#behind the scenes - 2

Sun, Oct 18, 2020 7:26 AM

 


 

 


            I will never forget what happened during my university days in school. The police brutality I and my friends experienced, and how we were unable to do zilch about it. Even now, the thought about it haunts me badly. The emotional scar it left is still a subtle reminder in my heart. I can't see a man in Police uniform without feeling attacked, without feeling safe, or without feeling the reassurance of my life. That's how bad things have gotten with me. The traumatic pressure and experience. The post traumatic stress of the agony I experienced first-hand.


            I and my friends were home that frigid afternoon having fun. We skipped lectures that day, because our schedules were free. Plus, we ordered pizza and drinks, chilling and gisting. Oblivious to us, SARS operatives were in our lounge, looking for apartments with opened doors. In other words, looking for victims. While we were there, discussing, they barged into our house, looking formidable and dreadful. Trepidation hung over us like a chandelier, but as men, we tried to conceal it. They saw us eating immediately asked us for our ID cards. It took us a while to get it, but we did and gently gave it to them.


            When they noticed they couldn't pin any blame or offense on us, they assumed we were yahoo boys, into fraud. They came up with this assumptions because we ordered pizza. Without a warrant (undoubtedly, they didn't need one) they started searching our rooms. Dismantling anything their hands touched. Looking for something they obviously didn't keep here. One of my friend got mad and thought it was a nice idea to tell them about his civil rights and all. That attempt only earned him a hard slap across the face. He doubled back and fell down, a look of astonishment imprinted on his face.


            Watching all this, I couldn't hold myself. I felt anger eating through my bones too. I tried, but in an aggressive manner started to tell the officers how what they were doing was unjust and wrong. Maybe I should have left them. Because what happened afterwards was hell on Earth. One of the officers said something about me thinking I could talk to them anyhow because I was a fine boy? Before I knew what was happening, they rammed at my face with the butt of their gun. I fell down, almost loosing conscious of myself. I felt huge hands on my legs, they were dragging me outside ferociously. My skin peeling off against paved ground. I didn't even know where I was anymore. When they were done dragging me, they started kicking and slapping me. Using the butt of their guns to hit my head. A blow to my mouth knocked several teeth off. I was disorientated. Wasted. In the background I heard my friends begging for my sake.


            The criminals said we had two ways out of this. Either we pay them the sum of fifty thousand naira, or they'll frame us with weed and we'll spend the rest of our lives behind bars. That was how unfortunately we raised fifty thousand naira among ourselves and paid them off. They left us alone. 


            Immediately, my friends rushed me to the clinic. For almost three days, I couldn't eat properly.

 

            This is why we fight for what we fight for now, or else some time in the future, we will send our kids to school and they might never come back to us.

 

 






#ENDPOLICEBRUTALITY

 

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