What you are about to read is an abridged version of a true story I originally published as a downloable PDF on my website back in January 2012. That PDF contains the detailed account of a nasty life threatening experience I suffered between 7.40p.m and 11.30 pm on Wednesday 18th January 2012. The event took place in a busy area on the outskirts of Lagos-Nigeria. Names have been changed, to protect the identities of those involved.

Why Did I Make It So Long?

My wife asked me why I made my narration this detailed (the full PDF is 14 pages long). I could not explain it then. I had  just kept on typing until I felt drained of anything else to say! On reflection, I realized that I just felt a need to get it all out.

Interestingly, I later discovered that the process of writing it down had a greatly therapeutic effect on me.

Many writers will confirm that writing provides a safe outlet for "venting". That’s why it’s been said that writers often tend to write for themselves, just as much as we write for our readers. Indeed most times we write FIRST for ourselves!

It is for the above reason that this post has been placed in the Writing/Blogging category – even as I’ve added it to the Self-Development category as well. You can download the FULL PDF version of this write-up from here.

It Happened To Me. It Could Happen To Anyone!

Now, let me point out that I’m no “Aje butter”  or what the Americans would call “Spring Chicken”. (I’m 5ft 11inches tall, and reasonably built up, and also physically fit). On the contrary, I’m the kind of guy some people have described as a tough b*****d or S.O.B. Those who know me will tell you that the last thing anyone can call me is squeamish.

That’s one reason why I managed to survive that experience, to the extent of ensuring the culprits were made to answer for their misdeeds. I dare say that the average person would have caved in within minutes of being subjected to the physical abuse and malicious mind games I was exposed to, during those four or so hours.

I have been in and out of many tough/dangerous situations in my life, since I was a teenager. Brushes with robbers, gangs, area boys/thugs and the likes are NOT strange to me. In other words, I am fairly street smart, even if I say so myself.

See the “I’m No Stranger To Conflict or Crisis: Some Past Encounters” section on page 14 of the FULL PDF version of this write-up, to understand what I mean. If it could happen to me, with all my "street-smartness", then what I describe in this report could happen to YOU. Indeed, I am convinced it has happened to others, but maybe not people you and I know. Only crimes that are reported in the news and documented by Police etc, usually get known by the general public.

Deep reflection on the way this group of conniving miscreants/thugs operated has convinced me of the importance of WARNING others to be aware of this potential threat to their well being.

A WORD OF CAUTION: Please do not dismiss this story. I strongly urge you to take a few moments to read it, and note the lessons to be had. If not for yourself, do it for your loved ones – children, friends, colleagues and relatives, who may NOT be as "worldly" or "savvy" as you feel you are.

Share THIS with as many others as you can – in your homes, offices, communities, schools, churches, mosques, clubs and every social group you have access to. Doing so may just save someone’s life. To be forewarned, as they say, is to be fore-armed!

Characters (Names changed to protect their identities):

Afeetal: 20 year old girl, who accused Me of stealing N3,000.00 worth of N100 MTN cards.

Baba: The owner of the house in which the shop is located, along the busy road where it all happened. He is also Afeetal’s father.

Mama: Baba’s wife, who was seated at the entrance to the shop when I arrived. It would later be revealed that Mama had a severe stroke a while back and was no longer aware of her surroundings. As a result, she could not be called as a witness.

Lagbaja: A young chap, under 20 years who was in the shop to buy a card, when the drama began.

Bibah: The first of the four (4) young men who assaulted Me.

Gink: Leader of the gang of 3 area boys who later arrived, and also assaulted Me.

Corporal Leinad and Sergeant Yeddog:  Both arrived the scene in patrol vehicle.

Inspector Ofisu: Handled the interrogation

Semif: Relative to Afeetal (arrived at the station, while statements were being taken down)

Semif’s wife:  Had been around before her husband arrived.

Me: Tayo K. Solagbade

How It All Began

Note: Our conversations took place in a mix of Yoruba, English as well as Pidgin English. What I’ve provided below is therefore NOT a verbatim reproduction of the exact words used.

At about 7.40 pm, I was driving in slow moving traffic in the direction of my home, when I recalled that I needed to renew my subscription to the Blackberry Internet Service, so as to send a response email to a client I was to meet the next day by 10a.m in Allen Avenue Ikeja. The client would be leaving to attend a course at the MIT in the USA the night of the next day, and we had agreed to meet, to finalise terms for a new project he had commissioned me to do.

I spotted a shop with "Buy Recharge Cards" sign written in chalk on the inner face of one of the open doors. I pulled over. Before getting out of the car, I called my wife and told her I was already on my way home, but that there was heavy traffic. Normally, it would take about 10 minutes to get home from my location, but we both knew that bad traffic on that road could make it last for hours.  

I got out and walked into the shop, where I saw Afeetal seated behind a small table in the right corner of the shop. On my way in, I’d greeted an old woman seated in a chair to the right of the doorway (i.e. Mama).

Me: Hello. I’d like to buy N1,500 worth of Etisalat cards please.

Afeetal(after checking): I only have N1,300 worth.

Me: That’s Ok. Let me have them. (I give her N2,000 – two N1,000 naira notes. She hands me about 7 different strips of recharge card paper, for different Naira amounts, totaling N1,300. I pick up the N700 change she places on the table for me, and I begin loading the PINs, standing next to her in the shop).

