Twenty-four hours to the trip, Otos, a worker at one of the
bus terminals in the Jibowu area of Yaba, Lagos, had given all the assurances
that there is commercial transportation to Abuja, and, in fact, to any part of
the south-east. With a giggle, and then a long hiss, he dismissed the directive
banning interstate travel. As soon as we settled to talk, he reached for his
chest pocket and brought out a bunch of tickets, assuming that his next
passenger had arrived.
Nigeria recorded its index coronavirus case on February 27,
2020 and by March 30, 2020, President Muhammadu Buhari had signed the “COVID-19
Quarantine Regulations” to enforce measures to check the spread of the disease
in the country.
The quarantine act empowers the president to restrict
movement when a “dangerous disease” breaks out in the country and on April 27,
2020, Buhari ordered a nationwide curfew from 8pm to 6am. He also banned
interstate travel, sparing only those on essential services. The presidential directives had followed
recommendations by the presidential task force (PTF) on COVID-19, as the
committee described interstate travel as one of the major causes of community
transmission of the disease.
For instance, the index case in Kano had travelled from
Lagos through to Abuja to the state, which now has the highest number of cases
after Lagos.
“Oga, this car will leave for Abuja latest by 7pm,” Otos
said, pointing at a Toyota Sienna minivan with an open boot, suggesting it to
be in a standby position.
“We have to move before 8pm that the curfew starts,” he
added.
As expected, the charge is now almost double of what it used
to be. But Otos justified the increment.
“We have to settle those security people on the road, you
know,” he smiled.
‘AS LONG AS THE DRIVER IS NOT GREEDY’
By 6:30 the next morning, a crowd of rowdy park attendants
descended on me as I was being dropped off around Jibowu. The rule of social or
physical distancing was ignored completely. Like it is their usual way of doing
things; as one was battling my shoulder for my bag, about two others had
grabbed me by the wrist and I was almost choked with drops of saliva that came
with their screaming. They barely wore face masks.
“Oga na one passenger remain,” one of them said when they
had successfully dragged me to a middle-aged woman called Aliya, the ticketer
who was already waiting. “N15,000,” Aliya said as she asked for my name.
Before now, about N10,000 or less was the charge from Lagos
to Abuja.
As I waited for other passengers to arrive, Aliya began
telling of how they have been “doing this business” despite the restriction
order by the government.
“As long as the driver is not greedy and he is readily
sorting those policemen on the road, you are good to go,” she said.
She recounted the ordeal of one of their drivers. Ishola, as
she gave the name of the driver, had to pass the night with his passengers,
somewhere in Lokoja (capital of Kogi) because he wasn’t “cooperating” with the
police who had manned a checkpoint while enforcing the curfew.
The vehicle took seven passengers – three each on the back
rows and one beside the driver – and we left around 10:30am. Jibola, the
driver, asked that we put on our masks as we zoomed off, driving against a tail
of traffic that was now crawling into Lagos.
As we neared Berger from where Lagos shares a boundary with
Ogun, Jibola, jokingly, asked: “Please, is there any doctor or military man on
board?”
He would later explain that the identity cards of a doctor
or military person would easily pave way at roadblocks ahead. With none of
these as his passengers, he exclaimed: “We dey on our own o, OYO lawa!” – an
expression to mean we were at the mercy of security operatives manning
roadblocks.
“What would then happen?” I asked. “Nothing, really. Aside
from that we might be delayed and eventually pay our way through,” he answered.
Around OPIC area, now on the Ogun axis of the Lagos-Ibadan
expressway, we met the first roadblock. The stationery truck bore the police
insignia and also an imprint of an Ogun state security agency.
Jibola wore a mischievous grin when one of the policemen
approached.
“He’s our person,” he said, as he pulled over. He stepped
out of the car, and in about three minutes, he was back.
“He passed me two days ago, so na 2k I give am today,” he
said as the barricade was lifted.
