By Atsar Terver
The Nigerian Policeman could be nasty and in the most annoying of ways. And for me, since my very first encounter with the Police at the age of 14, they have consistently exhibited the same form of behaviour bereft of the politesse and professionalism expected of a law enforcement agency.
I received my baptism in Police misdemeanour at the age of 14. I was then in Form four at Government Secondary School Ushongo. Our Agric Teacher had asked me among other Prefects to assist him invigilate an examination for a junior class. While on ‘duty’, I caught this diminutive girl called Erdoo (not her real name) copying the answers directly from her notebook. In those days, such an act was a taboo especially in the Northern part of the country. Yes there was a time in this country when examination malpractice was embarrassing to even the students themselves. The Nigerian child had not yet been indoctrinated to accept the culture of examination fraud as a norm. So I reported her to the Teacher.
Erdoo was only physically diminutive; her fighting spirit was quite tall and sophisticated for a schoolgirl in Form one. In fact she was a militant of some sort as she had a gang of bad boys who fought her battles. I was to know this only after the teacher gave her a befitting punishment for her act and she vowed to deal with me.
Usually I would be the last person to leave the school premises because as a Library Prefect, I needed to rearrange all the books on the shelves at the end of each day. And so she waited for me in one of the classrooms. On my way home in the company of a friend, I noticed a group of boys trailing us and in their midst was Erdoo. I instantly smelt a rat. They soon closed in on us and in a symbolic gesture akin to the sign Judas gave his gang to identify Jesus their target, this tiny girl walked up to me and landed a heavy punch on my lower back. His boys then went into action straightaway.
Of course my friend and a passerby who was also our classmate intervened and I was set free to go home. I later learnt that Erdoo insisted my friend must pay for setting me free and so the fight continued in my absence until the Police were called in. I was picked up an hour later and thrown into a detention cell. Then began my journey into discovery of the rottenness in the Police system. And they have never disappointed me once since then.
In the cell, I found myself in the midst of hardened criminals. I can’t really say I came face to face with them because I could not see any of their faces. The cell was completely dark. I could only hear voices; husky voices, hungry voices and some nasty comments. They asked me my name and what brought me there. I refused to say a word. I leaned against the wall in the corner, unable to bear the pong oozing from their skins and the only hole in the wall which served as a urinary. The only ray of light that filtered in through this hole was quickly absorbed by their dark skins. One of them that sounded like a leader assured me that I was most welcome and that I should feel free to share my story with them that they could perceive I was a small boy and they decided not to touch me. Incredible! Here were supposed criminals who had the wisdom to know it was wrong to put a juvenile inside a detention cell; wisdom that the Policemen did not have.
Soon the news got to the School Principal and he quickly dispatched some teachers to come secure my freedom immediately since he regarded the matter as one to be handled by the school authority instead of the Police. A group of students also gathered in front of the station to demand my release but the Sergeant on duty rebuffed their entireties insisting that I must spend the Night in the cell. I was later to learn that Erdoo’s father had given the Sergeant some money to ensure that I slept in the cell to teach me a lesson. This Sergeant had called my father aside to ‘explain’ that if he could bring a higher amount than Erdoo’s Dad, then he would secure my release! My dad declined this deal and told him to take me to court if indeed he could!
Looking back at some of the decisions my Dad took while he was alive and those I have taken at certain critical times, I can say I took after him in many ways. For instance, he was not one to keep quiet in the face of tyranny or injustice. Somehow, I just find myself unable to keep quiet when Police cross their boundaries and attempt to encroach on my fundamental rights and freedom as a law abiding citizen. Incidentally this is what the average Nigerian Policeman hates, and I in turn hate them for it. I once told my younger brothers that if any of them should decide to join the Police, I will visit the welder to elongate the handle of my spoon so we could still eat together as our culture demands. Every time I encounter them, I have something to write about.
