The other side of a cop: A reporter’s diary

My friends had agreed to form a little ‘entourage’ headed by me to perform the traditional rites of my intending marriage. A few of my family members were also on their way from Lagos to beef up the entourage. As we were about turning into the highway leading from Masaka in Nasarawa State, my brother-in […]

My friends had agreed to form a little ‘entourage’ headed by me to perform the traditional rites of my intending marriage. A few of my family members were also on their way from Lagos to beef up the entourage. As we were about turning into the highway leading from Masaka in Nasarawa State, my brother-in –law who was in the second vehicle who was to lead us along the various twists and turns that led to our destination, called me aside and whispered urgently, ‘hope you have N2O notes with you. Make sure that you have up to N300.’ Perplexed I asked him why I needed to have such small change in my pocket. He simply smiled and answered: ‘Don’t you know that you have to ‘settle’ all these policemen along the road. They will simply waste your time since your big big English will not move them.’ I thanked him for his advice and got behind the wheels of the car that was to convey my pen partners and I. ‘Guys, I hope you have N20 notes with you. I will need it from time to time to settle police o,’ I announced straight faced. The roar of laughter that greeted me was expected. I had four of the best reporters in my car: Adebayo, the indefatigable extrovert, Opeyemi, small but mighty and a fiery cub journalist, Bunmi and a friend, Akin. We had a pact that morning that we would not give a dime to any policeman on the way no matter what happened.

The ordeal started as soon as we left the ancient town of Makurdi. From Abuja through Nasarawa to Makurdi, we had had pockets of policemen at different points on the journey, but not much harassment had occurred. Once we left Makurdi, it was hellish. The number of police checkpoints we met on the way was numerous. And one thing was evident: every vehicle particularly commercial ones had to part with a token before being allowed to pass. My brother-in-law who was apparently used to the state of affairs was always quick to ‘settle.’ At different point, he simply thrust out his hands and handed N20 notes and he was even saluted at some points. But trust us journalists, we stuck to our guns and refused to be browbeaten. Two particular checkpoints were of note, however. At a point, an aggressive policeman along the Ogoja road after waiting for the customary ‘fiber’ in vain, demanded that I come out from behind the wheels in order to open the boot of the car. When I told him I could open it without coming out he screamed angrily, ’oga come and open the boot.’ After checking the boot and seeing that it contained no contraband, he banged it. He then muttered: ‘oga anything for us?’ Adebayo quickly answered, ‘we are also on duty like you. We are simply going for a friend’s wedding. We are journalists.’ It was then he noticed the press tag on the windscreen. His mien changed a notch. He quickly waved us. At another checkpoint, the gaunt policeman that stopped us demanded for my car particulars and spent about 10 minutes looking through as if in preparation for an exam. When the expected cash did not emanate he grudgingly passed the papers back. Whenever we passed other ‘perilous’ checkpoints, our response to subtle requests for cash was always, ‘we are journalists.’ At a particular point, a police officer requested to see the bridegroom. My brother-in-law must have unwittingly given him the information. I identified myself. When he asked for money, I simply told him I had none to give but would probably give him something when I passed the way again and of course if I still have anything after the wedding! We passed no less than 15 different checkpoints but we parted with no cash as we vowed.

Interestingly on our way back from the wedding, our assessment of the police was astonishingly an opposite of what we experienced on the way to the wedding. Our car broke down on the massive hilly road leading into Ikom. While we were still battling with what to do, a classy jeep parked beside us and a fleshy man walked up to us and offered to help. In a matter of minutes, he had the car running, but told us that it still needed repairs. At this point, the heaven released a deluge of rains. The man escorted us to a hotel in the town and even in the heavy downpour waited until we had settled in and even gave us the number of his auto mechanic. Although I cannot recall his name now he introduced himself to us as a Chief Superintendent of Police, CSP. He displayed the other side of the Nigeria Police. Again as we ventured into Lafia, our car suffered an engine overheat. A corporal whose name I also cannot recall came to our rescue although he was slightly inebriated and was muttering more than necessary and repeatedly lambasted the driver for carelessness. It was not all rosy along the return trip. At a point, an officer asked us pointedly to give us one of the goodies we bought on the way. An irate Adebayo nearly jumped out of the vehicle to confront the nosy policeman. This was understandable since he had a few items he bought for his personal use and which he was not willing to give to any pesky officer!

Our brief sojourn made us to realise that on the interlocking roads of this nation, the Nigerian policeman is a king with a kingdom of his own and can choose to unveil whichever side of his character that he decides is best suited to the moment. And despite some immoral ones who would prefer to drag the noble profession into the mud by soliciting for bribes, there are indeed excellent officers who display the true worth of the profession.