Opinion: When government security personnel decide to go gaga

by Dolapo Aina

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Like the Italian and South American drug and crime gang leaders you watch in crime movies and read about in fiction and non-fiction books, the man turned back and ordered “come on boys!” to some male passengers. The fox and his colony had been released to unleash terror freely with no stop button in sight! Come see panel beating (military style)!

The plethora of battle-ready, daily exercised feet and palms; delivered different sledgehammer-like punches, “Chuck Norris-inspired” kicks and resounding authoritarian wife-like face slaps (those types; which make some husbands wonder if marriage wasn’t such a bad idea) which must have sent ringing tunes and vibrations through the street urchin’s anatomy.

Several years ago, (to be precise) on Sunday, the 19th of April 2009, this writer boarded a commercial bus from Obalende to Victoria Island. The bus was almost filled up with passengers, who all assumed the bus fare was just 50Naira.

While majority of the occupants were probably mulling about the events of that Sunday and what kind of powerful sermons their Pastors would deliver at the pulpits; a street urchin better known as an “area boy” or “Agbero”, whose primary job it was; to attract, convince or cajole passengers to board buses; informed the passengers in this particular commercial bus that “your money na 70Naira!” Everyone including this writer protested to no avail. He told the passengers that if we couldn’t pay the fare; we could get down and board the next bus.

Everyone alighted, annoyed and livid at his dubiousness and most importantly his mannerless vulgar utterances. He was dishing out the crude abuses with an amazing alacrity, reckless pomposity and abandonment.

No one who questioned him was spared his unethical curses, oozing out of his ogogoro-scented, halitosis-infected mouthpiece cum loose tongue.  He was on fire as he graciously and gladly insulted some passengers’ parents with some delightful gusto! The kidney destroying, locally brewed dry gin christened several nicknames like Ogogoro, Shepe, Opa eyin, were at full swing in his system, so it seemed.

Everyone boarded the next bus. We were comfortably seated, when this irritant area boy came from behind the bus to inform us “hold your 70Naira. If you no fit pay, get down. Nobody force you!” Some passengers were livid; some were quiet; this writer was wondering how a low-life riff-raff could ever think of controlling educated and law abiding passengers who were going to their various churches.

Suddenly, a slightly heavy set man told him in the Yoruba language to be mindful of how he responded to passengers. The street urchin replied in Yoruba “Ki le fe se?” loosely meaning “what do you want to do/what can you do?” The main action was just about to begin.

Like the Italian and South American drug and crime gang leaders you watch in crime movies and read about in fiction and non-fiction books, the man turned back and ordered “come on boys!” to some male passengers. The fox and his colony had been released to unleash terror freely with no stop button in sight! Come see panel beating (military style)!

As it is said in local parlance, “torie don get K-leg” loosely meaning “this story has changed/has a new plot”. Coincidentally, six to seven men who were security officers attached to the famous EFCC (Economic and Financial Crime Commission) in the highbrow area called Ikoyi, boarded the bus. They all obeyed their boss’ order; alighted and descended on the street urchin like hot lava spewing down from a volcanic mountain. They beat and battered (oh Lord) the living day-light out of the area by cum man. I doubt if his life remained the same.

As if that wasn’t enough, soldiers and military policemen on their different journeys saw “early morning exercise in the form “o sho free beating”-meaning-‘free beating’,” converged on the spot and gladly joined in the frenetic and ferocious feast of fists and fury a la Bruce Lee! The plethora of battle-ready, daily exercised feet and palms; delivered different sledgehammer-like punches, “Chuck Norris-inspired” kicks and resounding authoritarian wife-like face slaps (those types; which make some husbands wonder if marriage wasn’t such a bad idea) which must have sent ringing tunes and vibrations through the street urchin’s anatomy.

Military belts and horsewhips appeared from God knows where; to add a surreal soundtrack to the beating of a life time experience. The punishment culminated with a powdered tear gas being sprinkled on the area boy’s face. Before we knew what was going-on, he suddenly spoke to his legs or quoting the Nobel Laureate, Professor Wole Soyinka; he engaged his legs in rapid dialogue, probably due to the irritation on his face and body. In the Niger-Delta version of Pidgin English, the area boy just Kawa! Kawa is the shortened version of Kawasaki Super Power Bikes. And what do power bikes do better than to speed off?

This unauthorised instant punishment which was dished out by the “gagacious” security personnel occurred in less than six minutes (6 minutes pere– Yoruba word for just). Instantaneous justice without the need of the legal machinery. This is the kind of justice we have been receiving from those who hold the reins of power. This is only possible in Nigeria and other developing nations. When would Nigerians begin to believe in the judiciary? Those in the judiciary have a hard sell. Apparently that same point (beside the beginning of the overhead bridge) has been transformed to the BRT Bus Terminal.

Lest I forget, I saw the street urchin, the following Sunday at Obalende; in the midst of some of his colleagues and senior bosses (motor-park chairmen et al). His body language was that of utter soberness if not sobriety. He was as sober as fresh boli! (Yoruba word for roasted plantain). The erstwhile irritant street urchin now had the full demeanour of a Tibetan monk. I couldn’t hide this mischievous smile.

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Op-ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija.

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