Uncle Blessing...

Was it SARS?

I can’t entirely recall if it was in 2004 or 2005 when news filtered to us that one of our neighbors, Uncle Blessing had died. A young graduate at the time, who I had accompanied to the neighborhood Cyber Cafe a few times, as he scoured the internet for job opportunities. I was proficient with the computer and he needed me to help him navigate sending his resume to various organisations for positions he had scribbled out as a ‘free-reader’ of Thursday Guardian at the road-side vendor’s spot.

Quite unlike him, he did not return home on that fateful night and calls to his phone line were unanswered. His family, growing weary with anxiety headed out on a search by the next morning. It wasn’t too long after that we heard the news; his body had been found on the roadside, pushed out from a moving vehicle and hitting his head on a curb, he had bled from his head to death. At that time, though difficult to stomach, the narrative was that he had been robbed by one-chance operators. No one knows the actual account, but as survivor stories begin to emerge from the current #ENDSARS protest, my mind pops up that incident and I’ve asked myself - was there a chance he was a victim of police brutality?

In the wake of the current protests, a friend of mine Michael (real names) shared some of his experiences with me and I couldn’t help but marvel in horror. On one occasion, in 2015, he was on his way to a speaking engagement at Babcock University and because it was a late night trip, he had opted to commute via public transport. His route was the Ijebu-Ode - Shagamu route. In the course of the trip, his bus was stopped around Shagamu by a Police van, who scanned the passengers seated in it and then asked him and another young man (a Shagamu resident) to alight. At first the driver tried to engage the officers, in a bit to convince them that there was nothing untoward with his passengers, but seeing that his attempts proved futile, he and the other passengers left, without Michael and the other person. After initial identification, questioning and failed attempts to convince the policemen that they weren’t criminals, they were whisked into a waiting van en route the police station. At the station, they were both dumped in the cell, for no reason. No crime committed, no incriminating evidence found on them, just two young men picked up from a moving vehicle and locked-up. On their way to the station, other young people were randomly picked up. One case which stands out, is an elderly man that was accosted in front of his house resting from the day’s hustle. He had just showered and sat outside alone to relax before going to bed. His request to be allowed to inform his family fell on deaf ears and he was bundled into the van, without an offense.

For the first time in his life, Michael spent the night in a police cell. Dingy, smelly and with little or no source of light, he could only pray that he would not be roped into any unknown crime, sent to prison or even killed. Luckily, the other folk’s family were able to make it to the police station the next morning. Random arrests had become so regular in Shagamu that once a family member failed to return home at night and is unreachable, the family can almost tell that he/she was in the Police Station. Michael’s saving grace was that he begged this co-occupant to put in a word for him and be allowed to be bailed with him when his father came, in the afternoon of the next day. The policemen yielded and Michael was let go. Interestingly, he kept an Afro at the time, tangled a bit like a dread. The policemen made reference his hair as he left, saying “Omoluabi’s don’t keep such hair.” That was how he figured the reason for his arrest. Sadly, he couldn’t honor the invitation for which he had earlier set out and without any thought, headed back home, traumatized but grateful that he was at least able to see the light of day. Till today, he still wonders what may have happened, if he wasn’t bailed. While in, he had heard horror tales of people who had been arrested in similar manner and are still awaiting trial in prison.

This is one of many experiences young people have been subjected to, in the hands of law-enforcement officers, especially the Police. Social Media is filled with tales of unjust killings by trigger happy officers, even in broad daylight, under the guise of tracking, or chasing internet fraudsters. Daily, there’s one case of harassment or the other; you drive a Benz or any other exotic car, look young and comfortable, you likely would fit their profile. In other cases, people are pulled out of taxies (Uber, Taxify, or regular cabs), arrested and eventually extorted.

Now that we’ve found our voice, now that we’re able to share our experiences and demand for more, it’s a simple message we all bring - #ENDSARS , #ENDSWAT and #ENDPOLICEBRUTALITY … As the authorities struggle to comprehend the spontaneous protests springing up around the country, we do not need knee-jerk reactions, we do not need empty promises or sweet-nonsense. We need deliberately thought-out policy positions, decisive punishments of culpable officers, involvement of youth in actions and decisions and a proper over-haul of the current security architecture.

The beauty of these protests is the randomized coordination, never before seen across the country and in it lies an indication of what the nation’s youths can pull-off, if giving a chance to contribute their quota.

ENDSARS may be the beginning, but ReformNigeria is where the journey is eventually headed. The authorities better be prepared.