Halfway through the cards, Baba walks in and asks for the owner of the car parked outside. The girl tells him it’s for me. I greet him politely, and he leaves. About 3 minutes later he returns.

Baba: But why have you not moved the car like I requested? It’s partially blocking my house gate. I explained that I had not heard him properly when he came the first time, and had assumed he simply wanted to be sure the car owner was around. So Iapologised, and quickly moved the car. He thanked me, and went back inside.

Me(to Afeetal): Is there any other place where I can buy the remaining N200 recharge card? (I needed to do this, so as to complete the N1,500 needed to renew my subscription to the BIS.)

Afeetal: There’s a shop next door, and another across the road.

Me: Can you possibly ask your little brother to help me buy the remaining N200 recharge card from one of those shops, so I can finish loading everything before I leave?

Afeetal: Okay. (Gets up and leaves the shop, crossing the road).

I recall wondering briefly to myself why she had not asked the little boy who’d been running around the shop to help buy it from next door, but decided maybe she was just a naturally helpful person. While she was away, I discovered one particular N100 card failed to load despite repeat attempts. I kept getting a wrong PIN number error message. A closer inspection of the card revealed it was a GLO card. Just at the same time, (approx. 5 to 7 minutes after she’d left, Afeetal walked back in).

Me: Did you get the N200 card? (She replied NO).

Me: By the way, look (showing her the card), this one you gave me, along with the others, is a Glo card, and NOT Etisalat.

She took it from me, mumbled sorry, and sat down behind the desk to find a replacement (I assumed). At that moment, a young guy (Lagbaja) who appeared to be about her age (and who I’d seen standing outside the shop while she was away), walked in

Lagbaja: I want to buy N100 MTN.

Afeetal: Okay. (Checks in bag/purse. After a prolonged search, she looks up, moves the plate of food she’d just eaten aside, as if looking for something, then gets up, checks under the seat, before announcing: “Ah, I can’t find all my MTN recharge cards!”

Me: Don’t worry. So long as you put them there, you’ll find them. Just calm down and check again. I’ve been here since you left, with Mama also seated at the door. No one has come in here since. And I have not left. Just check. I’m sure you’ll find it.

Afeetal: (making an impatient gesture, takes out the cards in the bag, and hurriedly runs through them): No, they are not here. Ha, all the 30 MTN N100 cards I left here are gone! Lagbaja and I encourage her to think and try to remember where she may have left them. She insists she left it in her bag.

Me: Then it must be there. Just try and search a little more carefully. The cards will surely show up. In the meantime, let me have the replacement N100 Etisalat card for the GLO card you mistakenly gave me. I need to see if I can buy the N200 card to complete the subscription.

Afeetal: Where? Hmm. You are not going anywhere O! Are you not the one I left here, when I went to buy the card for you? No, you cannot leave!

I told her she her she had to be joking. But to my consternation, she went wild, grabbed the front of my shirt raising her voice saying "I will not let you leave. You have to give me my cards!". I tried to free my t-shirt from here grasp, but she kept held on tight, and all of a sudden, she pulled violently on the shirt, tearing it right down the middle. She then wrapped the extended pieces around her hand to tighten her grip.

It Was Like A Bad Dream

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that people had begun to gather. I said "Are you crazy? Can you see what you’ve done. You’ve torn my shirt. Is something wrong with you?" She replied that nothing was wrong with her, and that I would produce her cards or she would not let me go. At this point I decided to forcefully remove her hands. She shouted to someone outside the shop "Call Baba! Call Baba!".  

We continued struggling. As I dragged her closer to the door, she left me, and rushed to the outside, and pushed me back inside. Lagbaja also put his hand on my shoulder to stop me from stepping out. I impatiently brushed his hand off.

At this point, Baba arrived, and asked me what the problem was. I told him I would only speak after I had stepped out of the shop, because I did not wish to get accused of stealing something else in addition to the imaginary cards Afeetal had accused me of stealing. He tried to pressure me to say more. I refused. I eventually forced my way out of the shop to the entrance, where my car was parked. Then I turned to speak to Baba. At this point, I noticed Afeetal making a phone call, but thought nothing of it.

A few minutes later, Bibah arrived, and menacingly walked up to me, asking "So you are the one who stole my sister’s recharge card?". Before I could respond, he moved swiftly and I felt a heavy punch land on the left side of my face. I responded with a right fist that hit him on the side of his  neck as he went into a crouch. He lunged forward and grabbed me round the waist. I immediately locked my arms around his head, and we wrestled for some seconds dragging ourselves into the middle of the road, where I eventually lost my footing and fall backwards on to the un-tarred road surface, with him on top of me, raining punches, most of which hit home, as I blocked the others.

It Got Worse As Someone Broke A Bottle And Came Towards Me…

As this struggle continued, I saw the feet of people who had gathered round, and were watching it all without making any effort to intervene. I recall wondering how it was possible that they could not find the courage to put a stop the obvious madness that was taking place right before their eyes. Suddenly I heard someone break a bottle, and a few seconds later saw him advance with the broken piece towards us. Bibah raised his hand towards the guy (whose face I could not see) and said “No. Don’t stab him!”.

Still lying on the dust covered road (cars had stopped), I told Bibah he had made a big mistake by engaging me the way he had, and that I would make sure he was taught a good lesson for jumping to conclusions before establishing what the problem was. I pushed him off, picked up my slippers (which I always wear while driving, leaving my shoes behind the driver’s seat), and walked back to the shop entrance.

