David Alfred-Dogwo / August 26, 2026-This excerpt is culled from my unpublished autobiography, "The Life of David Alfred-Dogwo"-

In the quiet hours when memory walks like a restless spirit, I count the empty chairs.

My former colleagues; Francis. Tom. Donatus. Hilary. Shakahulu. Jonathan. And so many others—once young men who we shared corridors, secrets, and the precarious privilege of serving powerful men—are gone. They have crossed into the land of the unseen, leaving only silence and the soft ache of absence. I am alone still alive today.

Whenever their names surface, I lower my head and thank the God who still allows my lungs to draw breath. A precious life, I have learned, is richer than any fortune.

I was not always this sober. In the early 1990s I was a curly-haired youth bristling with awkward energy and a tongue too quick for its own good. Mischief clung to me like a second skin. Two men alone possessed the rare patience to endure my quirks and smart-aleck remarks: my Dad, Elder Peter Adama Dogwo, and my uncle, retired DSP Michael D. Musa—affectionately called “Palee.” Both still walk among the living, living proof that grace sometimes lingers.

In 1994 I left the shelter of my old man's house in GRA Lokoja Kogi State—where he had served as pioneer Commissioner for Works, Housing and Transport under Prince Abubakar Audu—and stepped into the humid, restless air of Lagos. 

My uncle received me at Snake Island, Apapa, a place that felt like another country. Of all the flats in that expatriate estate, only three belonged to Nigerians. One housed the General Manager of Niger Dock, Chief (Dr.) Nnamdi Ozobia. Another sheltered three Black engineers who worked the foreign ships at Apapa Wharf. The third was my uncle’s, earned through friendship with the Managing Director and through the quiet authority of a senior police officer who had helped bring a police station to the island.

There I lived for nearly seven years—the only young Black male of my age in a world of pale faces and foreign accents. The white girls treated me as both curiosity and companion. Every evening I taught them to swim in the estate pool, their laughter rising like bright birds over the water. One boy surrounded by many girls. They kept me wonderfully, dangerously busy. Raping me every day.

It was at Kosiwahala Garden & Bar—then considered the safest corner of Nigeria—that the true current of my life began to pull. After the orchestrated assassination of Alhaja Kudirat Abiola on 4 June 1996, the air itself seemed charged with danger. There I met the daredevil journalists Lemi Olalemi and Dapo Olorunyomi, and a quiet, intense young man then, named Kayode Fayemi. These were the driving spirits behind Radio Kudirat, the underground voice that defied the iron fist of General Sani Abacha. Operating under the National Democratic Coalition—NADECO—whose leadership included the former Military Administrator of Plateau State, Air Commodore Dan Suleiman (Rtd) OFR, the station was more than a broadcast. It was a lifeline of resistance. They met here often.

I became their errand boy. In the shadows of that island, carrying messages and secrets, I learned the ropes of a dangerous trade. After Abacha’s sudden death, Air Commodore Dan Suleiman had returned from exile in Toronto Canada. Secret meetings began on the island—whispered gatherings to chart Nigeria’s return to democracy. Late Chief Solomon Lar, General Theophilus Danjuma, The late Abraham Adesanya of Afenifere, General Chris Ali, High Chief (Dr.) Joseph Wayas, and others moved through those rooms like figures in a high-stakes chess game. The air was thick with risk and hope.

One day the Air Commodore looked at me longer than usual and chose me as his Private Secretary. In the year 2000 we flew from Lagos to Abuja in Nigeria Airways. He enrolled me in seminars that sharpened my mind and stretched my understanding. That was how I planted my feet in the soil of national history as a young chap.

Under his leadership, The Patriots—a circle of retired generals and NADECO civilians—forged a memorandum of understanding with the core North, facilitated by former Vice President Atiku Abubakar. From the ashes of the Peoples Democratic Movement (PDM) of the late Shehu Musa Yar’Adua (who had died in Abacha’s prison) rose the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP). I sat in the residences of General Theophilus Danjuma and the late Chief Solomon Lar, taking minutes-of-meetings while history was being written in careful, careful words. My boss went on to chair the Middle Belt Forum, Delta Steel Company Aladja, Kaduna Motors, and other federal parastatals—honours earned by a lifetime of principle.

Why, then, are so many of those who walked those same corridors with me no more alive? 

What is the secret that still keeps me alive when they have gone? I do not know. I only thank the One who decides.

When my Boss the former military administrator of Plateau State, NADECO Leader and Chairman the Patriots His Excellency Air Commodore Dan Suleiman was appointed Ambassador to Moscow in 2006, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs declined our deployment. There were no provisions for personal aides on such assignments. The door closed.

I stepped into a new chapter in Abuja, reconnecting with old friends who still live: Chief Gbenga Adewoye an insurance expert, Chief of Staff to the Deputy Majority Leader of the House of Representatives. Hon Emmanuel Okeme, then Front Office Manager Ibro Hotel Comrade Ocheni Francis and Bro. Matthew Daudu Jere once a laboratory scientist in Life Camp and now at Kogi State University, Anyigba.

Later, under Governor Capt. Idris Wada of Kogi State, I served as Senior Special Assistant (SSA) on Media & Strategic Communications. Of the more than ninety of us listed in the SSA Compendium of 2012–2016, some have already departed. 

In 2017, Senator (Dr.) Orji Uzor Kalu briefly engaged me as Media Consultant on the Hope Alive Project. Through every turn, the same quiet hand guided me.

Today I serve again under His Excellency Capt. Idris Wada as Special Adviser on Media and Publicity.

Alongside this work I write as an associate acquisitions co-editor and freelance investigative journalist for Scandinavian English outlets—two articles a month, and get paid on every publication.

I remain a prolific writer, a pioneer and adventurer in grammar psychology, devoted to both print and pixels.

To my departed colleagues I offer this prayer: that if the Governor of Heaven and Earth has ordained the souls of the dead to watch over the living, may I receive the gentle effects of their attention—whether in dreams, in sudden inspirations, or in any manner consistent with divine order.

To those still walking this earth I say: wherever you find yourself, pursue knowledge rather than money. I chose experience, connections, and understanding over wealth. That is why I remain modest in means yet still alive. Look around your communities. How many who chased rapid riches lived past thirty? The question hangs in the air like unanswered thunder.

I had opportunities to dip my hands into powerful men’s money. I refused. Early on I understood that such a choice often leads to an early grave. The wisdom that restrained me then still restrains me now. Life is as I see it, not as I might wish to manufacture it.

My prayer remains simple:

May the Heavenly Father continue to forgive my presumptions, enlighten my ignorance, and—through whatever humble agents He employs—grant me the blessed influence of His Holy presence. 

And because I am still here, I ask long life for every relative and friend who reads these lines.

Signed,  

ALFRED-DOGWO is the former Private Secretary to His Excellency Air Commodore Dan Suleiman (Rtd) OFR and currently Special Adviser on Media & Publicity to former Governor of Kogi State His Excellency Capt. Idris Wada.

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