The Police as our Friend

Comfort Obi

I ought to have written this in 2007, and/or 2008. But I kept dilly-dallying. You know, members of the Nigerian Police are the most vilified human beings in Nigeria. It does not matter how much most of them try to be hardworking, honest, and decent. They are put in the same basket as the bad eggs amongst them. And there are bad eggs. They are unfriendly. They engage in judicial murder, rape, and yes, taking money from motorists. And they are guilty of more. None of these can be justified, no matter how pitiable their situation. And their situation is, indeed, very pitiable.
On a recent tour of police barracks, I wondered how any human being would live in such places and still remain sane, and go to work. Their residential quarters are worse than batchers. Some are made of just tarpaulins. And I am not exaggerating. They bath outside, urinate outside and defecate outside. Those who have pit toilets are lucky. I have always wondered about their state of mind when they come out, guns in hand, to protect and safeguard our lives. I have always wondered about the state of their minds when they stand along lonely roads: no food, no water, carrying guns (most of which are inferior to those of armed robbers), some carrying batons, just to keep the road safe for us. We think they like it because they make money from motorists. But how much is that money worth? Just in case it is a secret, atimes that is what they use to fuel and maintain their operational vehicles! Indeed, I have always wondered how much the life of a policeman is worth? But I digress.
This write-up is not about the negative attitude of the police or their woes. It is to celebrate the honesty, compassion, selflessness, human kindness of nine policemen. It is to tell their story, and uphold them as the face of the Nigerian Police so, you, dear readers, will know that the police is, indeed, your friend.
The first policeman here is Constable Isreal Madojemu with Force Registration No: 385795. In 2007, Paul, who lives in the same estate as me woke up to go to work. His car wouldn’t start. His wife, a devout Roman Catholic, felt it was a bad omen, but she was unable to persuade her husband to call his office and make excuses. So Paul opted for public transport. It was all smooth, until he got to Oshodi. If you know what Oshodi was before the Governor Tunde Fashola miracle, you would appreciate how difficult it is for one not used to Oshodi to manouvre. The hundreds of thousands of people, the vehicular movement, especially the ever crazy Danfo and Molue bus drivers, and yes, the ubiquitous motorcyclists who come like a swarm of bees!
So, Paul came down from the bus. But just as he did, a Danfo bus driver, with no respect for traffic rules, hit him from behind, and sped off, taking him for dead. People screamed, running helter-skelter. None was prepared to help. The man lay there, almost dying, and helpless. But enters Constable Isreal Madojemu.
He was in another bus. He saw what happened, jumped down, and began to pursue the fleeing driver. Seeing it was no use, he ran back and went to Paul. When he saw that he was still breathing, he hired a car and took him to the hospital. As is the case with our hospitals, they began to ask for police report, instead of first saving a life. He showed them his identity card, paid the deposit, and Paul was attended to. The amazing aspect: Constable Isreal Madojemu stayed with Paul until he regained consciousness and the doctors assured him Paul would be okay. He got Paul’s identity and used his phone to call Paul’s work place, his wife, his elder brother in Abuja, and disappeared. Two weeks later, Paul got his groove back, and mounted a search for this good Samaritan. It was in vain. As far as he and his family were concerned, the Constable was an Angel, perhaps his late father’s spirit, until exactly one year after. In 2008, the anniversary of the near tragic accident, the constable appeared at Paul’s work place asking for him. When he introduced himself to Paul, he screamed the place down, and his colleagues ran out to see this miracle. In appreciation, they contributed money to give to him. But the Constable rejected, saying: “I am a Christian, I did it for God, and it is my civic responsibility."
On this last Saturday of February 14, it was my turn to marvel at God’s ever presence and His miracles. He manifested these through eight policemen – Inspector Monday Etok (65722), Sgt. Shehu Danjuma (65766), Sgt. Ajayi Sunday (162736), Sergeant Dauda Oyetunji (103556), CPL Yakubu Amos (219406), PC Ishaku Farma (449665), PC Umar Farouk (251351) and PC Kennedy Odiagbe (385576) – all of the ATTACK OPERATION’s 2, State Headquarters, Ikeja.
My boy, a Youth Corper, was driving home form work. He is so passionate about his job that he forgets he is a Youth Corper, and even works on Saturdays. I know he comes home late, because he closes late, but that day he was unusually late. It was a rainy evening, and it was Valentine’s day. I can only assume that boys being boys, he branched off somewhere for a date. It was on his way back home that the unexpected happened. It was dark. On his side of the road was a broken down trailer, with no parking light or C – caution! And my boy rammed right under it. Nobody would stop because that area is dangerous, and I guess they had taken whoever was in the car for dead. But enter, the eight policemen whose names I mentioned above.
They were on Patrol, and saw a car under a truck. And they stopped. Given the condition of the car, they took whoever were inside for dead. But they bent down, and heard a faint voice asking for help. And they went to work. They brought him out, rushed him to the hospital, stayed there until the doctor treated him, and then went back to report at the nearest police station. The next day, these good ambassadors of the police went back to the hospital to check on the boy they rescued in the night! And the sweet thing: They did not know the identity of the person they rescued until I went looking for them to say thank you! Their priority was to save his life first. When I met them, they told me: “Ma, we did what we were expected to do.”
These nine policemen are the poster boys of the NPF. And there are thousands like them. I celebrate them.