Chapter 3: Police Arrive

Police come. Sun don high, but police uniform still dey soak with sweat—Lagos heat no dey pity anybody. Because sports event dey happen for town, police dey on 24-hour duty; all their eyes red, tired no be small.

If you see the way dem waka—boot dey sound for ground, uniform no iron well. Their motor jam sand for front of gate, horn dey shout kpai-kpai. One officer even use stick chase small children wey dey block road. Na as dem enter, everywhere just freeze.

Dem try scatter the crowd, e no work, so dem push everybody enter our compound. The ones wey no fit enter, pack enter mourning hall, everywhere just jam, but at least from outside, e no too show like wahala.

For Naija, if police dey, wahala don serious. Dem dey use whistle, dey shout 'move! move!' but people no gree. In the end, police just surrender—push everybody inside, say make dem no disturb neighbours. Outside still quiet, but inside na real market.

"Officer, abeg make I report wetin dey happen," the group leader talk, dey form like say na victim e be. "All of us na cancer patients, some don dey late stage for years, dey struggle. Na the help of good people and society we dey survive. For our community to grow..."

You go think say e dey campaign for election. E voice get pity, e face squeeze, e even try use English join pidgin—'For our community to grow...' Some people for back dey shake head, others dey nod.

The officer cut am short, no get patience: "Abeg, abeg, you dey do campaign? Wetin carry all of una come here?"

Officer voice rough, e eye dey red like pepper. E wipe sweat from face, adjust cap. 'No time for story,' e talk. Everybody quiet small.

The group leader come dey shy small. "Oga, na one thing carry us come: we dey find justice!"

E voice low now, e no get that ginger again. You fit hear say fear don enter body. 'Justice' for Naija mouth fit mean anything.

"If na justice you dey find, go chief's court. Why una come person mourning hall dey do am?"

One police for back hiss, another adjust gun for shoulder. The officer dey try talk sense—say, 'no be here dem dey judge matter.' Some crowd people murmur, 'true true.'

"No! You no understand! Na him!" The group leader point me. "Na him dey kill all of us!"

All eye turn me again. Some women hiss, others dey mutter 'God forbid.' For that moment, I feel like prisoner for own house. Even old mama for window use hand cover mouth.

The officers look me. I never sleep for days, my face dirty with ash, my own eye circle pass panda own. One officer look me with pity.

As e look me, I see small sympathy. For Nigeria burial, everybody dey carry pain for face, but my own resemble person wey ghost dey pursue. Officer rub chin, e voice come soft small.

"But una still dey alive, abi? How he take kill una? Una be spirit? Since Nigeria start, spirit no dey allowed."

The crowd laugh small, tension reduce. Some people cover mouth, some giggle like children wey thief biscuit. But the matter still get weight.

"We dey alive now, but because of am, we go soon die!" The group leader try hug officer, wan cry, but officer dodge am, use baton block.

You know say police for Naija no dey like that kain touch. Officer waka back, face squeeze, baton ready. The group leader wipe eye, sniff, but e still dey find pity.

"E don do, I no dey ask again. Make we stop all this talk." The officer waka come meet me. "Comrade, abeg talk."

E call me 'comrade' as if na union meeting. The crowd dey watch, everybody dey wait my answer.

My leg don numb from kneeling.

Sand dey bite my knee, but I no fit stand—respect for elders and wahala wey dey ground. If I talk now, dem fit turn on me. If I keep quiet, na my papa name go spoil. Sweat dey run my back, my hand dey shake.

"Comrade, na your house be this?"

I nod. "Na my papa house. He just die. Na him burial we dey do."

My voice low, but I try hold myself. Some people for crowd sigh, say 'pele.' For Yoruba land, if person dey mourn, e dey get extra respect—normally.

"Sorry for your loss. Wetin be the problem? Why dem dey say you want make dem die?"

The officer voice soft, like uncle wey dey try pet small pikin. I feel small relief, but the crowd still dey look me with bad eye.

"Oga, I no even know. Last week, as my papa die, dem break enter, scatter everywhere, carry everything. Today dem still come, dey ask for prescription, say if I no give dem, dem go die. Abeg, I call una last week—why una never arrest dem?"

The crowd mumble, some dey shake head. I look officer face, try see if sympathy go reach action. Na Naija we dey—police wahala dey many pass burial.

The officer come look shame. Police people don too busy, nobody get time for burial wahala.

E scratch head, shift leg, sigh like person wey see NEPA bill. For this country, police dey tire too. I see am for e face—wahala full ground, but manpower short.

"Which prescription una dey find?" he ask the group leader.

E use serious voice, like say na exam e dey conduct. Everybody quiet, listen well. The group leader raise voice again.

"Cancer cure prescription! We dey use the medicine for years. Now the old man don die, his son no gree do am for us, so make e give us the formula. You see am now, officer?"

If you see the way people nod, you go pity. Some dey look ground, others dey look sky, as if heaven go drop answer. The word 'cancer cure' hang for air like NEPA light wey blink—hope and doubt together.

"You get cancer cure prescription?"

I quickly wave my hand. "How I go get cancer cure prescription? I be ordinary student. My papa na normal person. If na cancer you wan treat, go hospital! Why una dey disturb me?"

My heart dey beat, but my voice no shake. Some people for back begin murmur, 'hospital no get sense.' For Naija, if medicine cheap, everybody go rush am.

"Officer, no mind am!" The group leader begin vex. "His papa na herbalist—a native doctor. E dey make one kind pill wey dey work for cancer. Over one hundred of us dey use am for years. E cheap, e better pass hospital! Now, na just for am to continue give us, na im we want."

Some people for crowd clap, others dey shout 'true talk!' One woman raise handkerchief, wave am. This Naija—if native doctor medicine dey work, na e be king.

"Herbalist? That one dey ring bell." Officer reason small, then slap thigh. "Na this case city police and NAFDAC people close last month, abi?"

As e mention NAFDAC, crowd quiet. Some people frown, others dey reason say, na true. Police sabi the story.

"Yes, officer." I raise hand. "Na here dem seal. My papa dem report am for fake medicine, say e dey treat people without license, dem arrest am sharp sharp. If to say e no die for stress, e for dey prison now."

As I talk, my voice break small. Mama wey dey corner sob. For Naija, even if person do small mistake, e fit cost am life. People for crowd dey nod, dey pity.

"Ehen..." Officer look the group leader, look the crowd wey full mourning hall. "E work for una true true?"

People shout 'E work!' like crusade ground. One woman for front even stand, say, 'Na this medicine save my husband life.' The way dem respond, you go think say na miracle.

"If na fake medicine, e fit just be tonic to make you feel better—na scam. We don see this kind thing before. Make una go real hospital. All these random medicine fit cause wahala."

Officer voice firm, e no wan hear story. Some people hiss, others dey shake head. One woman mutter, 'Hospital no dey work for poor man.'