This is the conclusion to What happens in Lere 1, a fictional story set in Lagos 2019.
I am afraid.
We move slowly through Allen avenue. There are five officers on the bus with the short officer and the driver in front. They are gisting, pretending to ignore my pleas for mercy. Beside me, Tall officer is drinking a bottle of alomo bitters and muttering under his breath. Periodically, he leans over, Ak 47 shoved close to my face and whispers with hoarse breath “your own don finish. Shebi you like to dey f*ck man. If na me, na firing squad naim get all of una. Rubbish”
Behind me, there’s one other Guy. I’m scared of him most of all because he hasn’t said a single word this entire time. On his lap, a walkie-talkie bursts to life. He regularly radios someone called “Alfa one” and struggles with this persistent cough. It’s clear he’s in charge around here.
Inside, I think about my life.
Surely, having dicktures on your phone isn’t a crime. My dick. My phone. Abi Kilonshele. I feel a gust of bravado swell in my chest as we pass Toyin Street and head towards Alausa. They don’t have nuttin’ on me. They could form deaf for all I cared. Besides, we were moving slowly. Maybe I could jump down and make a run for it. Now, that’s an idea!
#Chijioke #JimohIsiak #Tinaezekwe #LindaIgwetu #PeterOfurum #Ojahbee
Escape? I quickly perish the thought. But why me now? Why I no just follow H go house that time? Why I even comot this night? Sigh. All this for what, prospective nacks?
Just then, we slow to a halt in front of Shrine.
“See am.”
“Yeah, I dey see am.”
By the side of an ATM, an unsuspecting young man relieves himself.
“Oya. Come from front, I go near am from side”, said Tall Officer.
Outside, I hear the great Femi Kuti performing. Red-themed posters everywhere announce “AFRIKA 2019” and the Afrikan shrine is alive with trembling energy. Tens of people mill around spread evenly with the smell of Indian hemp. In a blink of an eye, Short officer is beside the boy. I had no idea anyone could move that fast.
“Stop there. Wetin you dey do?”
The stranger’s face flushes red.
Getting accosted while you relieve yourself is one horrendous experience. I remember the one time I was at Elegushi and needed to pee. I asked my friend for the toilet and he gestured at the entire ocean. Wow, the world really is my oyster. I shrugged, moved to a secluded end of the bustling beach, and let fly. Ten seconds later, two boys had approached me and I had almost peed on them…
Outside the window, Short officer grabs the unsuspecting boy by his belt.
“What is it? What did I do?”
“I’m a Police Officer. Now, may we know you?”
“Officer I’m sorry. I just followed my padi here. I swear. I never do anything”
“Eh, na that same follow you go use follow us”
Just like that, I have a new roommate.
Boy is a smallish dude with shaky hands. Without a strand of beard on his chin, he looks like one of the actors from Binta and friends. I almost feel sorry for him. Why would anyone in his right mind lose their guard like that? Everyone knows it’s only the shrine street that is protected. Any other side roads and you are basically Fodder for these extorters. I push his problems from my head. Every mallam with ein own kettle. I settle on a plan. Las las, I would show them the chat between me and the babe. E no fit pass that one.
The silent man behind me lights up a cigarette — Benson Switch. My eyes begin to water and I can't tell if its the burning stub or my feelings threatening to escape through my face.
“Una don pick those Peckers Ashewo?”
“No oh, their Oga don pay this week now.”
“Let’s go to the station. E don do.”
The kidnap bus crosses a flyover and picks up speed as I start to mentally prepare my defense. There has to be a way out of this, via hook or crook. Which one is better? Is it the hook? I can’t remember. My palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy laise Eminem. I steal a glance at my partner, trying desperately to talk to our men in black.
“Hayyy Officer. I forgot my inhaler. I can’t breathe!”, my partner wailed.
“Wetin?”
We are rounding a bend now, heading to Area F. If you ever got caught and taken to area F, your middle name becomes sorry. It’s here they had kept Mevans, the famous philanthropist kidnapper who was caught and somehow disappeared under heavy security. There were stories of gunshots heard at night, patrol cars speeding for drop-offs, shallow graves dug and filled with the dreams of young men. It was here that trade-offs happened and human exchanges were made. I could see the outline of the police college. It was all happening so fast.
“I need my inhaler, Oga! Please I am a Unilag student!”
“Inhaler ko, exhale him ni,” Short Officer retorts, cocking his heavily sellotaped gun. “You no sabi inhaler when you dey smoke Igbo abi? If you talk too much, I go light you like Rothmans. Better shurrup ya mouth.”
Everywhere is quiet as we pull into the station. At the counter, a light-skinned policewoman is snoring behind an open book, nostrils flairing. Behind her, two young men in tattered clothes sit on a bench, handcuffed by their feet.
“Madame, who bring these ones come here?”
“Na squad A. Them catch them dey on top bike for Maryland.”
“Oho, Awon Boko Haram. Why them no dey cell?”
“One of them don go atm. Them go sleep for here, no worry.
“Good. We must get all of them out of this Lagos. You, go behind the counter.”
“Oga this whole thing is a mistake. I swear I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Wait. No be penis be this?”, Short Officer asks, showing me my phone.
“Yes, but I dey send am to woman!”
“If you allow me talk again, you go hear word.”
My fellow kidnap mate is already pleading his Asthma case to the policewoman. She scratchs her face and blows her nose, tapping the registry notebook in her front.
Just then, I hear a noise.
About 10 feet behind the counter is a passageway that gets progressively darker. I can hear persistent noises and make out a couple of shadows.
“Psst”
Still writing my name in the register, I try to peer in the receding darkness and let my brain make sense of what my eyes were seeing.