By this time, my t-shirt and singlet were torn – and I was only left with my belted trousers. A guy came up to me and said in a heavy Igbo accent “Look why not just get into your car and leave.” I told him NO, saying I would make sure those involved did not get away without answering for their crime. He walked away, shaking his head.

I looked around, and pointed to the girl (Afeetal) who stood behind a row of observers, and was till ranting and raving about my being a thief. In a loud voice, I said she would get a re-education through her contact with me. I told her what she had done amounted to a criminal act of making a false, unsubstantiated accusation against an innocent person, promising her she would end up in a police cell for doing so.

She responded by shouting curses at me and calling me a thief. I looked round at all of them and announced that I was going to invite the police to find out the truth, adding that I was strongly convinced no cards had gone missing. I told them they were shameless thieves, and that they had picked the wrong person to hustle/shake down.

I Tried Calling A Police Officer On Phone – As Three Thugs Arrived

Picking up my phone, I called the number of a police officer I knew to be based at the police station close to where the drama was taking place, and told him what was happening. He told me he was now stationed on Victoria Island, but that Inspector Ofisu, who I also happened to know, was on duty at the station  close to us. I thanked him and turned to face Baba, but he was gone.

Just then a white car pulled up directly opposite mine, about 10 metres from where I stood. Three guys came out of it, and walked up to me. The one who was the leader – Gink – was in the middle, squat shaped and shorter than the others. He walked past me to the entrance of the shop and motioned with a finger saying "Come here and tell me what happened." I angrily retorted "If you want to talk to me, YOU come here and talk to me. Don’t ask me to come to you!" (I noticed Baba was back).

The manner in which this group had arrived made me uneasy. I sensed something sinister in the way they approached, eyeing me with undisguised malice. I proceeded to narrate what happened. But I had barely spoken for 20 seconds when the one to my left cut me off saying "This guy must have stolen those cards. I know his face. Last month, he was caught for stealing in Lambe”. This was a location in another state (i.e. Ogun). As he made this assertion, he walked slowly away from me, behind Gink, to stand next to the third guy.

I turned angrily to face him: “You are crazy to tell such a vicious lie. There’s obviously some madness going on here tonight, and I’m glad I’m the one who’s being treated to it. I assure you that through me, this nonsense which is obviously something you guys have made a habit, will stop.”

Suddenly, Gink hit me on the side of the head with his fist, threatening that they would put a tyre round my neck and burn me to death if I did not stop talking.  A voice in my head kept telling me not to get into a physical exchange with them, because they could use it to incite the crowd against me, with unpredictable consequences. So, I settled for mocking them. With a smile on my face, I dared him to carry out his threat adding that the only reason he had the guts to hit me was because he knew his guys were around. I told him his courage would fail him if we met in a dark alley, where he was not assured of support from others.

The Police Are Eventually Called In

As we continued our verbal exchange, someone pulled my arm. I turned to see a police sergeant carrying a rifle. He asked me what the problem was. For what must have been over 45 minutes, the officers would try to mediate in the matter, to get us to arrive to a mutually agreeable way to ascertain the truth. The crooks refused to agree to any of the suggestions the police made. When asked why they had not yet searched me, they could not answer. The sergeant questioned why they had settled for assaulting me, without trying to recover the missing cards from my person, first of all, especially since I had not left the shop.

That was when Gink and his 2 guys (who had been walking round my car, looking through the window) said that they were sure I had given the cards to an accomplice, because they could see another pair of shoes in my car. I told the sergeant that the shoes were mine. They shouted that I was lying, and that my partner must have run away with the cards as soon as I had stolen them.

Bibah, the 3 guys and some of their friends, including the girl, Afeetal, insisted that my car be opened and searched there.

At one point, Gink confronted the police officer accusing him of being needlessly indecisive. Among other things, he said it was the “hesitant” attitude of the police force that made him prefer O.P.C guys (the vigilante group based in the Southwest, known for members who readily employ crude weapons and "instant/jungle justice" in their dealings with opponents – perceived or real).

The Sergeant warned him to watch his words, repeating his offer to supervise a search of my person, and car, in full view of as many of them as were willing to go with us to the Police Station. None of them offered to do so, even though they had boldly claimed they knew I had the cards in my possession, and were pushing to have me beaten to pulp based on their unproven claims!

When the sergeant refused to let them have their way, Gink planted himself before me, and began making threats of all kinds. Among other things, he stated that they would still track me down to my home and deal with me. I responded by patting him repeatedly on his right shoulder, while telling him that I also intended to find them, and make them admit/pay for what they had done.

I mocked them by saying they were all acting like they were supermen, against someone they knew they had outnumbered, calling them cowards. I finished by saying "You think I’ll be afraid of cowards like you? **** you!"  As we stared at each other, I saw a fleeting sign of what appeared to be either doubt or fear in his eyes, for some seconds. It occurred to me that he was affected by the ferocity with which I still challenged him in spite of the fact that I was obviously outnumbered, and despite their violent efforts to physically intimidate me for well over an hour since they arrived.

