For a million years of history
Lays the foundation of humanity
It’s laid in unending pages of
Decaying and, sometimes rusty
Relics hinging on treacherous foils
The past tells the story of our life
It reveals the errors and success made
Hanging to the past would result to
Discouragement and fear, hatred, and dismay
For the past littered with the stories of
What we should have better let go
The future is the hope for a better t’moro
It’s the aspiration and the way to a greater height;
And a glory that is attainable when pursued,
That pales the past to an insignificant blurry dream:
The future expands to infinite possibilities
It is the success of past failure
The attainment of the lessons learned
It is the vision we set and twigs to build
Our dreams to come to reality
Dreams realizable only in fairy climes
Yet we bring to our new world order
Today, I was to continue on my serial story, ‘The Conflicting Realities 2’ when I stumbled into this piece I have written in the past. And since I am already gathering materials to write on the above theme, ‘Nigeria: A Nation In The Precipice,’ and the country is still in the fiercest grip of this Fiendish apparition, garbed in a Political Cloak, I dropped this piece here today, hoping someone would be kind enough to goad those in authority to rein us in at the edge before we plunge over .
But somewhere over the stretch of our short history as a nation, we have missed the connection. The unity of diversity that bonds us together is cracking at the seams.
And as our great personality, Chinua Achebe, of blessed memory, would say, “They have put a knife in the thing that held us together and now we have fallen apart …….”
However, in our case, ‘they’ did not put a wedge between us to set us apart. We surrendered ourselves to greed, selfishness, tribalism, nepotism, and a host of other extremism tendencies that have torn us apart. And now the center is finding it hard to hold together.
A new generation of Nigerians has emerged who polluted the original concept of what our founding fathers of the nation had for the new ‘wedded’ country, with an egocentric tribal aura geared toward plundering on the richness of the country.
They have turned our beloved country into a theatre of war and warmongering tribesmen. The sudden appearance of petrol Dollars was the icing on the cake to our enterprising agricultural prowess, halting the building up of the country into the global reckoning.
Our agricultural drive collapsed into a mono-economical rebirth, hinged in the crude oil sale. The groundnut pyramids in the North, the cocoa barns in the West, the palm oil plantations in the East, and other equally sustainable natural explorations all over the country have caved into the dependency on oil.
The resultant effect on the social-economic situation of the country was a strive by every citizen on the petrol dollars, a reminiscence of the Race to Nikki in 1894, and the Gold rush in America in 1849.
The sad tale about the situation in Nigeria was that, instead of the oil becoming the pillar of a masterpiece of infrastructural glamour, it became a scourge and a curse to the country.
The unity according to the dream of her founding fathers had turned us into a divisive people congregating along ethnic and geographical lines. The peace of the nation as entrenched in our national flag has become bloody and acrimoniously stained.
We have at several times come so close to the brink of separation. The greenish luster landscape as depicted on the flag now soiled with oily pollution and bloodletting. Our nation now immersed in a bloody oil configuration.
I pondered here to ask if we are not playing a hypocritical game on the world stage, still fluttering our national flag of Green and White; telling the world we are a green naturalist and peaceful country; while the entire world has known us as an oil-dependent country immersed in violence: a country full of malicious hatred on tribal and religious line.
Could somebody wisely move a motion in the in-coming 9th Senate that would change the color of the national flag to reflect the new reality on the ground? We have also shown our strength and power as depicted with the Eagle and the Lion as reflecting in our Coat of Arm frequently.
However, I think we showed this against the wrong ‘adversary.’ We have become like the ‘Ebieseni,’ by eating ourselves with the institutions we established to protect and guide the territorial integrity of the country.
I am still considering what shape the Coat of Arm would now take to reflect the reality of our strength on the ground. However, it is still not too late now to turn back the hand of the clock. We can still become the greatest black nation in the world if we would be so.
Watch the flag when the ‘Super Eagles’ are playing a football match and you will see the unity we all so much crave for.
We asked the Desk Sergeant to detain the suspect in the cell with no visitor to see them.