According to him, policemen at that point collect between
N3,000 and N5,000 from commercial drivers. Here, “non-cooperating” drivers are
turned back to the Lagos government secretariat in Alausa, a few kilometres
away.
WITH JUST N200, YOU ARE GOOD TO GO
A police offer smiles as he receives bribe from the driver |
The drive through to Sagamu and other towns of Ogun was
without much stress. Operatives at the few in-state roadblocks readily lifted
the barricade as the driver greased their palms with as little as N200.
Exiting Ogun into Ajebandele which marks the entrance into
Ondo, the operatives were a combination of Nigeria Security and Civil Defence
Corps (NSCDC), police, Federal Road Safety Corps (FRSC) and soldiers. The
different agencies manned roadblocks at intervals less than 500 metres from
each other.
With NSCDC officials, it was N500. Next stop was that of the
FRSC, and again we were freed after offering N500. Jibola begged the soldier, who watched from
afar, while his proxy, a civilian hawker, approached the car, to take N300.
He attempted the same with the police, but the officer
refused. He claimed he was more than N300. We wouldn’t leave until Jibola added
N200.
“Well, it’s still manageable on this part,” the driver said, masking his frustration with
a smile.
“My guy who shuttles between Abuja and nearby Benin drops
nothing less than 22k,” he said.
One of the passengers who seemed to be familiar with
security operations, especially that of the police, said the interstate travel
ban had only created a money-making avenue for the operatives.
He wondered why there were so many officers on the road,
concluding that not all of them were on legal posting.
From Akure, Ondo state capital, towards Owo, we met another
in-state roadblock and again, the police officers insisted on N500 as against
what Jibola had to offer. While going back and forth, a superior officer
approached, and for the first time on the journey, the driver was asked if he
had a pass to move from one state to the other.
PASS OF ESSENTIAL WORKERS IN THE WRONG HAND
Interestingly, Jibola nodded, and from a safe brought out
documents that looked original — with the seeming approval from the
presidential task force on COVID-19. But, no way, these officers wouldn’t fall
for that. One of them jumped into the car, turned off the ignition and seized
the key. Jibola got down and eventually gave them what they asked.
“They said I’m lying, that they know you people are
passengers I picked from Lagos,” he said, as he settled back in the car.
All the while, he had told them he was only dropping us at a
nearby town. At other roadblocks, I overheard him telling operatives that we
were his family members.
As for the pass? Well, a week ago, he was hired by some
essential workers who originally had the pass. After dropping them off at their
destination, he begged that they leave the pass with him so he could have an
easy ride back to base.
In Akoko-Edo, where Ondo shares a boundary with Edo state,
the demand was the same from policemen on the Ondo exit and Edo entrance that
were barely 50 metres apart — N500.
When one of the passengers asked why Jibola had to give
money at a second and this close roadblock, he simply told him “that was for
Ondo police and this is for Edo police.”
THE FEAR OF ISOLATION CENTRE
Angry officer turns off ignition when driver refuses to pay N500 |
A roadblock in Lampese, the next Edo town we were headed,
Jibola said had a medical unit and that we should all be ready for our
temperature to be checked.
“If your body is too hot, they will take you to an isolation
centre,” he said, laughing.
We would drive past the supposed area around 6:30pm but the
medical unit appeared to have closed for the day.
From here, we drove into Ogori-Magongo where the Kogi entry
point is located, and there was no roadblock at the boundary like we saw in
other places. Getting darker as we made for Lokoja, Jibola told us we could not
enter Abuja as we would be held over the curfew. Two passengers would not take
it easy with him.
“Why did we now pay N15,000 when you know you can’t enter
Abuja this night?” one of them screamed at the driver.
Pleading, Jibola took his time to explain that from Abaji,
the FCT entry point, to Abuja, we would meet at least 15 roadblocks and the
people here do not go below N3,000.
“I will have to spend all the money I made on this trip for
those security guys, and even after collecting the money, they might still
detain us till dawn,” he said.
He then advised us to pass the night in Lokoja, which the
opposing passengers, again rejected.