My Out Of Body Experience Funny thing was, I never even gave thought to the possibility that they could harm me, even with all they had done. I was so pumped up with rage. As the drama had unfolded, even as I fought and spoke, I kept thinking to myself, “Is this really happening to me, or am I in some crazy dream?”. Am I the one fighting with these thug-like boys in the middle of a major road, with my car parked along side, while a growing crowd of people watches?” There were many occasions during the most intense periods of that event, that I honestly felt I was having what Wole Soyinka described in one of his books as an “out of body experience”. I actually felt like I was outside my body watching myself engaging these crooks in a fight for my life. All kinds of thoughts flashed through my mind. I wondered if I would see my family again – my wife, kids, siblings, parents. As these thoughts went through my mind, it struck me, that if I let them WIN, no one would know the truth. No one would be told what really happened. I would be branded a thief in death. That thought fueled my rage – which ensured that I never backed down right up till when the police got us to move over to the station. I believe that’s one reason, why I’m alive today, to tell this story.

We Move To The Police Station

At this point, the sergeant asked me to get into my car, and he joined me in the passenger’s side. He instructed Afeetal and Baba, as well as Lagbaja  to join the corporal in the patrol van. Then he told Bibah and the other area boys to join us, so we could go to the station and conduct the search, in a controlled and impartial environment, where the danger of anyone dropping incriminating items into the car would be minimal. As before NOT ONE OF THEM offered to do so.

Instead, the guy who’d claimed I’d once been caught for stealing in Lambe, walked up to my side of the car, and spat the fried fish he was chewing in his mouth, on my body, saying "You’re a thief”. The police sergeant told me to ignore him. With that, we drove off, and arrived the station 5 minutes later.

The sergeant briefed his boss, Inspector Uwodi, about the events that had transpired. After getting us to identify ourselves to him, the Inspector proceeded to grill Afeetal with a series of questions that eventually revealed what I already knew: the fact that she was lying.

It’s not often that one gets to witness the use of intelligent questioning to extract the truth from a respondent. That was a most revealing experience.

Inspector: (to Afeetal) Tell me what happened?

Afeetal: This man (pointing to me), entered my shop with a partner (this was a lie, but she had apparently decided to adopt the twist the area boys had introduced when they saw my shoes in the car, so as to make her story more convincing). “He said he wanted to buy N1, 500 Etisalat recharge card. I told him I only had N1,300 worth. He collected them and then told me to go and buy N200 Etisalat for him. So I went out to buy it for him.

When I returned, someone came to buy MTN card, and I checked my bag, and could not find all my MTN cards. When I told him, he said I should check again. I was still unable to find the card. Then he started hurrying me, telling me I should give him his change that he wanted to leave. And I told him he could not, since he was the one I left in my shop. He tried to leave, so I held his shirt. Then he started beating me (another lie – all I did was try to remove her hands, by applying force, after she’d torn the shirt and repeatedly refused to let go). So, I sent someone to call Baba.

Inspector: You say the man told you to go and buy N200 card for him in another shop?

Afeetal: Yes sir. (Another lie. As stated at the start of my narration, I’d asked her to send the little boy to buy it for me. She surprised me by choosing to go by herself. Looking back, in light of what subsequently happened, she apparently had other things in mind.)

Inspector: And you left your bag containing cards in open view ?

Afeetal: Yes sir.

Inspector: What? So you did not lock it up or take it with you?

Afeetal: No Sir.

Inspector: How long have you been selling recharge cards?

Afeetal: 6 months sir.

Inspector: And you want me to believe that in that time you have not learnt to carefully store away your cards, so that no one can steal them? You want me to believe you did not know it was dangerous to leave your bag of cards open with a stranger alone in your shop?

Afeetal: I don’t know what happened to me Sir. Maybe he used medicine on me. I was not thinking straight. I just went to do what he asked. This thing happened to a friend of mine before. Somebody came to buy a card from her, and all the other cards in her bag disappeared!

(As she spoke, Semif’s wife periodically interjected supporting comments like “Yes it’s true”….”they do it a lot…all these people with Juju powers”.)

Me: Come on, the fact that people have stolen your cards in the past, does not make every person who comes into your shop a thief! (The sergeant motions for me not to interrupt).

Inspector: Hmm (He silently appraises her for a few seconds, then he asks) How many cards were stolen?

Afeetal: All the 30 MTN N100 cards in my bag.

Inspector: Did you have any other cards in the bag?

Afeetal: Yes – Glo, Etisalat, which I sold to the man, and Zain.

Inspector: Were any of the other cards taken?

Afeetal: No. Only the MTN cards.

Inspector: Show me the bag they were in (She holds out the bag, which still has the other mentioned card brands in it). How is it possible that he was able to pick out only the MTN cards from amongst this mixed up collection of cards, without missing out one, or picking up another brand, while avoiding drawing attention to himself?

Afeetal: Ah, I don’t know. You know I said people used to do it. They use black magic. All I know is that when I came back, the MTN cards were gone.

Inspector: Did the man leave the shop while you were away?

Afeetal: Ah. I don’t know O. I was not around.

Sergeant: But the man said Mama was there, and can testify that he did not go out.

Afeetal: Ask Baba, Mama is not well. Ever since she had a stroke, she no longer is aware of her surroundings. (Baba confirms it’s true).

Lagbaga: I was outside the shop when she went to buy the card, and I saw this man (pointing to me) standing in the shop loading his phone with the card credits. I did not see him leave the shop until she came back.

