Photo Credit: Ayano Tosin on Unsplash.
“Oga, this useless man no see ashawo again, he come dey press policewoman for breast,” was his response. Here’s the story:
I lived at Ikotun-Egbe then. There were about five of us staying in a friend’s apartment. Squatting actually. That was 25 years ago.
One night, one of us didn’t show up to sleep. Those were the days before the advent of GSM telephony. So there was no way to reach him.
We were all worried, but we hoped that he was busy with work or that something important delayed him.
Later the following day, our missing friend showed up with an unbelievable tale. He had finished for the day and took a danfo bus.
The bus was stopped by policemen who wanted to ensure the driver gave them a bribe. The driver seemed not to be in a mood to play ball—he had every document they asked for. The policemen delayed the bus, trying to get the driver to deal.
All the passengers in the bus initially kept mute as they observed the exchange of words between the driver and the policemen. But then, my friend couldn’t take it anymore. He spoke up. He asked the policemen to stop delaying the bus and allow them to go.
The policemen ‘shined’ their torch into the bus, seeking who just spoke. My friend, bold and daring, identified himself. The policemen asked him to come down. He did, expecting other passengers to join him in a protest. To his shock, no one did.
Unperturbed, he kept on asking what his crime was. By that time, the other passengers had started grumbling and asked the driver to ‘settle’ the police. They asked the driver whether the N50 he would have given them could buy back the time they had already wasted at that point.
The driver beckoned to the policemen. He brought out a note and gave it to them. My friend’s mouth was agape. But that was only ‘kese kese’. ‘Kasa kasa’ was still coming (that was just the tip of the iceberg).
My friend spoke up against police extortion on a danfo bus. What followed was a shocking night of betrayal, brutality, and providential escape. Read his story. Share on XThe policemen waved on the driver. The guy ignited the engine, engaged the gear and started to move. All the passengers ignored my friend. He started to wave at the driver, but the ‘conductor’ shut the door, and the driver moved on. He was left behind to his fate. He started regretting getting involved.
He blamed himself for being a busybody interloper. But then, he shrugged it off. The deed has been done.
The policemen jacked him up by his trousers and told him to follow them to the station. Among the police was a woman.
My friend said he told them to take him anywhere. He was ready to follow them. Fundamental human right, he said. That was a fundamental mistake. When they got to the station, one of the policemen saluted his superior that he met at the front desk.
“Who is this criminal?” the superior asked. Anyone who comes to the police station is assumed to be a criminal—especially if a policeman brought you. You’re already guilty before you are charged. The response of the man who led the police team shocked my friend to the marrow.
Anytime I rehash or recall this incident, I can’t but wonder at the level of sheer wickedness in the hearts of some. “Oga, this useless man no see ashawo again, he come dey press policewoman for breast,” was his response.
He pointed at the policewoman on the team while that one also clutched at her two breasts that were supposedly violated. My friend, stupefied by such an accusation, opened his mouth in shock. The superior officer landed him with a mouth-closing slap.
They descended on him and gave him a beating. His efforts to explain himself fell on deaf ears. He was put behind the counter. His offence? Pressing the breasts of a policewoman. O gbenutan! (Unbelievable!)
In a flash, his life went before him. Who would believe his story with the policewoman ready to give evidence against him? He couldn’t cry. He blamed himself for interfering. In tough situations, it’s either you talk to God or talk to yourself. He did both.
He didn’t even notice that a guy was beside him on the bench he sat on. The guy nudged him and asked for details of what happened. When he heard, he laughed. He told my friend he was arrested over a flimsy charge three days before my friend arrived.
No one—not even his family members—knew where he was. He had surrendered to fate. ‘O ti gba kamu.’
Well, there is a way providence intervenes. A short while later, a man, who obviously had a case that was just settled, came to the front desk to ‘settle’ the men. He dropped a wad of cash. As he left, all the policemen started a fight. It was a real combat for who gets what.
They tugged at each other and boxed each other. My friend and his new acquaintance watched the show of shame. The guy at the counter whispered to my friend to use that opportunity to bolt away. The policemen were distracted. My friend started sliding with his buttocks towards the door
Those few seconds looked like hours. When he finally got to the door, he took off. He said he ran the race of his life. He was scared they would shoot at him. As he ran to the main road, he jumped into the first danfo bus he saw.
He didn’t even ask for the destination. Any destination was good enough. He didn’t have any fare on him. His money had been collected. His belt was with them. He held his trousers with both hands and begged for money to get home.
At the root of the dysfunction of this nation is the poor regard for the rule of law. And this actually starts with our uniformed men—the police, military and other paramilitary outfits. If we get it right with them, we will have solved a significant problem for Nigeria.
At the root of our dysfunction is the poor regard for the rule of law. A gun paid for by taxpayers should protect citizens, not intimidate them. Share on XIf uniformed personnel actually understand their responsibility and that the gun they carry is paid for with taxpayers’ money, they will discharge their duties more responsibly. They will refuse to obey unlawful orders.
If policemen refuse to collect bribes, citizens will find it difficult to break the law. Citizens will start to respect them and hold them in awe. They won’t think they have the power of life and death over fellow citizens.
There should be a massive orientation programme for men of the uniform. It’s a tough job, but it can be done. They need to understand that people can’t be profiled based on their tattoos, hairdos, or laptops. They need to jettison Stone Age thinking and practices.
They also need to know there are consequences for their missteps. In other climes, uniformed men are the kindest of people. They don’t show brutal force or aggression when there is no need for it. They are always willing to help.