“In which case should I take their detention entry from,” he asked as he made to take the details of the two men.
“For unlawful possession of hemp,” I told him. Looking at the men behind the counter, I have made a general remark and hoped that Kevwe could grasp my meaning, “I will be back soon, and then we will take your statement,” And I was out of the station.
It was Kevwe who is the hero of today’s operation, I mused. It is just unfortunate he cannot come out to take credit in the circumstance. Why would he agree to take this punishment for helping the police? I hoped to have what it takes to reward him.
Mr. Ovie came to the station after about an hour of waiting. The officers in the station did not know that the suspect we brought in was a high stake, and we prefer to let be so for now.
“Hello Mr. Ovie,” I greeted him cheerfully as I went out to meet him where he has just parked his car.
“Hey! Mr. Bara,” he greeted me expansively.
I did not say Mr. Ovie is a very jovial person, dark and huge; about 6 feet tall and bulging in at the waist. His hands enveloped my palm as he shook me warmly. Also, I did not mention that Kevwe is his distance cousin.
I think that was one reason he was taking this awful risk to assist us. I have no intention of informing him we have his cousin in custody. He may not understand the intrigue and may jeopardize our investigation.
“Please Mr. Ovie, I want you to take us to Warri town,” I told him, and led him into the DCB office.
He greeted the officers at the counter as he followed me into the office, “We are having a lead on those boys that robbed your house.” I began cautiously to explain to him when we have sat down in the office.
“Hey, Bara, are you sure?” he asked enthusisically, grabbing my hand, breathing heavily.
“Yes. I want you to take us to Warri/Sapele road by McDermott junction. There is a man we want to check up. I would not have bothered you, but we need a car to rush up there and back before it gets too late into the night.”
“That’s no problem,” he was all ready to go.
“Okay, let me call Wangyo, Itoro, and if Charles is available, I will also want him to go with us.” I told him.
You cannot be this close with Ovie without being caught up with his infectious mood. It was few minutes past 7 pm when we parked the car almost at the same spot I left Kevwe to check on the driver the previous day.
We walked up to the house in pairs. I was with Itoro in front, followed closely by Charles and Wangyo. Mr. Ovie was waiting in the car. We were fortunate. The taxi was in the same place it was yesterday, only nobody was attending to it today.
We went straight to the room I heard the music playing the previous day, banged heavily on the door and pushed it open as it was not locked. He was watching a television program as we crowded into the room, and rose to his feet bewildered, and looked around us, too shocked to utter a word. We all have out pistol drawn.
“Aba Man,” I called him by the name he is known by the boys. His puzzlement was turning into alarm. “Are you not Aba Man?” I pressed on.
I…I’m from Aba,” he stuttered.
“I don’t mean from Aba town. That is what they call you, Aba Man, isn’t it?” I walked up to him.
I realized that he did not recognize me as the boy that was asking him questions yesterday. I can see the fear in him as he tries to have some control over himself.
Corporal. Wangyo came up behind me, shoved his ID card under the driver’s nose. “We are Police officers from DCB Ovwian/Aladja. We are taking you into custody for questioning on some allegation made against you.” He brought out a pair of handcuffs and chained his hands.
At that moment Mr. Ovie came into the room, glanced around the room, taking in the drama that was going on amusingly, and then dashed toward the TV table.
“Hey! This is my video cassette,” he shouted as he picked up a video cassette on the table. “It was in the video player that they stole from my house.” He turned around to the driver, and with a clenched fist, rushed at the man shouting, “Thief, Ole. I am going to crush your head,”
I restrained him by coming between them. “We’ve got him now Mr. Ovie,” I pleaded with him. “We have him now. It is our responsibility to do what we should do with him.”
That somewhat placated him, but he was still fuming and threatening as we led the suspect out of the room. Charles retrieved the cassette from Ovie.
“This is exhibit A,” he said smiling.
We drove back to the station feeling very satisfied with ourselves. I was ecstatic at the turn of events in the last two days. We have been able to get this far in a case that was becoming our jurisdiction major nightmare.