Inspector: (to Afeetal) Did you hear that?

Afeetal: I don’t know if he left the shop. I was not there. All I know is when I came back my cards were gone.

Inspector: Okay. Tell me when did you last purchase MTN recharge cards. And who from?

Lagbaja: There is a woman who supplies me.

Inspector: So you’re sure that if we call your supplier, she will confirm you purchased 30 MTN 100 cards from her?

Afeetal: (looks down, and stammers/starts fidgeting) Ehn, I bought but, but usually I don’t pay for everything. I can pay half and they pay the balance when I finish selling.

Inspector: You know, I’m beginning to wonder if you actually lost any cards.

Afeetal: (Still looking down – makes no response)

Inspector(Turns to the sergeant): Have you searched the man yet ? (pointing to me)

Sergeant: No sir. I wanted us to come and do the searching at the station, because I suspected those area boys could disrupt the whole process, plant incriminating evidence on him or the car, and even steal the man’s things.

Inspector: Okay, take him to the car, and search him, and every part of the car, in the girl’s presence. Make sure she is able to observe the entire process.

Sergeant: (Gives a torch light to Afeetal) Oya, let’s go.

At the car, which is parked on the grounds of the police station.

Sergeant: (turning to me) Okay, please Mr. Tayo, let’s see what you have in your pockets. (To Afeetal), “My sister, please point your light so you can see what we are bringing out. If you see your cards, be sure to say so.”

The process continues for about 30 minutes, during which time my person and the entire car is searched. I make a point of even pointing out other hidden places in the car where I had folders containing documents in which cards could be kept.

Within 15 minutes, it was already obvious to everyone present that we were wasting our time – there was nothing to be found. Indeed, one of the police officers resuming night duty, and  who briefly stopped to see what was happening pointed out that 30 MTN cards would produce a revealing bulge wherever they were kept.

And seeing that most of the items in the car were slim/flat in nature, he opined that there was no need to go through them. The sergeant however insisted on doing it anyway, so as to ensure Afeetal was able to see that nothing was left unchecked. I agreed. When it was all done, Afeetal was asked if she was satisfied that nothing was found. She said YES. We returned to join the Inspector in the office.

Inspector: (to Afeetal) So you did not find the cards on the man, or in his car?

Afeetal: No sir.

The Inspector Decides To Detain Her For Accusing Me Falsely

Inspector: (shakes his head) Let me now tell you something. Going by the answers you have given me, and the fact that nothing was found on this man, I want you to know that you have made a false allegation against this man. That is a serious offence, and you will have to spend the night in cell.

Afeetal: (in a frightened voice) Can I say something?

Inspector: Yes?

Afeetal: This thing has happened before. That’s how one man stole our cards sometime ago, and we did not know until he had left.

My Wife Was Worried Sick At about the time we arrived the station, my wife had been calling my phone. Not wanting to upset her, by telling her what was going on, I decided not to answer the call. Every 15 minutes or so, she would call back. Each time, I simply let it ring. I could not think of a convincing alternative explanation to give her. At a point, the police Inspector asked why I did not want to answer the call. I told him. He said it would only make her get more worried. I realized he was right. Not long after, the phone rang again. I checked the time. It was about 9.45pm(over 2 hours since I’d told her I was almost home). I answered the call. “Where are you? I thought you said you were close – is the traffic that bad?” she asked in a worried voice. I told her it was, but that we were making slow progress, and I would soon join her. Hearing the back ground discussions between the police officer and the girl writing the statement, she asked me, who I was with. I told her they were people standing next to the car on the road. Her answer indicated she did not believe me. She said “Hmm…okay O. You can do what you like.” and hung up. I looked at the police officer, and said “That’s another unpleasant situation this crazy experience has created for me. Now my wife is upset. I still cannot tell her anything, until I’m physically with her, so she does not get unduly worried about my presence in a police station.”

We Make Written Statements

The Inspector gets up. Turning to the Sergeant, he says (pointing to Afeetal) “Let her make a statement in writing. Same applies to the man and the young guy who said he was there” (pointing to me and Lagbaja, as he walked out).

The sergeant proceeded to sit with (the now nervous) Afeetal and helped her through the process of writing her statement. I and Lagbaja were given pen and paper to write our versions of what happened. It was quite amusing to over hear her exchange with the sergeant as she made the statement. When she stated that she was not the one who called Bibah and that she did not know the other 3 guys, the sergeant looked at her, with a smile on his face and said “Really?”

She replied in the affirmative. He said “If that’s the truth, go ahead and write it down just as you’ve told me”.

That was such an amusing spectacle for me, because in the statement both myself, and Lagbaja had written, we had both mentioned that she called Bibah! It was obvious to everyone that she was grabbing at straws. And that was just one of many lies she told that night – all of which served to infuriate me so much!

The Relatives Start Pleading On Her Behalf

While we were writing our statement, Semif had arrived and seated himself next to me on the bench near the wall. He watched quietly as Afeetal was being questioned on the table before us. After she was done, he asked her what happened. Once again she told her dishonest version of what happened. Semif then proceeded to explain that Baba had called him on phone that  they had caught someone for stealing Afeetal’s card. He said it was he who had told them to call the police, and not beat or fight anyone, adding that he was surprised to learn on arrival, that his instructions had not been followed. I told him it did not matter, and that the police had played a good role so far.

