Chapter 2

I woke up to the sound of noisy traffic and the loud competing sound of voices around me. I blinked my bruised eyes and tried to lift my fractured body from the cold ground, but it was as if I was trying to lift some sacks of sand. Someone among the crowd finally brazed up and rushed to my aid, followed by two other sympathetic commercial motorcyclists who parked their bikes and gave my limped frame some strong support.
I nursed my swollen face and broken mouth few minutes later inside a roadside chemist, surrounded by a curious crowd who demanded to know what happened and who I was. Others equally demanded to know my mission at the rich estate. I even overheard someone suggesting that I might be a member of an armed robbery gang or any of the notorious kidnap gangs around. But I was glad when someone among them finally took over leadership of the charged crowd and authoritatively asked who I was and my mission there. I was just about to open my swollen lips when I noticed two uniformed policemen pushed into the crowd and confronted me with their riffles.

‘Where is the thief?’ one of them demanded threatening with his riffle.

The crowd dispatched backward and most of them quickly scampered away from the scene. You can’t blame them, nobody in his right sense remains at a scene of a crime to be a witness for the police across the country, unless that person has a thick skin to withstand the various police interrogation and intimidation that would follow. Although I was physically beaten and weak, but deep inside me, I suddenly felt a surge of strength from my inner spirit. I knew I was in a dangerous situation, despite the glaring fact that justice should belong to me, given the way I was humanly abused and physically beaten and discriminated upon by a fellow citizen and a human being like me. Where is the law? Where is justice? These were the two strong elements that gave me the strength to stand against the police, their threatening guns and the suspicious mob with their torrent of questions. My instinct told me that I was right and has committed no wrongdoing to warrant their mob action. I had not committed an offence by going into the estate and inside the Calabash. It was not a criminal liability, so it was not a criminal offence. I must stand up to defend my rights and tell all these people that I was the one that deserves sympathy and justice. I won’t relax and allow the mob to descend on me. I told myself and faced the policemen confidently.

‘ Look officer, listen , I am not a thief. I am a Nigerian Journalist whose right has been trampled upon by my fellow citizens, men and women. I demand justice!’ I shouted angrily at the crowd.

I noticed the sudden confusion on their faces and the reflex of caution on those of the policemen. I was happy that I scored a point with my bold words. It was one of the tricks of disarming the police in the country. Just make sure to have the ability to speak good grammatical English and you gain their respect and at the same time in awe of you. The crowd stood back and gaped at my ID card now in my hand with my photograph broadly smiling at all of them. I flashed it across their faces proudly and then gradually lifted my beaten frame painfully from my seat.

‘ Take me to the police station,’ I told them boldly and took some steps forward to the amazement of all, including the two policemen who nodded and maneuvered me towards their old pick up van.

‘ Who go pay for the treatment and drugs’ the chemist, a thin looking man with long hands and quick fingers demanded suspiciously.
‘ No worry my car still dey here,’’ I pointed out in pidgin as well and indicated my BMW car still parked in front of the Calabash where I had left it the previous night.

The policemen and the crowd gape at the blue car as if they were all seeing a four leg moving machine for the first time. I noted their look of admiration and sudden respect for me. That is my country for you. We now have many in the majority who worship and glorify materialism and owning a car is one sure way of getting respect and adoration from them.

*******
We got to the police station few minutes later, followed by few bold men among the crowd. I had resolved along the way not to give in to fear or intimidation from the police or anyone. This is my country and I have every right like any other citizen to seek for justice. I had the conscience feeling that I was in the right and must use every available power at my disposal to redeem my beaten honour and dignity. I was glad that I had used my profession to confront the two gun wielding policemen. Who know what would have happen if I did not tell them I was a journalist and had my identification card to support my claim.
Tales of policemen brutalizing and killing various suspects across the country was still rampant in the news and cases of overzealous and trigger happy policemen is now part of the story. Again, the barbaric jungle justice doctrine was still widespread and ongoing in some part of the country. I was relieved that I resisted the situation whereby the angry mob would have descend furiously on me like a common criminal and set me ablaze barbarically in the cheerful eyes of all. I realized that staying bold was my only option in the crazy situation. I reminded myself as the policemen ensnare me into their enclave.
The police station, despite being in a rich estate like the Uphill Estate, still had that familiar stench of a typical police station in the country. I noted that two uniformed policemen and a woman Sergeant had the front desk under their sentinel with suspicious eyes at every new face around. They all stared suspiciously at me as I was led into the station and reminded behind the counter. One of the policemen who had brought me reported something to the woman sergeant who stared more suspiciously at my battered face and swollen lips. We stared at each other for some seconds and the suspicious in her eyes turned slightly into respect.
I was led into the Divisional Police Officer (DPO) few minutes later after some suspicious interrogation by the woman sergeant and her two colleagues at the front desk. The DPO, a bulky looking, tough sounding police officer with a shaved round head and two tiny suspicious eyes, stared suspiciously at me without emotion as I reeled out my dilemma. His cat like eyes just bored into mine as if he was trying to catch a lie from them. I told him how I drove more than 30 kilometers from my abode at Zanga Area Council down to Uphill Estate just to have fun and celebrate my birthday in a quite isolated club and how the Calabash club had caught my fancy and attracted my curiosity and my subsequent visit to the place. I painted my meeting with the strange man and his woman inside the bar explicitly, including their aura, and my confrontation with the man and then finally to the heavy beating and pounding in the hands of the man and his thugs.
The round head D.P.O listened attentively to me without a blink of a response. He just sat there on his heavy bulk and stared at me the way every policeman stares at every criminal with a curious but suspicious demur. Then finally, he shifted his bulk, picked up my written statement that I had written at the front desk, stared suspiciously at the paper and then relaxed back on his chair.

