Many years ago, back when I was at Eton, the Chief of Staff for the Nigerian Army, General Hassan Katsina, took me out for a day of polo and lunch. This was the 1970s, during Nigeria’s oil boom, and General Katsina was the second most powerful man in the country, just behind the Head of State, General Gowon. A Sandhurst-trained Nigerian prince, he was a remarkable polo player and the son of the Emir of Katsina.
I remember it like it was yesterday. We had lunch in Datchet, a village near Eton that was popular with parents who had boys at the school. The General ordered Duck à l’Orange, as did his ADC, who was with us. As we waited for our food, the General started undoing his trousers. Being very English at the time, I squirmed in my seat, especially as everyone around us started staring. I hinted to the General that his trousers were undone, but he simply turned to me and said, “Yes, so the food can pass through my belly unhindered.” His ADC, a deadly-looking chap with gold teeth, burst out laughing, while I wished I could disappear.
The food arrived, and the General suddenly looked stern, turning to the waiter and asking, “What is this grass?” I sank deeper into my chair as the waiter sheepishly replied, “It’s salad, sir.” The General gave him a look that could make grown men cry and said, “We Africans do not eat grass; take it away. And take the orange too—are you mad? I only want meat.” The ADC, by this time on his fifth beer, was in stitches, while I just wanted to vanish.
General Hassan Katsina was a strong, proud Hausa prince, feared and revered by his people. He was also the biggest Scrabble cheat on the planet, making up words to win, knowing no one would dare challenge him—except me, of course. I always called him out on his crazy spelling, but my mother never did. No one did, really, except me, because I don’t like losing.
I later told my father about the day, and he burst out laughing, but there was no condescension. He respected General Katsina deeply because the General was the muscle behind the government, the man who had supported General Gowon. In fact, my father had helped keep the USA on the side of the Nigerian Federal Government during the civil war, and General Katsina was forever grateful. He even rewarded my father with the first oil block given to a private citizen in Nigeria.
However, the General had a darker side. He once had a fellow Nigerian Etonian, who had run away from school, tied to a tree at the Lagos Polo Club and whipped for disgracing Nigeria. I didn’t like that side of him, but the boy who ran away and pretended to be Jimi Hendrix caused me a lot of trouble at Eton and with the press. It took my father, Godfrey Kio Amachree, Queen’s Counsel, to get him out of that mess.
Despite his intimidating nature, I will forever love General Hassan Katsina. He was a father figure who gifted me ten polo ponies at the age of thirteen, always there to support me as a student at Eton all those years ago.
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