Police Strike Begins at Alhaja’s Joint

 

 

Did you see me at the police strike? I was the bigheaded guy shaking Ehindero’s tail. Okay, if you didn’t see me, then you must be an “unbeliever.” So, you better run to Femi Fani-Kayode for anointing, forgiveness and, well, benediction. And, lest I forget, a little twittered insult!

 

Anyway, those “believers” in Fani-Kayode’s Aso god, who didn’t see me either, shouldn’t worry. They aren’t blind, yet.  I only tried a few tricks I “borrowed” from my brothers in the Niger Delta creeks. You know why? I really don’t want to die from  my own “accidental discharge.” You know how these things work. Who knows, “oga Ehin” might order us to “shoot at sight,” like he did during the NLC strike. Which always interprets into: “shoot at anything with eyes,” including myself. Sometimes, he tells us to “shoot-on-sight.” Meaning: kill the nearest person to you. And then, the next policeman may turn and pump the lead into me. So, I had to get some leaves to make me invisible. Or did I mean invincible? I’m so confused about this strike that my head is no longer correct.

 

Oh! Come on, silly! If you didn’t see me last week, I wasn’t running from arrest. Two things needed my attention – apart from madam. One, to negotiate  with the hostage takers in the Niger Delta – to free the “oyinbos.” Two, to negotiate with them to kidnap some of the contractors, sorry, detractors in the Police Force. All the contracts  to supply policemen “ogogoro” – something we call welfare - went  into some pockets. Our “ogas” can’t even monetise the heat of the sun we absorb every day. Haba! This must not go on forever. 

 

See, I’ve been stagnant for 15 years, no promotion. They keep calling me “rank and file.” You know why? Because every time they want to give me rank, my file would disappear. My take-home pay can’t take me home, especially after I get “called” to (Mama Iyabo’s) bar. My “oga,” the Inspector, insists on counting every N20 we collect at the checkpoint. If that is not injustice, then  Elton John didn’t wear wedding gown to marry a man. But is it my fault that Inspector’s N11,000 monthly salary can’t settle his “book me down” at Mama Ngozi’s buka?

 

Anyway, some of us – from Constable to Inspector - are not happy. That is why we support strike. Why should Old Soja, my neighbour, get monetisation and I don’t? Imagine! Apart from killing innocent people in Odi, Zaki Ibiam; and slapping a few female buttocks at the “Mammy Market,” Old Soja  has been idle since 1999. Well, not exactly true. Because he has been impregnating his wife every night. Even at that, I surpass him. Afterall, I have impregnated all the maids in the barracks. So, if Old Soja deserves monetisation, I should get  triple. 

 

A soldier gets car loan, which he quickly deposits with  Mama Risikat as advance payment for her “services.” He gets furniture allowance,  even when he lives in a toilet. His rent is subsidised. He’s paid  special duty allowance, for sleeping with a colleague’s wife – the one whose husband was sent to Sudan. Me? I’m taking care of five widows, plus their noisy - disrespectful children  - with my N4,500 take-home pay. Robbers killed their breadwinners recently in Port Harcourt. Isn’t that enough for me to get  job hazard allowance?  I need an insurance! One day, those children might suffocate me in the dingy, tiny bed they share with their mums!  

 

Look, even the nurses get paid for making and answering calls while the patients die in pain. It’s called “on-call allowance.” Some of them are actually always “on call” – with their boyfriends or the rich male-patient in the private ward. If they venture to shift from the private ward to the abandoned poor, they get “shift allowance.” In fact, they even  get allowance for administering fake drugs and hording good ones for their chemist stores. So, why should the police not get some compensation for hiring out guns to robbers? 

 

You see, we have been marginalised everywhere.  Victimised by the society. The masses are not our friends – simply because we ask them  to “drop something for pure water”(Which often translates into N20). We also ask them to show “wetin dem carry.” The politicians, too, only use us. We escort their girlfriends and mistresses to the “Ladies.” And guard their stolen loots to the hideouts. While they sleep, we keep awake – enjoying the pranks their errant children play in the night. But you know the one that disturbs me most? The robbers. Those guys shoot us - is it “at sight” or “on sight”? No insurance! No assurance!

 

So, we are determined to strike. No “bigman” - it doesn’t matter if he’s bigger than Tafa’s tummy – can intimidate us. Okay, I rephrase. We can only be intimidated with the kind of negotiation the government had with the Niger Delta kidnappers. I mean, the type everybody denied later. No, no, no! How dare you think of  ‘Ghana-must-go’? I guess they now call it ‘Ghana-must-come.’

 

For now, we,  the aggrieved policemen, are still working on how to strike. I’m told it can be done in different ways. One lecturer even told us to do like ‘charity.’ “Start from home. Use the butt of your guns to strike your  three month-old child,” he said. “If you have none, try it on the neighbour’s dog.” But I heard strike has started already in Alhaja’s joint. Nobody goes there anymore. No money to spare.  In addition, a police dog said an “anti-strike force” has been searching for “strikers.” So, some of us have even been taking courses: Police Strike (PS) 102. We did PS 101 in 2002 and the only heaven that fell was Musiliu Smith.

 

Well, strike may be strike. But we are aware that  “striking” isn’t an easy thing. Ask Kanu Nwankwo,  Obafemi Martins, Mohammed Babangida or Tiger Woods. That is why some of us have enrolled in football, polo and golf clubs. There, we’ve been taking lessons on how to use hands, legs, sticks and even mouths to strike –  which our instructors also call hit. We’ve also been taught how to position our heads to avoid strikes from fellow aggrieved persons. Somehow, we are not the only ones benefiting from the lessons. Even the nation is gradually learning to live with the fact that policemen too can “strike” – whether with guns or batons. And that they deserve to be appreciated, compensated or rewarded.  Policemen (and women) also need allowances. At home, one told her maid: “Give me allowance, I want pass.” In the office, another ordered: “Hey, I go charge you for insubordination -o. You no know say I be your boss? Why you no give me allowance? I command you, unbutton your shirt. And your bra!” At chop…sorry, checkpoint: “Oga, your pocket don full like Boda Tafa’s bank account.  My own still get allowance –o.”

 

You see, like an Annang-man would say, this is no “yoking matter.” Even Ehindero has since found out that “serving with integrity” isn’t the same thing as “starving with integrity.” It’s not easy to starve and maintain integrity, if you have any. A man who is down does not fear height.  Ehindero has been threatening to send policemen/women, who strike to Venus for punishment. But some would prefer Serena, I swear.

 

• First published in Saturday Sun of  Feb 04, 2006