To Alatupa station on the outskirts of Erinmido Forest where the feckless and heedless Okon is being held on a holding charge of grand larceny and conspiracy with unknown persons to defraud the government of revenues by passing off ladies’ undies as Antiseptic Face Masks. Unaware that the police, following a tip-off, had spread their dragnet around Opebi Market, the loony fellow had sauntered in early in the morning carrying a hefty bale of assorted ladies underwear.
He was promptly impounded by overzealous undercover agents who beat him to a pulp as his more intrepid accomplices escaped by scaling the fenced perimeter of the iconic market. Enraged and frustrated by the loss of revenues, the undercover police had torched the abandoned stalls of the suspects turning the whole place into a bonfire of exploding undies.
Please recall that exactly a week earlier, Mama Igosun had accused Okon of plucking off the high wire her iconic undies from colonial times and had threatened to have Shango, the god of Thunder, deal with the crazy boy. Mid-afternoon into the fourth day, a thunderous rainfall erupted in the neighbourhood as the skies crackled with lightning and metaphysical fireworks. As the rains rumbled without cease, a clearly distraught Okon crashed into snooper’s bedroom.
“Oga, oga, I swear no be me steal dem mama him dross (drawers) oo, becos dis one as him dey mumble Yoruba witch-words and dem rain come dey fire machine gun like dem Black Scorpion man, make dem no come kill innocent people for Yoruba place”, the mad boy chanted breathlessly as he fell on snooper’s feet.
“Okon, there is nothing to be afraid of as long as you didn’t steal anything. Yoruba juju doesn’t work like that”, yours sincerely assured as he pushed the boy out of the room. Ten minutes after as the fiery thunder continued, the mad boy stole into the room again with fear and panic written all over him.
“Oga, what if I no steal dem mama dross but I sabi who steal am? Se thunder go still kill me?” the crazy boy whispered.
“Okon, please leave me out of this nonsense. Both the thief and the person who sells are liable to death”, snooper screamed at the crazy boy and pushed him out of the room with great force. One was later to learn that the crazy boy stole out of the house in the dead of the night during a lull in the rainfall.
Having survived the scary storm in an abandoned colonial hangar near the domestic airport, Okon was on his way to the market very early the next morning when he was apprehended by undercover police as he approached the landscaped precincts.
The atmosphere at Alatupa Police Station this early morning was like a riotous carnival of state disorder. As usual it was impossible to distinguish between the law and the lawless. The whole place looked like an abandoned hospital full of arrested Covid-19 patients, absconding paramedics who had been caught pilfering test kits, trans-border trespassers of no fixed address, police informers, state enforcers and the odd charge and bail lawyer with white shirt caked in grime and soot.
The presiding Desk Sergeant was a bright but overzealous cop with a reputation for efficiency and eccentricity. Having passed his Part 11 Private Correspondence Law examination, he was fond of signing off as Lawrence Izamoh, Inter-LL.B, and was adept at quoting the great names of the English legal system, going off at a tangent and at short notice.
Behind his back, his colleagues who had attempted O Level examinations by private tutorials with him called him Oversyla, an abbreviation for over syllabus because of his ability to roam in the field without any anchor or regard for specific course content.
After slamming the charges of grand larceny and conspiracy to defraud the state on Okon, the rogue sergeant had patted himself on the back for a job well done. If the mad boy was found guilty on the first count alone, the loony cop surmised, that would be enough for him to spend the rest of his adult life in prison.
“If he likes let him go and bring Dingle Foot”, Sergeant Izamoh exulted as he eyed snooper with brash disdain. He had been sifting through the application for bail brought by yours sincerely while helping himself to a generous dose of local snuff.
“And oga who be Dingle Foot sef ?”, the desk corporal inquired with reverence.
“No be dem Awolowo lawyer for treasonable felony be dat?” Over Syllabus replied.
“Ha, dis oyinbo people sef. He get one lawyer like dat dem dey call Jingle Bell”, the beefy corporal croaked as Over Syllabus chuckled to himself in superior scorn. It was at this point that he motioned to snooper to come over.
“Oga this boy is a confirmed criminal, you know that?” the crazy sergeant asked snooper in a rather patronising manner.
“Well, you can’t call him that if he has not been convicted“, snooper responded calmly and without being ruffled.
“Politicians are never convicted, but everybody knows they are criminals”, the desk sergeant snorted as he eyed snooper with wary respect.
“I am not here for that. Just release the boy”, snooper snapped sensing a trap. At this point there was a distinct sound of approaching commotion. A sense of panic and apprehension overtook the entire premises.
“I no be thief. Na becos I get dem Colonial Titus dem arrest me”, one man whined from inside the cell.
“Shut up or I will call Sergeant Pepper to give you your medicine,” the desk sergeant, losing his cynical composure for once, screamed. Then he switched his attention to yours sincerely again.
“You know I interrogated the mad Okon boy and I ask him why he was stealing corsets, bra and allied stuff and he asked me whether I didn’t know that this was a feeding bottle democracy”. At this point, the source of the commotion became clearer. It was Baba Lekki, accompanied by heavily armed people, waving an order of mandamus and asking everybody detained to be released. The whole place erupted in jubilation and singing.
The Nation
