#LagosBlog
I
was just taking a stroll to the nearby mosque from my apartment, when the little
golf car passed by me.
A
voice from it called out...
"Police."
I
looked at him, he wasn't wearing any uniform, and his voice came with so little
effort, that I thought he was merely making silly jokes by calling me a police.
So I didn't bother. One of those lagos madness I thought to myself, until I
realized that the car was stopping, then I realized that there was actually a
police man with a riffle behind, himself and the one without a uniform came out
of the car and repeated again.
"Police."
Then
I slowed down, but didn't really know if I should stop or keep moving. One
other thing I've learnt in lagos is never slack, never appear weak, never let
anyone intimidate you, even if his gun and their stone face threatens my
belief. I remained shakeless.
Then
the one in mufti repeated, now with a meaner voice.
"Stop
there I say police, are you deaf?"
Now
I stopped.
How
may I help you? I said.
"May
we know you? Where are you going to?"
I
wonder where to begin. That naturally, my name is Qudus onikeku or that I'm an
ordinary Muslim going quietly for my Friday jumat ritual, or that I'm a
returnee just relocating to lagos, or that I'm a renowned artiste of
international you know what, or that I actually am not in the mood for their
palaver?
Well
I simply said. I'm an artist and heading towards the mosque, and I'm late if
you don't mind.
Then
I took my leave.
Of
course I was only showing stunts, I know police movies never end like that in
Lagos. But looking at the face of the one in uniform, my tactic tend to have
subdued him. But the mufti guy was bent on extracting something from the
situation at hand. So he reinforced.
"Mr
man come back here, this is stop and search, why u nor dey run from your house,
to take know say you don late. You dey go mosque, nonsense, so police can't
stop you anymore because you dey go mosque"
I
replied him "Mr police, what right you get, to think say you fit stop
person anyhow dey search for road." Even if I know that what nigerian
police dislike the most, is you trying to prove that you know the law.
"I
go embarrass you o" he replied with.
At
this point now it was getting a little hotter than I bargained. Well me too
can't be taken aback anymore. So I reinforced
"Well
you no fit embarrass me"
"Why"
"Because
I go embarrass you back."
"Mr
man I want to search you. What do you have in you pocket? What do you do"
Now
with my straight face, looking right into his red eyes.
"I've
got my mobile in one pocket, my wallet in the other and I have told you earlier
that I'm an artist"
Before
he could say bring it let me see, I brought both my wallet and my mobile phone
out and held tight to them, because I was not going to let him touch them,
because I know their silly habit of wanting to search into your wallet and
mobile phones for so called "exhibit"
Then
he said, "so do you have any identification card on you, to identify that
you are an artist"
Yes
that's exactly where I was anticipating his move, and even before then I've
blocked him. I don't know in what part of this earth he was trained, or which
logic he was working with, to even imagine that an artist will have an ID,
especially in an half nation like Nigeria. Perhaps one that proves that I'm an
artist of the federal republic of Nigeria or that I belong to a who know what
dance (dis)organisation.
Well
like I said I wasn't just in the mood to prolong this matter. I simply pull out
my carte vital, yes, it's not even an ID, it's my health insurance card from
France. Already, all about that card was in French, and that confused the hell
out of him, the only consolation he got was that he could see my picture on it,
and a name that must be mine he guessed. After he stared for a relatively long
period of time. He handed it back to me, and I turned to resume my interrupted
journey to the mosque.
Shior.
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