It was a smooth sail after the arrest of the driver and recovery of the exhibit video cassette. The final outcome of the case was just a matter of time.
Back at the station, the DPO ordered the release of Kevwe immediately for what he termed ‘mistaken association’ as not to create any room of suspicion as to the role he played.
Confronted with the evidence of the video cassette, and the confessional statement of the driver, George finally broke up in submission and gave us very useful information regarding their operations.
The next day, two other members of the gang were arrested when they came to the house of the driver to collect the balance of their money. With the cooperation of the relations of the driver, the boys were lured into an ambush we have set for them.
Kalu, the dismissed policeman, was never arrested. When he heard about the arrest of the other members of the gang, he sank underground.
We recovered all the electronic items stolen from Mr. Ovie from the various people that bought them from the driver.
But for the Kalu we could not arrest, we made a great haul in the case; breaking the operation of the Block-boys and the receivers.
Kevwe was well taken care of, but he was put under strict surveillance. His knowledge about the boys and their operations was a subject of severe speculation in the Divisional Crime Branch.
But fortunately, he was never implicated by any of the boys in the course of their interrogation. Other cases that have suffered neglect in the Divisional Crime Branch, as a result of the priority we gave to this case were brought up to the front burner of the team.
Operation End the Block-Boys was swift, discreet and effective. The team can now raise its head high and walk the street of the neighborhood; a proud Law enforcement organization.
THE DIVISIONAL CRIME BRANCH PART 3
The time was 3 pm. I paced around the bus stop at Orhuworun junction, checking out all the taxis that were coming from the Warri end of the road.
I was not the only one laying seize in that area. Cpl. Wangyo, sitting with a shoe repairer across the road, also checked out the movement of the people at the intersection.
Cpl. Itoro and Cpl. Ibekwe were trying without success in chatting with a lady selling oranges. We were all maintaining eye contact with each other to know when anything would come up.
We have been here about an hour now, expecting my contact to come with at least one boy. In retrospect, the 80s were a primitive era in Nigeria police work. We do not have telephone services then, for anyone to make a quick call; we have to spend human effort on every action we take.
After the morning meeting in the DPO’s office, I took a bike to Ovwian and had a meeting with Kevwe. I explained to him what he should know. I practically persuaded him to book a meeting with the leader of the gang to give him the details of an operation someone privileged him to have over-heard.
Acting on that, he left to make that arrangement. I loitered around for more than an hour within the town until he returned. He gave me an assurance that the boy has agreed to come for an inspection of the supposed site between 2-3 pm.
Since there was to be no actual inspection, we arranged to stop the duo at Orhuworun junction on their way to the phantom site. We were to slam some bogus allegation against them and take them to the station for questioning.
I had immediately hurried back to the station and assembled this team for the interception. And since there were no phones available, all we could do to maintain close eye contact while remaining as vigilant as possible.
About twenty minutes after the hour, Kevwe came alone to the junction on a bike. I walked up to him to inquire about the boy.
“Well, I stayed in his house and waited for him to come back. Someone informed me that he went out with a certain lady and would return soon. That was why I waited for this long time,” he explained.
He looked around as the others converged on us, “Ah! Oga Bara, you came with a whole battalion,” he smirked. They got the hint and eased back a little.
“What is the next time to meet with them,” I asked flatly. #
“I will go back and wait for him. If he returns before nightfall, we may still come around, otherwise it will be tomorrow,” he assured me.
“That is all right,” I heaved a sigh. “I will hang around here to wait for you.” With that, he crossed the road to take a bike back to town. We gathered ourselves to re-strategize. They all should go back to the station while I will hang around to see what else we may have today.
With that, we dispersed. After the others have left for the station, I went into a small cafeteria to have a little bit of something. I sat at a side table by the window where I will be able to keep an eye on the road.
I sat there brooding through the events of the past two days. The activities were just fleeting through my mind hazily. I cannot imagine that in just a period of two days of action, we were right behind the tiger’s tail.
