The diplomat and witness to war

By Wale Okediran

MANY literary scholars believe that memoir is history because both are inseparable. History has a way of flattering cultural attitudes and lifestyles into simplified versions, leaving the more complex and nuanced understanding to scholars who have the time, talent and temper to dig through original sources.

This is why contemporary memoirs like Ambassador Shina Fatai Alege’s The Sirens and the Flag are often perceived as more “realistic” than history books in the sense that they offer an intimate, first-person account of an individual’s lived experience, including personal emotions, motivations, and the subjective atmosphere of a time period. History books, by contrast, aim for a more objective, factual, and analytical overview of events, which can feel less immediate and personal.

With more than 35 years’ experience in the diplomatic circuit, H.E. Shina Fatai Alege, the Ambassador of the Federal Republic of Nigeria to Ukraine (2021–2023) is a highly regarded professional diplomat. When he joined the Nigeria’s Foreign Service in 1987, little did Alege envisaged the magnitude of his chosen career.

As he put it; “I could hardly have imagined that the journey ahead would span more than three and a half decades — an expedition that would take me across continents, through the intricacies of global politics, and eventually to the heart of a war zone in Eastern Europe. Looking back now, every posting, every negotiation, every sleepless night preparing briefs or drafting communiqués seems to have been progressively preparing me for a destiny larger than I could then perceive.”

Despite all the preparations and hard work for his new career, Fatai Alege soon discovered that he still had a lot to learn about his new assignment.

According to him, “The corridors of diplomacy are rarely straight; they twist through compromise, patience, and an unrelenting pursuit of understanding. From the first hesitant handshake to the confident stride across marble-floored embassies, a diplomat’s journey is not forged in grand declarations, but in quiet resilience. Each posting, each negotiation, becomes both a test of principle and a lesson in humility. To become an ambassador is not merely to represent a nation—it is to embody the delicate balance between loyalty and empathy, strategy and sincerity. In this silent battlefield of peace, the diplomat learns that influence is earned not through command, but through the art of listening.”

When Ambassador Alege first stepped on the soil of Ukraine in 2021/22, he found a peaceful and beautiful country: “When I arrived in Kyiv, the city immediately struck me as a place of quiet beauty and hidden strength. Its wide boulevards, golden-domed cathedrals, and the Dnipro River winding gracefully through the capital spoke of a people steeped in history yet determined to chart their own course. It was early summer — a time when the city shimmered under long daylight hours, and the streets hummed with youthful energy.”

However, when in February 2022, the first explosions broke Ukraine’s dawn, the hitherto beautiful and calm city became chaotic as “windows trembled, birds scattered from the rooftops, and for one suspended moment, the city — proud, restless Kyiv — went utterly still.”

At the same moment, the Embassy of Nigeria in Kyiv was thrust from its usual diplomacy activities into an unprecedented humanitarian mission: the evacuation of thousands of Nigerian citizens—mostly students—from a nation under siege.

According to the author, “When the first explosions tore through the morning sky, the embassy’s marble floors seemed to hum with the vibration of a world unravelling. Outside, sirens wailed through Kyiv’s frozen streets; inside, calm had to be manufactured — one breath, one decision at a time. The flag still hung steady, though the air around it trembled. Within those walls, every creak of the door carried the weight of responsibility: citizens seeking safety, calls from headquarters, the unspoken fear that the line between diplomacy and survival had vanished. Guarding the mission was no longer a metaphor. It was a test of endurance, of faith, and of the unyielding idea that even in war, the homeland could still have an address.”

Through the help of field notes, message logs and midnight reflections, the author was able to piece together the fragments of his story into a book that “tells of the courage of ordinary people caught in extraordinary times; of young Nigerians who faced artillery fire with astonishing resolve; of parents who prayed across time zones; of diplomats who learned that statecraft sometimes means carrying suitcases, calming voices, and answering phones that never stopped ringing.”

A veritable treasure trove of information about politics, diplomacy, international relations and war, The Sirens and the Flag gives you access to all the details about Nigeria’s diplomatic relations with Ukraine, the genesis of the war with Russia as well as the evacuation of stranded Nigerians in the country.

As the author puts it, “Soon, the sound of sirens became our constant companion, each one a reminder that peace can vanish in an instant. The measured cadence of diplomacy was replaced by urgency — evacuation plans, coordination with other missions, and the delicate task of keeping hope alive amid chaos. Our first priority was the safety of Nigerians — particularly the students trapped in conflict zones. The embassy became a lifeline, coordinating with volunteer networks, humanitarian corridors, and neighbouring missions to facilitate evacuations. Each successful message — ‘We are safe’, ‘We’ve crossed the border’, ‘Thank you, sir’ — felt like a small victory against the overwhelming tide of war.”

In The Sirens and the Flag, which is in 12 parts and 29 chapters, Ambassador Alege has done an exceptional job in balancing the delicacy of diplomacy against the background of a gripping story. Despite this, the narrative does not hold back in its exposition of the ugliness of war, neither does it take sides in the unfortunate imbroglio nor does it prescribe judgement to those who are complicit. What the author does is to put in place a story of genuine hope and a record of endurance. Above all, he wrote a book for “those who lived through the experience, those who waited anxiously at home, and those who believe that even amid chaos, dignity can prevail.”

Away from the cacophony of sirens, buzzing of shellfire, the whizzing of missiles, the spattering of blood and mud, and the tearing down of bodies, The Sirens and the Flag ends in medias res, without triumph or tragedy, only in the further possibilities of the enduring legacies of resilience, solidarity and grace under unimaginable pressure.

With a ‘Foreword’ by Professor Ibrahim Gambari, another quintessential former Nigerian diplomat and Minister of Foreign Affairs, The Sirens and the Flag will certainly find a warm reception among the international literary and diplomatic circles when it hits the bookshelves in the first quarter of 2026.

* Dr. Okediran, Secretary-General of Pan-African Writers Association (PAWA), is novelist and critic