DIARY OF FEMO SLEDGE(Episode 4)

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Femo sledge is back again in this thrilling episode which satirizes the idiosyncrasies in the Nigerian Police force.

Submitted: July 29, 2017

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Submitted: July 29, 2017

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ARREST BUSINESS Life in the “zanga” was always a gamble. You cannot predict what might happen. One minute, you and your guys are “jonzing” away in peace and harmony with your “choco” neatly ticked between your fingers while you puffed the smoke in and out of your mouth and nostrils. The next moment, guys are breaking bottles on one another’s head over trivial issues after getting so high on “choco” and hell will let lose. Sometimes, the spirit tells us to mediate between the warring parties or factions and sometimes, we just allow them exchange fists until they beat each other black and blue. “Shanana”, the weird “onile” who sells “choco” to us in the zanga was always calm during such situations. He had gotten used to several instances of polemics after so many years in the business. He was in the game of fists and fury so it made little sense to him that people decided to settle their scores with blows. “Just don’t destroy my property,” he would always asy whenever he had the chance to watch. So many “street guys” like us in action. He had been in the “choco” business since he was 16 when he ran away from home and he always bragged about how he built his little empire himself to us. Shanana should be in his late 30s, I guess but he looks quite older than his age. For Shanana, the “choco” business rule that you should never get high on your non product did not apply, he smoked weed with reckless abandon and had his lips so black that one wondered whether he ate anything apart from weed every day. His eyes, always bloodshot and swollen gave the indication that he was not to be messed with. I remember he once broke a bottle on “Snort’s” head after the later refused to pay him for a wrap of weed. He always complained that the cost of weed was growing too expensive in the market. Even the rizla which the weed is usually wrapped in is becoming expensive so one needs to manage the scarce resources one get. Sometimes, police raided the “zanga” and took people into custody. As usual, they release us whenever they were tired of seeing our faces even though; some of them usually smoked weed with us in the zangan too. One of those who fell into this category was my friend,” Walata” , a constable at Igando Police Station. He would always join us to puff in the evenings after the day’s work some times, we chatted and often visited Iya Ruka’s joint to drink our usual Sabrina gin. A baby oku” Walata” was fun to be with. Jovial and friendly, but cannot be trusted just like any policeman. I always wondered why “Walata” was not always around whenever any of us was arrested and brought to Igando Police Station. I guessed, like all other policemen, he realized that his colleagues also needed money so in order not to disturb them; he will simply not show up and would only come to the picture after the detainee has arranged something for bail. ‘Bail is free but you no fit expect make dem leave you like that now,” Walata told me on one occasion. As usual, Walata was with us in the zanga that afternoon when a boy was brought in by snort and two other guys who claimed to be his friend for drilling. It was obvious the boy had seen hell’s younger brother and was preparing for the elder are from his appearance. His face was swollen and his lips had been badly battered with blows, blood was gushing out from his mouth and nose as he pleaded for mercy but nobody showed him any. He looked to me like someone who already had his judgment. Snort told me that he stole his friends jewelries and iphone 6x and had said it to a guy who was now on the run. As they dragged him along, some of the guys in the zanga landed slaps and several kicks on the now terrified boy. I felt sorry for him but in the zanga, we abhorred stealing and if anybody is caught in such act, we unleashed justice with immediate effect on him. We needed to protect our good name. We army be tough guys but we were not thieves. “Egbon, wetin you want make we do with this boy now” I asked Walata who was puffing away with ease. He seemed unmoved by the scenario in front of him despite been a police officer who was supposed to save the boy from the jungle justice we were employing at the zanga. “Wetin, abeg, leave make dem beat am well well first, d boy na thief nah, we don catch am several times, he dey form yahoo boy he no be” Walata responded. It was obvious that the boy was a known face to him. “So you no care if e die here”, I teased him further. “Wetin concern me, I be him papa ni? Okay, make I carry am go station, ask for money wey e no fit give me?” Walata asked and I was dumbfounded. What was our police into? So, whenever someone was apprehended, the primary thing for them was the money he would pay and not how to punish him.” O boi, na money matter joo, I get wife and children for house.” This boy don come our station many times and e no dey pay before we bail am, dem say e no get person, so leave am jare.” “So arrest na business for una,” I teased him. “Ehn now, if you arrest five people and dem pay 5k each, no be 25k be dat? In fact, we enjoy to dey arrest “yahoo boys” pass, those ones fit pay more and we go just deliver small for our Ogas,” Walata continued. As we chatted away, I continued to eye the helpless boy with one eye. He was sweating profusely as he held a big stone in his hands while on his knees. Another phase of drilling has started and nobody could save him from that. Not even our good police friend, Walata, who is in the “arrest business”.


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