Once again I looked around at all the faces of the people in the restaurant. There is none here that anyone would associate to masking an evil intent on his face. Everyone seems busy doing what they intend doing.
There is none here to say, ‘officer I have information to share with you.” I am in a crowd and yet alone. At that moment, I felt the weight of the pistol tucked behind my belt, a reassuring comfort to get you out of troubled waters, I presumed. Am I in any troubled water? I asked myself.
I paid for my meal and went out onto the road. As if on cue, a bike with two passengers pulled up at the Junction. The passengers were Kevwe and another boy.
I passed close to them so that they would notice my presence. As they turned to look in my direction, I recognized the other boy. I have seen him in several places in town, and sometimes in Kevwe’s place. I think his name is George. Yeah, George, I am very sure of that
. A short bulky fellow with bulging arms as a wrestler. They both waved to me in recognition. I threw a greeting at Kevwe as someone I have not seen for a very long time. He responded agreeably to suggest they are going to his house.
That was the hint. They went their way, and I took the next available bike back to the station. The die is cast. It is now an action time. There was no patrol car at the station to take us for the operation.
Sgt. Adamu volunteered to convey us with his car to a bush part that I knew would lead us to Kevwe’s house. I have walked this rubber plantation severally and knew it like the back of my hand.
Adamu let us off at the point and went back to the station. We were four on this mission; Cpl. Ibekwe John, Daniel Wangyo, Itoro Akporaro and me. We snaked our way through the rubber trees until we got to the house. To our dismay, there was nobody in the house.
Itoro looked at me with alarm. “Why are you looking at me that way,” I protested jovially.
“Let us hide in some place here. I believe they will soon be here.” Looking around we saw some plantain trees within the compound. We quickly concealed ourselves amongst them. We have hardly done that when the two of them sauntered up from behind a building.
Kevwe brought out a key from his pocket, opened the door and went in, while George, well, he just flopped down at the veranda. He brought out a wrapped paper from his pocket and started fumbling with it.
I think he was trying to roll himself hemp. We stormed out from our hidden places behind the plantain trees, with our pistol drawn.
“Raise your hands up,” Itoro snarled as he went beside the surprised George. Wangyo went into the room roaring and dragged Kevwe out. He was looking perplexed at this intrusion.
For a minute, the compound was a cacophony of sound as everyone was marshaling out orders.
“What have we done officers,” Kevwe was sounding very desperate, searching for an answer from one face to the order, his hands hanging by his side.
Itoro roughly forced George hands down and clamped an iron chain on one hand and the other on Kevwe.
“I have not done anything wrong,” George kept on protesting.
“Well, we found hemp in your hand,” Wangyo reminded him gently.
“But how am I going to wear this bracelet and walk with you along the street,” George raised the chained hand to make his point.
“Well, if that is what you are ashamed about,” Itoro reasoned with him. “I will put them on my wrist and go with you. He collected a second pair of the cuff from Ibekwe and slammed it on his left wrist and the other end on George free hand. “I hope this makes three of us on chains,” he sneered.
“You still have not told us why you are arresting us,” he was glancing at our faces to regain some sort of confidence. We all gazed back at him without any expression. Ibekwe read their rights to them before we left the house.
“You are not obliged to say anything. For whatsoever you say will be taken down in writing, and will be used in evidence against you.”
That seemed to calm him down a little. Kevwe begged to lock his door as we left the house. Since there was no car to take us back to the station, we walked all the way to the road to get a taxi, with the people coming out from their houses to have a look at us as we passed by.
There was no funfair at the station as we arrived. I immediately sent for Mr. Ovie to come with a car to the station. We asked the Desk Sergeant to detain the suspect in the cell with no visitor to see them.
THE DIVISIONAL CRIME BRANCH PART 2
It was dark when we arrived at the estate. Well, frankly, calling this area an estate is just glorifying the place. The best it could pass for is a shanty town, or better still, a ghetto. When Bob Marley was calling Kingston concrete jungle, he does not understand what Kolokolo layout in Warri looks like.