‘’ So this is your first time in our exclusive environment?’ he finally asked in his tough voice, his thin eyes bored into mine.

‘ Yes, this is my first time here in the estate,’ I responded boldly

‘And you say you are a journalist, Mr. Tumba Kimba , am I right? And which of the media exactly do you work for?’ He threw the question across the room.

‘You can see it on my ID card and on the address I wrote down, Yes, my name is Tumba Kimba, you’re correct’ I responded without shifting ground to his tough voice.

He stared once more at the paper, read part of the statement and then nodded thoughtfully.

‘ Okay. Mr. Journalist, why did you decide to get into a fight with our oga?’ He suddenly demanded.

It was now my turn to stared curiously at him, which I did with a surprised look. ‘ Your, oga, I don’t understand, officer,’ I voiced out with a surprise look. I was certain the man I had a rough encounter with yesterday was not a police officer nor has anything to do with the police force by his statement and boasting. So I thought, but I was soon to find out.

‘ I did not fight any police man or an officer and I am sure that the man who did this physical harm to me was not a policeman,’’ I told him.

‘ So you think it is only police officers in uniform or other uniform men that are only our ogas. You are wrong my friend. We live by the grace of other big people,’’ he proudly announced with a sardonic grin.

I stared more confusingly at him, unable to comprehend his statement at first, then the thing hit me and I frowned up at him.

‘ So you mean the man that beat me and also ordered his boys to beat me black and blue and punched out my two teeth is also your boss?’ I burst out angrily, not knowing what got into me at that moment. All I realized was that I was filled with a sudden rage and ready to climb the roof.

My question must have come as a surprised to him, especially my outburst and the raging fire in my eyes, for his thin eyes suddenly sobered and he pushed his bulky frame up from his cranky chair.

‘Alright, Mr. Journalist, I don’t want wahala in my station, what do you want?’ he asked in a soft tone, his cat eyes now greased with a faint smile.

I controlled my inner rage and stared thoughtfully into space certain that I had made a score. I told myself that I must remain bold and confident in the face of the present circumstances. So I kept silence and thought over his question.

‘Look Mr. Journalist, I have other important cases at the moment. You journalists are always causing problems wherever you go in this country and I don’t want any of your wahala stories. So tell me what you want and let’s see what we can do?’ he finally reeled out in his unfriendly one.

‘Alright, officer, I want justice and I demand for my right and privilege as a natural citizen of this country,’ I responded flatly.

‘So what do you want us to do?’

‘ I want the law to take its cause. I have not committed any wrongdoing, so I want justice to come into this issue. I want that man and his thugs arrested. I don’t care who he is or his position,’ I rolled out, paused for some seconds and went on. ‘ I think I have the right to know my offence that merited my merciless beating and humiliation in the hands of these people. I see this as a criminal liability for the man and his boys being all fully competent adult to have excusably and unjustifiably acted upon and executed their selfish desire to damage my person physically. I demand justice from the law and I am ready to go to any lent to redeem my image and my dignity,’ I spurted out angrily, rattling his brain with some legal jargon.

‘ I don’t think that will be possible, not here, not in this estate,’ he finally responded after pondering over my request for some minutes with a shocked look on his thin eyes.

I stared thoughtfully at him for some seconds and then nodded with a cynical grin. This was the right moment to drop the ‘Journalist threat’.’ I told myself and then gave it to him straight with a confident tone.

‘Okay, Officer, since this is the way it is going to be. Well, I think I should also inform you about what I am going to do as a journalist. First, be certain that I am going to write this story and make it headline news in most local and national newspapers and also make sure that international news media like the BBC, CNN, and Aljazeera, all air the story. Secondly, I am going to write a petition to the commissioner of police, including the Inspector General, the Police Service Commission, the National Assembly and the Presidency,’ I paused to let my statement sink in and then ride on.
‘Officer, I am a writer and I have the power of the pen that I am ready to unleash on this case, unless my rights are respected and justice invited to settle this issue. I will not give in to any unreasonable human being with a cheap complex mind to beat me up like this and allow him to go scot-free, never!’ I exclaimed and continued, ignoring his frown and silence. ‘ I am willing and ready to take up this issue to the International Criminal Court if it warrant.’ I concluded and then kept a blank face.

His thin eyes pieced into me thoughtfully, obviously trying to weight my threats. I knew my threats was something any sensible police officer won’t be so daft about and take lightly, given what journalists were currently doing in the country as regard the fight against corruption, nepotism, police overzealous, segregation and other forms of crimes against humanity prevalent in the country. And the country’s members of the pen were in the forefront of advocating for a total rebranding and reorganizing of the police force and other inefficient and corruption infested government agencies across the country. I was actually ready to go to anywhere to fight for my right and ensure that justice was not denied me. I realized that apart from the heavy pounding my body received in the hands of the man and his boys, I also lost my Android phone, including my wallet, my car and apartment keys.

‘ Okay, you have to give us time to investigate the matter and get to the root. This we cannot do in a hurry. So give us time,’’ The voice of the DPO cracked into my thoughts.

‘ Time, how long are you talking about here?’ I asked with a frown.

‘Well, I cannot give you a specific time or date at this moment. Maybe next week or thereabout, but I assure you that we are going to do something,’ he responded with a jarring grin.

My experience as a journalist who had covered series of police cases told me he was bluffing. My instinct warned me that this could be the end of the case if I succumbed to his suggestion. Next week could turn to next month and next month to next year. I reminded myself. Experience has equally thought me that most high profile cases or low ones in most police stations were all cash and carry. Whoever has the highest price to pay the police enjoy favourable justice at the end of the day. No, I won’t fall a sucker to his trick, I assured myself and suddenly stared at his black Samsung mobile phone and then made my move.