On 13th June 2009, I was in Lagos for some personal engagements. On arrival, I took a cab on my way from the Murltala Muhamed International Airport to Surulele. Along Western Avenue, by the Yaba link, the cab was flagged down by a Policeman. The driver pulled over respectfully and the Policeman bent over to my side of the car and the following conversation ensued.
‘Oga, come down for searching’ he said in an authoritative manner.
‘You want to search me or the car?’ I asked him calmly
‘You!’ he interjected harshly
‘You have a warrant for this search on me or you suspect something?’
‘It is a routine check ‘
‘But how do you decide who to search and who not to search please?’
‘There are no criteria Sir. It is at random’
‘Ok. Do your work’, I said as I stepped out from the car.
I stretched my hands aside as he frisked me quite professionally, I must admit. His hands soon found my wallet which was rather very fat at the moment. I could sense a spell of excitement in his eyes. Obviously a fat wallet meant a fat settlement, should the need for it arise. I pitied him though, as I was not ready to part with any ‘shishi’ of mine under whatever name he would call it.
‘What is this?’ he belched with some form of consternation in his tone as if he had found a gun on me.
‘My wallet of course’
‘Bring it out’
I did. He needed to be sure it was money so he could charge me with ‘money laundering’ in case he found no other issues against me.
‘Open it’ he instructed.
‘What exactly do you want to see in my wallet?’ I asked still trying to maintain my sanity. But my temper was already at boiling point. All the same I opened the wallet. It was full of crisp 1,000 Naira Notes. He nodded his head in a mischievous manner. At that point, I knew he would stop at nothing until he finds a loophole. As a last resort, he could work on my emotions to get me angry so we could go into a confrontation and then he could use that against me. Knowing this to be his plan, I resisted the urge to blow up. So I stayed calm.’
You are very thorough, unlike most Policemen who collect 20 naira and allow people to go’. I commended him, but in a way he would not miss the disdain. But I guess he did as he smiled childishly obviously enjoying the praise.But his smile lasted for a few seconds, and then his countenance changed again to a tight no-nonsense officer that he either was or wanted me to believe he was.
‘Where is your ID card?’ he demanded.
I reached for the inner breast pocket of my jacket at brought out my Identity Card. His countenance brightened again similar to the expression I had seen on his face when he sighted the content of my wallet.
‘So you work with an oil company?’ He asked as he snatched the ID card from my hand and refused to give it back to me.I obviously did not need to answer that question.
‘Oya what are you carrying in those bags? He pointed to my travelling bag and the Laptop carrier at the backseat of the cab.
‘My personal effects. I responded’
‘Open the bags.’
I did. He rummaged the bag carelessly and in the process ruffled my clothes which were hitherto neatly packed.
‘Officer, I am sorry you have the right to search my bag but none to tangle my clothes, so be careful ok?’ I cautioned him. At this point he picked out my cologne lifted it up quizzically and asked rather desperately: ‘Wetin be this?’
‘The name is there on it, but if you need help with that I can assist’. I said almost shouting.
He got the message and quietly dropped it in the bag and then reached for my Laptop.
‘Whose is it?’ He shouted pointing at the laptop.
‘Mine of course’
‘Can I see the receipt?’
‘Yes you can, provided you can show me the receipt of the handset and the wristwatch on your arm’. I said almost carelessly not minding what was going to come next. He was stunned for a while, as he rummaged his brain in search for a way to come out of the corner he had boxed himself into.
‘Are you a Benue man?’
‘Why does that matter? I am a Nigerian.
‘Na Tiv people de talk like this’
‘A ha, Tiv people? They talk like how?
‘Una no dey respect Police’
‘Point of correction, we respect police, we respect the law, but we hate injustice and foul play.
‘Take your ID Card. You are even my brother.’
I looked at his name tag and realised he was a Tiv man.
‘Are you letting me go because I am your brother or you have not found anything on me?’ I asked.
‘Are you a lawyer?’
'I am just wondering what would have happened if I were an Ibo man or an Effik.'