I bluntly refused to listen to all entreaties by her aged father (Baba) and Semif for well over 30 minutes. The police had advised them that I was the only one who could make them release the girl, so she would not have to stay in detention overnight as required by the law.

Now, I would have had no difficulty agreeing to let her off, but seeing that she went further to tell blatant lies to further incriminate me, I realized she was not remorseful. When I mentioned this to the relatives, they tried to play the religious psychology card.

Baba told me to “consider God”. I asked him: “Did you all think of God when they were hitting me and insulting me back at the shop front, for over 2 hours? Did any of you intervene ? Now that your own relative is about to experience a little hardship, you’re asking me to consider God.”

Baba: Are you a Christian or Muslim?

Me: I have not attended church for over 15 years.

Baba: Really ? So, what do you believe?

Me: I worship the creator – but not the same way as others who call themselves Christians or Muslims. For instance I am sure that Afeetal who falsely accused me tonight, and the guys who assaulted me, if asked, will claim to attend Church or Mosque. Yet, look what they did to me today! I have a personal relationship with God. When this whole scam began, I told them they would be made to answer for their actions. As you can see, the process has already begun. It’s too late to start talking about God. Indeed God himself, in your religious book, says “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” God does not condone evil or dishonesty.

Baba: “But you said I once helped you in 2008…Why not help me today – don’t let her stay in detention overnight.” (I’d told him I recognized him from the night he had let me park my car overnight, outside his house, due to serious traffic jam that went past midnight).

Me: Yes, you helped me. And you’ll notice that I was the one who recognized you, and told you about it, when you came to speak with me, not the other way round. But your daughter’s unrepentant attitude after committing this terrible act against someone’s husband, father, son, and sibling, is not what can be overlooked.

Baba, the fact that a man is good will not be enough reason to let his child go unpunished for a criminal act of this nature, especially when she is not even repentant. Instead she’s told more lies against me in her statement. Is that not evil? Up till now, she has failed to admit she did wrong. If I let her go, does that not mean I am the one who’s guilty? Here’s what I want: Let her come out in the open, and say to everyone, that she lied in the statement she made, and I’ll record it on my phone as proof of my innocence.

Baba: Ah, but that will be very implicating.

Me: But that would be the TRUTH. Your daughter told blatant lies in her statement to the police. She needs to admit that fact. By failing to do that, I’m the one who remains implicated for something I did not do. And I’m determined to correct that injustice. I have a name and reputation to protect!

Baba pleaded, cajoled and employed all kinds of arguments and ploys to get me to tell the police to let her go. When I insisted I would not give in until she confessed and apologized, he made this statement that I will NEVER forget: “What is it that has happened to you, that has not happened to anyone before? Don’t you realize it was because she lost money from her sales and was upset about, that she reacted the way she did? Why don’t you have a heart of forgiveness?”

Me:  You say what is it that’s happened to me that has not happened to anyone before? You say that to me, even now? This confirms you and your daughter have a lot in common. You have no respect for other people’s feelings. And to cap it all, you are telling me she lost money. How does that justify subjecting an innocent man to the pain and humiliation that I have gone through this night at her hands, and those of her helpers. Baba, you have added insult to the injury. What’s more, only a person who is repentant deserves consideration of forgiveness which you request in a case like this. Your daughter is NOT repentant. Your utterances certainly do not help me to think differently.

I am doing this not just for myself, but for many others who may fall into the same kind of trap. It is my intention – as I told them back at the shop when this began – to use my case to give her and those who joined her in this criminal act, an education to last them a life time. Through me, they will learn to think before they act in future. They will avoid using such dishonest and wicked methods on people they encounter. I am convinced that this experience with me, will save other innocent persons in future from getting assaulted by them in the same manner.  

Turning to the corporal, I said “I have been told the police will release her if I say so. Well, after this extensive discussion with her people, I am convinced the right thing to do is to leave her in detention till tomorrow morning, when we will all re-convene”.

To Baba, I said “If the police decide to let her go after I leave, I will not complain. However, I assure you, that I WILL take this matter to the next level, which will include notifying the media about my experience, and also sending a formal complaint to the Human Rights Protection Department of the Lagos State Attorney General’s office. The noise I will make about this incident will make many people look bad. I guarantee you! Now, please excuse me. I have to get home to see my wife and explain why it’s taken me an extra 4 hours – instead of 15 to 20 minutes to drive home tonight!”

I Drive Home Shirt-Less At 11.30pm

With those words, I got into my car. If you recall, I did not have a shirt on. It was about 11.30pm. As I drove along the dark and deserted road away from the station, I wondered what the security guard at the gate of the residential estate I lived in would think on seeing me looking the way I was. Less than 10 minutes later, I passed through the gate(to his credit, the guard kept his face expressionless).

When my wife opened the door and saw my appearance she gasped in shock, asking what happened. I told her everything. She was incensed. I told her it would be alright, since the police were already taking satisfactory action. Then seeing the food she had prepared for me on the table, I sat down and proceeded to swallow a morsel of Semovita with stew. My mouth exploded with pain. Cuts and bruises on my tongue, and the insides of my mouth made their presence felt in a big way!

Being unsure how bad it was, I decided to take the car and go back on to the road to see if I could get to the hospital to have myself examined or treated. My wife insisted on going with me, and woke the kids, dressed them up, since there was no adult to stay with them.