It was an iron jungle. They built all the building in this part of the estate with a corrugated iron sheet; popularly known here as batchers. Kevwe was a step ahead of me as we sauntered between these iron box houses deeper into the estate.
I had deliberately slowed down my pace since we arrived at this area to allow him to walk ahead of me. I cannot help imagining that I could walk into a setup. If it does not seem to give him a scruple to lead me to the den of his friends; who to all justification, if arrested, could face the firing squad, what stops him from leading me to them: who, in all they knew, is a pest they should get rid of.
I was wearing a T-shirt on top of a loosely fitted jean short. I had my right hand in the pocket, resting on the butt of the pistol. If there will be any shoot out, I guess I knew who will be my first target.
I have been counting the number of turns we have made, two to the right, and one to the left. Promptly, we came to a little opening, and Kevwe stopped on his tracks. I almost bumped onto him.
“Look at that roof,” he pointed out a dark shape behind the house in front, silhouetted in the fading light. “That is where three of the boys live,” his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “If you go in there, now you may see them. And I believe other boys will be with them.” He did not move forward, and I did not push him either.
“How many of them do you think are going about this business?” I whispered to him as we move into the shadow of a building along the street.
“They are always five. I told you that back in the house,” he said harshly. “But sometimes they could change one person or the other. There is also that dismissed police officer amongst them, the one I told you about.”
“Yea, you said so,” I agreed, all the time observing the environment. There were many people going about their nightly affairs. And amid them, live some vicious people; the dregs of the society which stock in trade is to cause pain and sorrow to humanity. Yet none could come to the Police to report.
There is a path on the left from where we stood that leads to the house. I could see people coming from this road.
“You know I cannot lead you into the house, or even closer than this place,” Kevwe was saying.
“Who asked you to march into their home with a police officer on tow?” I gibed him. “Won’t you allow someone to think for a while? Is there any other way from the back of the house?”
“This road here leads to the other street we turned off to the one we followed,” he pointed to the path that passed by the house. “If anyone is to come to the house, he can do so by either way.”
I have no plan of marching up to the hideout of this gang, not tonight or any other time. I have to bring them out to meet us in a neutral field. I was not going to mention that to Kevwe now. “Can we go back now?” I patted his shoulder. “You know we are still going to the house of the Receiver; the man that’s buying their cargo, and you said that is a long way into town?” I asked him.
“It is close to McDermott road,” he agreed as we made our way out of the estate.
The taxi dropped us some way from the compound along the main road. We walked a little distance and stopped.
“Look at that compound in front,” he was pointing to a compound just ahead of us. “It is after 8 pm, and I believe the man would be at home with his taxi. I cannot go with you any further.”
“It’s okay,” I nodded to him in the dark and walked up to the front of the compound.
From the security light in front of the house, I saw a man, not tall, but fair in complexion, washing a Toyota Corolla taxi cab. Loud music was coming out from an open door in the room beside him. No doubt, that must be his room.
“Good Evening Sir,” I called out a greeting to him.
He stood up. Just as I have noticed, he was about 5ft tall, slim body stature. His eyes were scrutinizing me over, but I acted my part well as a student, balancing myself from one leg to the other bouncingly.
“Evening,” he responded, his voice thick with a forced croak.
“Please Sir,” I continued animatedly as if I did not hear his response. “I am asking about my classmate, one Bara, from Urhobo College. He told me that he lives in this house. ” I pretended to be peeping into the compound from the opened passageway beside the door from where the music was playing, while collecting the registration number of the taxi.
“I am not sure of the name,” he answered and flung his arm into the compound, “you can go in and ask the Landlord.”
He huddled back into his washing. I was now quite in my element. I thanked him and ambled into the compound. I have no intention of knocking at the Landlord’s room and came out just after a moment.
I waved goodnight to our car-washer friend, “I am sorry. I think I was mistaken about the description. It is not here.”
‘”It is okay,” he answered me lively this time. I went out of the compound, breathing heavily.
As easy as a pie, I said to myself. I joined Kevwe where I left him. He was all animated, trying to know what I have been able to find out.
