THE Senior Management Team meeting did not end in approval. But it ended with something nearly as valuable: a clear reading of the room.
Siene Allwell-Brown had not sought the role that circumstance had suddenly placed upon her. If anything, she would have relinquished it without hesitation. Yet beneath the noise of institutional friction — the quiet hostilities, the subtle coercions, the daily negotiations that passed for professional life — she possessed a faculty that set her apart. She understood people not superficially, but instinctively, as one reads meaning beneath text.
Once the initial shock passed — that she had been publicly associated with a national literary prize she had, for two years, resisted —she adjusted with characteristic composure and went to work.
She began, simply, by listening. Who was for it. Who was against it. And, most crucially, who might yet be persuaded.
The presentation had been framed as an External Relations Initiative. By its close, it had evolved into something more consequential: shared responsibility. With quiet political intelligence, Siene absorbed the proposal into her own sphere. Within the internal physics of an institution like NLNG, that shift was decisive. Ownership alters gravity. It redistributes resistance and gives an idea weight.
Her next move was deliberate. She went to her boss.
Dr. Samaila Kewa was a man of immense intellectual depth, worn lightly. An accomplished economist with a doctorate from Binghamton University, he had been seconded from the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation into the role of Deputy Managing Director — one of the most consequential offices within NLNG. He was not merely present at the making of the company’s future; he was among those shaping it — fleet expansion, strategic positioning, long-horizon thinking.
And beneath all this, there was something quieter: a regard for literature.
Convincing him required little persuasion. He spoke of Maya Angelou, of Baldwin, Hughes, Ellison — of how language had accomplished what legislation alone could not, reaching into the inner life of a society and reshaping it. He understood that literature was not decorative. It was structural — a form of infrastructure that operates within the moral imagination.
With Kewa’s support, the proposal found its first true anchor. The centre of gravity shifted.
Yet one objection remained, and it was substantial.
NLNG, its managers insisted, was a science-driven enterprise. Engineers, chemists, and process specialists defined its identity. To establish a prize for literature alone would risk misrepresenting that identity and invite a predictable critique. The instruction was clear: there must be a scientific counterpart.
The search for that counterpart led to a remarkable figure.
Emeritus Professor Alexander Obiefoka Enukora Animalu stood among Nigeria’s most distinguished scientific minds. His work in physics — particularly the screened model potential for 25 elements, co-authored with Volker Heine at Cambridge in 1965 — had become foundational. With over 900 citations, it entered the enduring canon of scientific literature, a reference point scholars return to when they require certainty.
At a time when many of Nigeria’s finest minds departed, he returned. He built the Physics Department at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. He trained generations. He wrote extensively. He was awarded the Nigerian National Order of Merit.
When the idea of a national science prize was presented to him, his response was immediate and generous. It was not persuasion — it was recognition.
What grounded that recognition was a single, sobering fact. At the time, the Nigerian Academy of Science’s highest prize was valued a tN2,000, a figure that spoke quietly but forcefully of the distance between aspiration and institutional support.
In that moment, the transformative potential of a properly endowed prize became unmistakable.
As outgoing President of the Academy, Animalu introduced the next crucial figure: Emeritus Professor Gabriel Babatunde Ogunmola.
Ogunmola’s work in biophysical chemistry had advanced the understanding of haemoglobin and sickle cell disease, translating clinical observation into measurable molecular processes. He had built institutions, advised government, and shaped national science policy. His authority was deeply earned.
He received the proposal with courtesy — and firmness.
His position was clear: the Nigerian Academy of Science should assume full control of the prize, with NLNG serving as its funder. It was a principled stance, rooted in institutional integrity.
It was also one that could not be accepted.
The issue was not scientific judgment — that would remain entirely within the domain of scientists — but accountability. NLNG would bear both the financial and reputational weight of the prize. That responsibility could not be relinquished.
What followed was a careful negotiation. Respectful, but exacting.
A workable structure emerged. The Academy would design the call for entries, manage dissemination, and nominate judges. NLNG would oversee administration and host the award ceremony. NLNG would attend judging sessions only as observers — present, but without influence.
To reinforce legitimacy, a national committee of scientists representing the six geopolitical zones was convened at Eko Hotels. Over three days, guidelines were reviewed and ratified. A communiqué was signed.
The prize now possessed a scientific spine.
One final internal dynamic remained.