It’s a mesh of figures, faces pressed on a rusted burglary proof. One of them metamorphoses into a human being. “Psst. Fine boy. Please, bread”
There are at least 12 people in that 6 x 10 cell staring at me, all shirtless, the smell of sweat and unknown secretions drifts to the other side of the room. My partner starts crying. There and then, I make up my mind. I would not sleep in this cell. I could not sleep in this cell. No. God forbid. A night here would turn someone insane.
“Wetin dey your pocket? Remove your watch. Comot ya shirt. Stand this side.”
“Please. I will confess.”
“Eh?”
“I will confess, Oga”, He says. Just tell me Wetin to do. Please, I no dey feel fine.” Stripped to his boxers and behind the counter, I can see a pool begin to form near my partner’s feet. I shudder.
“No, your own case special. No be igbo we catch you with? First relax for cell. Madame take him in.”
“Chairman. Something gats dey wey go I fit do. Abeg, make I see inspector.” I say.
Taller man reeks of alcohol now. He attempts to throw the now empty alomo can into the basket by the window, missing by at least 3 feet.
“To see inspector na 10k.”
Behind me, the policewoman has discovered the urine-soaked floor. I mentally stopped myself from listening to the slaps landing successfully behind me.
“I go pay. Please, Officer, I cannot stay here.”
Short Officer calls me aside and takes me straight to the door.
“You know say I dey your side. When you see inspector, just do well. Fine boy like you, you no fit survive for inside that cell. Wallahi, them go use your nyash play tennis. Just reason with my Oga. I know say you be soji guy. We sabi your type. No be only you dey do this thing. Why una prefer hard nyash, I no fit understand. Any which way, do well.”
He knocks on a door and pushes me in.
The DPO’s office is pretty neat compared to the rest of the station. On the wall, General Buhari’s unsmiling portrait stares me down through it’s lifeless eyes, offering no respite to my predicament. The sides of the carpeted room are filled with files and papers and awards hanging on the wall. Inspector is bald-headed and plump. When he talks, his large stomach heaves like it also has something to say.
“Awon Bobrisky. Why you get preek for phone?”
I retell my tale dutifully, making sure I keep any wrongdoing out of it. As I talk, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I were truly gay. Why couldn’t Nigerians be progressive? What concerned the police with who anyone wanted to rub genitals with? Why was the government so obsessed with making life difficult for her citizens? The current Keke ban has already made surge my middle name. I recall seeing my driver’s name as Soji and laughing at the little joke just a couple of hours ago. Now, I’m in a bald man’s office, explaining dick.
Inspector taps his knees as I speak. I beg, I cajole, I plead. Apart from occasional grunts, I have no idea if I was getting through to the man.
“There’s only one way I see out of this,” He suddenly says. He picks up his walkie and radios for a Garba.
“Shun, sir.”
“Bring his phone.”
Short Officer walks into the room and asks me to unlock my phone.
“Oga you fit check the chat. If you look am, you go see say na woman I dey follow talk. Oga, please just check.”
He takes my phone and goes through my sordid chats, grunting as he does so. He stops at Shawtie’s large breasts and mutters “Na wa o. Small gehs of nowadays.” It’s going quite well.
“See wetin go happen now. Oya, Drop your boxers.”
“Sir?”
“Show me your penis. If na him, you go dey go house.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Comot your preek. Abi you deaf? Garba, take this man to the cell. It’s as if he don't usually hear well…”
“Oga please now. I will drop it.”
Slowly, I pull down my briefs.
“Hmmm.”
Inspector brought out a flashlight. “E no resemble am o! Abi Garba, come check now…e be like say this boy dey follow us play..”
“Officer wait. E still soft now. Wait one minute.”
With two grown men staring at me, I slowly start stroking my dick with tears in my eyes. I feel like I’m in a bad dream, the type you’re sure is a dream but you just can’t wake up. Inspector’s light shines on my organ as Short Officer brings my phone closer and tries to make a comparison.
“Oga, na him. See now, see the same birthmark here. See the head wey be like Nivea rollon. Na so e be for here. Eh, na him get am.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, Oga. Wait, why this one dey cry like woman? Shay you dey mad ni? You get luck say we no carry you go cell today. Ordinary body check you dey weep. Abeg wear this thing back.”
I hurriedly pull up my boxers and wipe the tears from my eyes. I’ve been vindicated, but at what cost? Garba is laughing with the Inspector and I feel pure hatred rise within me. I want to kill them, there and then.
They release me at 4:32 am, leaving me mentally scarred and my pockets N20,000 naira lighter. On my way out, Tall Officer calls me and gives me his number. “Store am as Ogbeni Detective. No worry yeah, anytime wey you enter any kain wahala, just call me. You know say the police na your friend.”
I turn back to have a final glance. The two bike men have disappeared, most likely incarcerated with my shrine friend. Behind the counter now are two scantily clad women and one man. They are explaining some kind of case to the nonchalant attendant. More people are arriving by the minute. I leave the building, heaving a sigh of relief.
On Oba Akinjobi way, I think of my next move. I could open my Twitter, start sewing my thread, and tag instablog about the night I just had. I hover over the app indecisively. One thing became apparent. If I tell my whole story in its entirety, maybe I could bring these bastards to justice. But if I did this, the whole world would know I showed two men my penis to regain my freedom. On the other ball, I could quietly swallow my pride, go home and have a hot shower. I have two of their names and ID numbers. I check my notifications and see 4 missed calls and one text message from Shawty.
“Oh, so I send you my nudes and you’re just gonna ignore me? I hate unintentional men. Goodnight.”
Outside, the first cocks are beginning to crow. I sigh, block her number and order another Uber.
Lagos. It rhymes with chaos.