I felt the relief flowing into my soul as we made our way back to Ovwian. I left Kevwe at Orhuworun junction and took a motorcycle back to the station. I have promised to get in touch with him tomorrow.
I am all exhilarated up with the fact that I have been able to get a grip of the backbone of these Block-boys operation.
However, knowing the houses of the boys and the receiver is not the end of the tale. So far it is my word against theirs. I have to build up evidence worthy for prosecution, or else I have just been riding a roller coaster.
It is time to present the result to the DPO I guessed. I have done some field work enough to let in the crowd for the compound job.
So the crowd was once again gathered in the DPO’s office the next morning. He has just finished going around the station on the routine check before inviting us all to his office.
Earlier in the morning, I have had a briefing with Inspector Okoro – the Inspector Crime. I have given him the bone of my exploit, and I believe he has done so with the DPO; hence this morning assembling of the Divisional Crime Branch.
The only new face in today’s gathering is ASP Kolawole Idowu. Mr. Idowu is the Divisional Crime Officer, (DCO). He is from one of the Western states. An action-looking man in his 30s, dark in complexion, slim in stature, with a head that sits on a neck seemingly too small to carry it.
His face is marked threateningly with the traditional marking from people of his race; three long tears from the ears to almost touching the jars on both chins. In spite of his appearance, the DCO is a very agreeable fellow.
“Okay Baralate,” it was the DPO the broke the sobriety in the office. His eyes were amicably fixed on mine. “What have you been up to this past two days? Mr. Okoro has given me the bone of the story. Can you elaborate on what I have already known?”
I looked around the office, seven pairs of eyes were all fixed on me; all comradely urging me to spill.
And this is the story as I was able to pitch together from a very dependable but slippery ally. There were about five of the boys. They were coordinated by one dismissed Police officer, named Ngozi Kalu.
Kalu was a police constable that was serving in this very Division. Somehow, he got into trouble with a renowned smuggler in town. This man had gone to the Police Area commander in Warri and reported that some Armed robbers attacked his men where they were off loading their wares and robbed them of their valuables.
Kalu was implicated in this case of armed robbery. It would have been a very embarassing case for the police, so they did some hush-hush on the case and Kalu was transferred to the riverine area of the state.
This, however, does not go down well with this over-ambitious police constable, and he refused to report for duty in his new post. He was subsequently dismissed from the Force and was going around with all sorts of shady characters in town.
His activities to the best of my knowledge, and also to some of the men in the Crime Branch has been limited to hanging around with dupes and cheats, popularly known as ‘419’, an acronym of section 419 of the Criminal Code.
His graduation to being a fully fledged armed robber was sort of surprise to me. I could see that the men in this room, including the DPO, were also having the same feeling. Anyway, Kalu was able to absorb himself into this renegade group to carry out the recent spate of robbery in our jurisdiction.
Their mode of operation goes in this wise. They go around the town scouting out victims they believe will have electronics in their houses. Since some of the boys were from within the community, everybody is known to them. In the evenings before any operation, the taxi driver, popularly known as Aba man, would carry their arsenals with one of the boys to hide in close proximity to the selected venue.
All they need to do in the night was just to stroll up to the place from their various points, retrieve their weapon without arousing any suspicion from a curious observer or the Police.
After the raid, they will hide their loots in a bush and scatter in pairs to their various houses. In the morning, one of them will get in touch with the taxi driver to retrieve the loot from the bush. The driver is the conduit pipe through which their whole operation flows.
He sells off the goods and pays the boys whatever sum they agreed upon. He can sometimes pay them immediately if he has the cash, or sell the items off in the underground market and pay them later.
There is an underground market in Hausa Quarters, where any amount of stolen items that arrives there would disappear in a matter of minutes through chains of special channels. There was a pulsating silence in the office as I rounded off my brief.
“And from what the Inspector Crime has told me, you have been able to locate the houses of these boys?” The DPO asked, leaning forward on his desk.
“Yes Sir,” I answered.