Thirty minutes later we returned to the house having run into locked gates on the routes we were to follow. We encountered an O.P.C guard carrying a machete and a Dane gun on our way back. After I told him the problem he directed us to a clinic run by a catholic church in the area, but they were not open when we got there.

First Meeting With The D.P.O

By 8.30am the next morning, my wife and I arrived at the station. Semif was already there with the police officers. Afeetal was seated (without shoes), looking quite subdued. The Sergeant asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted an apology from the girl for wrongly accusing me and telling lies against me even when writing her statement. In addition, I told him I wanted Bibah and the other 3 guys who had assaulted me, to be brought in, made to admit their roles and apologise.

On hearing this he said “Okay. Just wait a bit. We’ll be going to see the big man  soon.” An interesting thing then happened. When my wife saw Semif and his wife, she recognised them both from her visits to the market, where the wife owns a frozen fish shop, and proceeded to give details that confirmed she was right. A small world indeed! 

Baba’s “Suspicious” Role I put his age between 60 and 65 years. His considerably greyed hair suggested he could be older, but he carried himself like he was younger. All through the drama that took place that night, up till when the police arrived, Baba acted in ways that made me suspect he was acting out a script of sorts. It’s difficult to explain, but on one occasion, when I was fighting back physically and verbally at those who hit and insulted me, he stepped in close to me, and whispered, "Look why don’t you pipe down. Your responding to them is not helping. If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you to your fate!". To this I replied deliberately in the same loud voice I’d been using, "Baba, you are free to do whatever pleases you. I do not need your help. What I am certain about is that I am not alone in this. Let your conscience guide you. Don’t threaten me by saying you’ll leave me. Do I look like I’m scared of facing these idiots alone? I depend only on my creator in circumstances like this, and I have never lost out by doing so. Please do not bother me anymore!"

About 30 minutes later, we were taken to see the D.P.O. It was a short first visit. Within a few minutes of questioning the girl about how the cards got stolen, the D.P.O said (in Yoruba) “You’re a liar. Just from speaking with you now, it’s obvious to me that you’re not telling the truth…It’s obvious that you just thought you could scare the man into giving you money for the cards. You were trying to make some quick cash.” He then motioned to me.
 
After listening to my account of what happened, he told the Inspector – “I want you to bring that Bibah and those 3 other young men to me. Let them come and explain why they did this to him. This is Lagos. They cannot behave like that here. “ Semif volunteered to take responsibility for bringing Bibah in, saying “He is my cousin.” The D.P.O then asked the Inspector to agree a date/time we would return to see him, with the others. We left, and in the outer office the Inspector set 2pm the next day (Friday) for us to return.

After dropping my wife at home, I decided to visit my parents and inform them of what had happened. My main reason for doing this was that it occurred

to me, that being a small world, there was a possibility that if I waited too long, the news could get to them through some other channel, and the details might be inadvertently twisted. Knowing the psychological trauma that my father (78 years old) and my mother could suffer as a result, I felt it would be better to break the news to them myself, and assure them everything was under control. They put up brave faces, like I knew they would, as I told them the story. My father proposed joining us to see the D.P.O the next day, but I assured him there was no need. He agreed. We had a short prayer session, and I left.

Second Meeting With The D.P.O

The next day at some minutes after 2pm, we met in the D.P.O’s office. I was not surprised to see that Gink and his 2 friends were not brought in. Only Bibah was brought in by Semif. The D.P.O asked Bibah about the other 3 guys. He said he did not know them. I knew he was lying. We all knew. Like I mentioned earlier, the officers themselves knew Gink. I guess they did not want to rock the boat by hunting down Gink and his 2 partners, maybe to avoid offending the politician godfathers Gink and co. worked for. I silently resolved on an alternative way to get them to answer for what they did.

Summary

With my consent secured, the D.P.O instructed Afeetal and Bibah to apologise to me. They did. He then asked the I.P.O. to get their signed undertakings NEVER again to repeat their actions. To be honest, from their sober attitude in the D.P.O’s office, I was already satisfied. However, the police officer made them sign, and sternly informed each one of them, of the consequences they would face, if they got into trouble again.

We all parted amicably, under the circumstances. Handshakes and greetings were exchanged, and I drove, with my wife, to my parent’s to brief them.  When I told my Father that I had taken the pains to secretly use my Blackberry to get video recordings of the proceedings of that day in the D.P.O’s office, he expressed the desire to watch the clips.

So, using the Bluetooth connection setup between my smart phone and his Dell laptop, I transferred the 4 video clips I’d made to the latter. And then for about 30 minutes, we watched the clips. I could see the relief on my parents’ faces.

It was obvious they were glad to see that I’d obtained valuable audio visual proof (showing the faces of ALL the persons involved) of what had transpired . They made sure we had another prayer session before we left J

An Untouchable Gang Leader?

It is instructive to note here that right from the shop front where it all began, I noticed that Gink, who came in a car with his 2 partners, was well known to the police officers themselves. Back at the station, and up till when we were at the D.P.O’s office, he was referred to by name by the officers. They told me he and his partners were notorious in the area, for their bad deeds. I later learnt from asking around, that he enjoyed some protection from certain politicians he ran errands for, especially during the elections. It was then that I understood why even though he had hit me after the police arrived, and gone as far as saying he preferred the O.P.C to the police, neither of the 2 officers had done more than warn him to watch his tongue. They did not wish to cross swords with him. Pity.