Dr. Brian Buckley, General Manager of Production, was a formidable and ambitious figure, a mathematician by training with a doctorate in the discipline, and a man who understood both systems and visibility. Unlike some treacherous colleagues who planted lies and wicked fabrications in soft-sell magazines, Brian was fond of smuggling BBC and other foreign correspondents to Bonny or whispering his achievements to them. I used to block the publications and keep them away from him, sometimes reaching higher up to their bosses. Brian meant no harm, even if his efforts were self-promotional. On this occasion, I let him have his fix.
The prizes offered him precisely what he sought: a legitimate platform of international visibility, an event substantial enough to attract the correspondents he had long cultivated. There was no need to obstruct what could instead be harnessed.
So I let the current run.
It ran exactly as expected. The machinery aligned in our favour. And, in due course, Brian sent through a seating plan for the ceremony, his place carefully positioned within sightlines that mattered.
Some outcomes are secured not through resistance, but through understanding the direction of ambition — and allowing it its moment.
With Kewa’s advocacy, the Academy’s intellectual stewardship, and internal dynamics carefully balanced, the proposal returned for final consideration.
Approval followed
The Nigeria Prize for Literature.
The Nigeria Prize for Science.
A final refinement came from Siene. She envisioned not merely a ceremony, but an occasion — an event shaped by dignity and celebration. Though the charitable dimension was later set aside on ethical grounds, the instinct endured.
The prize would not simply be awarded. It would be staged.
In February 2004, at Eko Hotels in Lagos, the announcement was made.
Africa’s most valuable literary prize.
A scientific honour of national significance.
A purse that would grow to one $100,000, placing it among the most distinguished literary awards in the world.
Its beginnings, however, were far more fragile.
It had lived, for two years, in refusal.
It had been shaped in quiet rooms, under silence.
It had been revived by a moment of institutional instinct.
And in the end, it endured because a small coalition — an economist who believed in the moral force of language, a physicist whose work became foundation, a biophysicist who read the code of life, and others who understood when to resist and when to yield — chose not to let the idea disappear.
It endured because someone refused, persistently and without spectacle, to let it die.
As this chapter draws to a close, it is fitting to acknowledge those whose vision and labour made these prizes possible. Long before public recognition, there were individuals who shaped the idea, sustained its momentum, and gave it institutional life. Some are no longer with us, but their contributions remain embedded in the legacy of the prizes.
We therefore pay tribute, with abiding respect, to General Yakubu Gowon, the visionary Head of State who dreamed of an LNG plant in Nigeria and instantly embraced the idea; Chief Ernest Shonekan, who enabled and promoted the project during his presidency and remained supportive; Chief Justice Mohammed Uwais, who was delighted with the idea and accepted to chair the first award ceremony; Prof. Wole Soyinka, Africa’s first Nobel laureate, who brought immense influence to bear; Prof. Chinua Achebe; Prof. J. P. Clark; Prof. Ebun Clark; Prof. Bart Nnaji; Prof. Turner Isoun; Prof. Fabian Osuji; Prof. Emeritus Umaru Shehu; Chief Aigboje Higo; Prof. Iya Abubakar; Chief Chukwuemeka Chikelu; Prof. Alexander Animalu; Prof. Gabriel Ogunmola; Prof. Olabopo Osuntokun; Prof. Njidda Gadzama; Prof. E. Ene-Obong; Prof. P. N. Okeke; Prof. Mustafa; Prof. K. N. Onuoha; Prof. S. I. Iyahen; Prof. D. C. Okpako; Prof. Theo Vincent; Prof. Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo; Prof. Femi Osofisan; Prof. Dan Izevbaye; Alhaji Abubakar Gimbal; Mr. Nengi Ilagha; Prof. Charles Nnolim; Prof. Rasheed Abubakar; Prof. Mary Kolawole; Dr. Reuben Abati; Prof. Olu Obafemi; and Mr. Nduka Otiono.
We also acknowledge, with deep appreciation, the Nigerian Academy of Science, the Nigerian Academy of Letters, and the Association of Nigerian Authors. Through their institutional presence, they conferred legitimacy, continuity, and strength.
At the bottom of that list, and with special recognition, we also acknowledge President Ibrahim Babangida, whose intervention lifted the prize value from $20,000 to $50,000, and Dr. Chima Ibeneche, who advanced it further to $100,000.
In their combined effort lies something greater than the creation of prizes. It is the shaping of a tradition — rooted in service, sustained by scholarship, and anchored in the enduring belief that ideas, once given form, can outlive their moment of origin.
- To be continued…
- Ifeanyi Igwebike Mbanefo, CEO, Museums and Monuments Academy, lives in Montreal, Canada.