“He has also located the house of the taxi driver,” Inspector Okoro completed for me.
There were hushed mumblings and shifting of feet in the office for a moment.
“How far can we trust your informant, Baralate,” the DCO wanted to know.
“Well Sir,” I ventured cautiously with a smile, “as a recruits in Police College, we were trained not to trust anybody a hundred percent, but to rely on our instinct. That is the extent to which I trust him. But in this case, I think we are on a perfect track.
There was a general concession in the office, and the DPO continued, “We are not going to their hideout to fight them out.” I realized that he is now threading my line of reasoning.
We all watched him as he began to explain our next line of action. “If we bring the boys in now, it will be their words against our allegation. We have to gather enough evidence to prosecute them.”
“If we bring in the driver first, we may have some incriminating items on him to hold on the boys.” The DCO opined
“Excused me, Sir,” I raised my finger. I am not always in the best frame to make a suggestion on the course of an action where there are senior officers, but I have a hunch which I have discussed with Kevwe. I told him I will sell the idea to my bosses, that if they accept, we can swing.
“Okay,” the DPO prompted me. “Do you have an idea how you think we can go into this?”
“Well Sir,” I continued hesitantly. “If we bring in the taxi driver, and they hear about it – and they will – there is the likelihood that they will sink underground. On the other hand, if we bring in the boys and delay in arresting the driver, but start accusing them of any crime, they will deny to high heaven that they do not know what we are talking about.
“I am thinking that we should sell them a dummy. I can get in touch with my contact to persuade them to come out to the open. The dummy is about a fake business deal. If they buy into that, we can pick them up, or any of them that turns up. We will thereafter go after the driver.
“I think it will be a great spectacle to have both parties looking at each other to deny their involvement.” I rounded up and felt silent, exhausted.
The DPO picked up my analysis from where I left off. “If they will trust your contact enough to meet with him, I will agree that it is a brilliant idea. My fear however is, will the suspicion of their arrest not fall on his laps?” he asked rhetorically.
“I think we should take up the issues as they come,” the Inspector Crime added. “If there is anything we should do, I think this is the best moment to follow up on the lead we have got.”
“Baralate, can you bring your man for me to talk with him?” the DPO requested of me. “Sir, I don’t think that will be necessary,” I responded promptly.
I do not fancy the idea of a ‘big man’ aura over Kevwe. On the other hand, he may not like the exposure.
“Sir, if it does not matter, we can handle it from this point. We will feed you with a very positive result,” Corporal Wangyo enthused in from beside me.
I gave him an encouraging smile. After a few moments of fine-tuning our proposal, I was asked to come back with a time of action after consulting with my contact.
‘Operation End the Block-Boys’ has been approved and launched. It is going to be fast, discreet and effective; therein is the concern. A lid over the operation until it has swung off successful.
In one brief Moment;
a moment as if it were
just a second, but then, it was
like an eternity in the ever-spinning
motion of the earth, the world paused
to wait on Nigeria, hoping she’d be able
to draw in an aura of hopefulness into existence
From North to South, and East to West
The nations in the earth paused to listen;
world leaders had their talks held midway,
and the commoners halted their walks on
the subway: they are all listening to the
sound and sight coming out from Nigeria.
The sound was ominous and the sight gory.
That surely, was not what they had expected to hear,
and definitely not what they had hoped to see;
like a nation under an evil spell, she’d plunged
herself deeper into an abyss of self-delusion,
contemptuously, goaded on by a senile ideology,
had called the world cautions a bluff
She had slid into a slippery path of arrogance
and garbed herself with a robe of contempt
in the committee of civilized democratic nations,
and decided to take a gloom and doomed thoroughfare;
while the populace mourn and gnash their teeth,
wailing hopelessly for their robbed refreshing breath
How could they get through another stretch,
with their life marooned in a desolate sublimity,
while the world moves onto a higher trajectory?
Yet there are those that will not in any way be able
to tell, one way or the other, which their country swings;
they had paid the supreme prize, hoping they were
on a worthy cause.