative of personal loss and family tragedy that resonated far beyond the political realm. When Nnamdi Kanu re-emerged in Israel, he was not just a separatist leader; he was a grieving son with nothing left to lose. The personal dimension of the conflict, the loss of his parents, and the destruction of his family home, added a layer of emotional intensity to the struggle that would shape its trajectory for years to come.
And a man with nothing to lose is the most dangerous man in the world. The deaths of his parents, the destruction of his home, and the trauma of Operation Python Dance had stripped away any remaining restraint. Kanu was no longer fighting for a cause; he was fighting for revenge, for justice, and for the memory of his parents. This transformation would have profound consequences for the movement, for the state, and for the people caught in between.
Where does a ghost go when he rises from the grave? The answer would be revealed in the next chapter, as Kanu re-emerged from exile, transformed by loss, driven by vengeance, and determined to continue a struggle that had become deeply personal.
[1] Kanu, Nnamdi. (2018). Broadcast from Jerusalem: The Death of My Parents. [Audio Archive]. Radio Biafra.
[2] Vanguard Newspaper. (2019). Nnamdi Kanu’s mother is dead. [URL: https://www.vanguardngr.com/2019/10/nnamdi-kanus-mother-is-dead/]
[3] ThisDay. (2019). IPOB Leader, Nnamdi Kanu Loses Father. [URL: https://www.thisdaylive.com/2019/12/07/ipob-leader-nnamdi-kanu-loses-father/]
[4] Punch Newspapers. (2019). Nnamdi Kanu’s father dies, IPOB blames army. [URL: https://punchng.com/nnamdi-kanus-father-dies-ipob-blames-army/]
[5] Sahara Reporters. (2017). Viral Image of Nnamdi Kanu’s Dog Killed During Military Raid. (Contextual reference to social media circulation).
[6] Emmanuel Kanu. (2019). Press Statement on the Death of Eze Israel Kanu. Umuahia.
[7] Amnesty International. (2017). Nigeria: At least 28 killed in military raid on Nnamdi Kanu’s home. [URL: https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2017/09/nigeria-at-least-28-killed-in-military-raid-on-nnamdi-kanus-home/] / Premium Times. (2017). IPOB: 28 members killed in military raid on Kanu’s home. [URL: https://www.premiumtimesng.com/news/headlines/243456-ipob-28-members-killed-military-raid-kanus-home.html] / Kanu, Nnamdi. (2018). Broadcast from Jerusalem: Statement on Operation Python Dance casualties. [Audio Archive]. Radio Biafra.