I will say here that it’s NOT over. I have my plans to find them. When the time is right, I’ll work that plan. And you can be sure, I’ll announce the results in a similar way. Like I told them that night, nobody can make me afraid of walking the streets in MY country. For years people have told me this attitude could get me killed. I have always told them: I can only die ONCE. Until then, I WILL NEVER be afraid to stand up and fight for my right, no matter whose Ox is gored. I would rather die doing so, than accept to live my life at the mercy of others.

Like I mentioned before, I do this to discourage these kinds of people from repeating their bad habits. When no one challenges them today, it could be YOU or someone you love – your friend, relative or even spouse they attack tomorrow. If they realize NOT everyone will keep quiet out of fear. Or better still, when they discover it is possible for someone to bring them to book, in spite of their connections, they will be more wary of doing business as usual. When more of us learn to INTERVENE, each time we see something wrong happening, we will bring about massive social change.

Final Words

Some people have a habit of trying to be wise after the event. One elderly person told me I should not have stayed in the shop to load the cards. If I had been psychic, I might have known NOT to do so on that day. The fact is that since 2001, I’ve always loaded cards I purchase before leaving the shop/stand, to ensure the seller does NOT accuse me of switching them if one or more fails to work. No one could have foreseen this happening. In the near future, I intend to write a “play” based on THIS event, to be performed at social group gatherings, as part of a public enlightenment campaign/social service.

“If you are weak in crisis, you are weak indeed” – Anon
“It’s not what happens to you that’s important. It’s how you deal with it”

“Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self” – Cyril Connolly

Are you struggling to meet your writing goals? Do you have difficulty consistently writing articles, blog posts or reports that you can confidently publish for others to read? Or are you one of those who repeatedly applaud others for publishing theirs, even as you wonder why you cannot get yours started or completed?
If you answered yes to any of the above queries, there are certain important things you may not be doing enough of.

Yes, I’m sorry to tell you this, but 9.9 times out of 10, you may be struggling to write because you are not doing something(s) right. And not because writing is too difficult or you are not born or destined to be a writer!

In this post, I discuss ONE possible reason why you never seem to be able to get your writing done according to plan. This “reason” is an obstacle keeping you from consistently achieving your writing goal, and I offer practical strategies you can use to overcome it

Universal Principles:Before I begin, let me point out that the ideas I share in this write-up apply not just to writing, but also any area of human endeavor. So, if you are struggling to achieve valued goals, in any aspect of your life, you’ll find the information provided here of immense practical benefit.

Lack of a Magnificent Obsession is a major reason I have found responsible for many people’s inability to meet their writing targets.

Without overcoming this obstacle, I honestly believe your chances of achieving long term success in writing will be quite slim. So, you’ll need to really pay attention as you read this post.

People who achieve success often do so by getting totally absorbed in its pursuit i.e. they become obsessed with it. Historical evidence supports this. It’s called having a "Magnificent Obsession".

This is your "raison d’être", your life purpose…or reason for existing. Something that literally dominates your daily thoughts, and which when achieved, would make you feel fulfilled…that you have lived your life well. As a writer, you need to focus your efforts on topics related to your magnificent obsession.

If you don’t know what yours is, the following questions and tips can help you:

What would you gladly do for 24 hours a day for any number of days – even if you did not get paid to do it? What gets you excited and eager to engage in it, every time you think about it? Whatever answer you come up with, is most likely to be your magnificent obsession.

Some people take a few minutes to a day to discover theirs. Others could take a year or longer. The path to self-discovery is not always straightforward. If you listen to your intuition, you will be pointed in the right direction faster.

The following narrative illustrates the importance of having a magnificent obsession:

In response to a question about how he managed to build what was quite a small start-up into a multi-million pound business, Simon Woodroffe (billionaire co-founder of the Yo! Sushi restaurant chain in the United Kingdom), gave what should be a re-assuring answer to anyone aspiring for success.

Simon said he did not consider anyone who achieved success – himself included – to be "clever". The problem, according to him, is that many people are (to use his exact words) "just lazy and stupid". He added that anyone who can get obsessed with something can do anything.

Giving a personal example, Simon revealed that there was never a time after he started his business that he woke up wishing for riches. He recalled that he always got up in the morning, because he was either obsessed with achieving his goal, or scared that his plans would fail.

In case you missed it, the point I’m making is that this gentleman provided an answer that effectively demystifies "success achievement".

Success is not reserved for "clever", "talented" or "gifted" people. Anyone can succeed in achieving her goal(s). What is important is that you identify clearly what you want to achieve – and why. Then get obsessed with pursuing it.

NB: This post is based on excerpts from my latest ebook (WHY YOU KEEP FAILING TO ACHIEVE YOUR WRITING GOALS! (10 Habits That are Holding You Back and How to Change Them for Good!), which became available for sale this evening, in my online store at www.lulu.com/sdaproducts.

Click here to download a FREE PDF preview of this new ebook (NB: You also get the download link to a FREE copy of my "Proven Techniques (& Strategies) You Can Use To Start & Finish Writing ANYTHING" report!)

Comments?

What do you think of the above message? Do you have any personal experience to share on this subject? Are there some other points you feel can be added, to help persons looking for answers? Share your thoughts below.

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