Through the drive to Lokoja, there were military checkpoints
where soldiers only flashed their torchlights across the car and they beckoned
that we drove on. At Abaji, the point of entry into the FCT, around 10pm, we
met a gridlock with tens of security operatives at the roadblock. We would
spend the next 40 minutes here as the driver and some of the operatives had it
back and forth. A seemingly “compassionate” soldier who peeped into the car and
saw the tired faces asked if we were coming from Lagos.
“Which road did you people follow? Ain’t you aware there’s a
travel ban?” he asked, obviously joking.
He then told his colleagues to allow us to move on. With
N200 per roadblock, we found our way until this particular one, few kilometres
into Gwagwalada. For once, I thought it was time we were detained as the police
officer, with a stern face, asked if we knew the gravity of our offence.
“You know I’m to charge you and all these passengers for
violating a presidential order?” he said, pointing at the driver.
And then, he took a turn and said, “so, your money is
N2,000.”
Jibola attempted to squeeze N500 into his hand and as soon
as he saw it, he cocked his gun and his gesture was a threat to shoot. He was
ordered to come down and join other “non-cooperating” drivers.
It was going to be N2,000 or we were held there, and the
time was 11:30pm, and it appeared Jibola already found comfort with his
co-drivers, and cared less about his passengers who eventually provided the
money.
The morning after, the ride from Gwagwalada where we passed
the night into Abuja was effortless. None of the two roadblocks asked that we
stop. Nobody wanted to know if we were on essential duties. Nobody cared if an
infected person from Lagos was being driven into the country’s capital city.
“N16,500!” Jibola responded with a heavy sigh when asked how
much he had given to security operatives for the journey.
FROM ABUJA BACK TO LAGOS
Gwagwalada park, Abuja |
Things looked scanty at the usually-busy park in Utako, and
this is because some non-uniformed police officers were lurking around to see
any vehicle boarding passengers. Well, the purpose of their presence, some of
the park attendants said, was to simply extort drivers.
As a decoy, passengers who had come are made to sit quietly around
the park and are secretly sold tickets. And then in batches of seven, they are
walked some few metres to a nearby street, supposedly away from the watch of
the police, where the vehicle comes, and off it goes to Lagos.
It’s a free world at the Gwagwalada park where vehicles set
for different interstate routes are in open display.
Entering into Kogi after Abaji, we barely slowed down as the
soldier manning the roadblock passed us with a wave of his hand. About 18
kilometres into Lokoja, we met a roadblock which had a quarantine post/clinic.
Anyone moving beyond this point is to have their temperature checked, and
anyone whose temperature is beyond normal is expected to be kept in the standby
clinic. But, we moved on as the officials only stopped vehicles that wouldn’t
part with bribe on time.
“Safe journey,” one of the policemen even wished us.
HARD-WORKING POLICE OFFICERS?
At a roadblock between Obajana and Kabba, the police
officers here seemed to mean business, or so it seemed? Their concern, however,
was not about the interstate travel, they held the driver to explain what was
sealed in two cartons he had picked in Abuja as parcels.
Soap, fragrance? Not even the driver knew what exactly it
was, as he was ordered to unseal the cartons.
And then, the policemen began to narrate how they had intercepted
many criminals on the highway.
“Just 20 minutes ago, we stopped those boys. They said it
was yam flour and they wanted to deliver it to a woman in a nearby village. I
thought to taste the thing and it turned out to be cocaine,” one of them told us.
“We just took them to the station now,” he added.
There was also a case of a woman trying to traffick a baby.
“I say madam, oya breastfeed am, but her breast no get
water. That was how we caught her as she later confessed,” the officer said.
While being held, other vehicles drove past, shaking
policemen’s hands with naira notes.
And then, one of the two officers by our vehicle said it’s
easy for them to collect money from motorists and allow them to move, but
sometimes “the spirit will just tell you that no, don’t collect that money,
search this vehicle properly”.
We were freed 15 minutes later, and they didn’t demand a
dime from the driver.
TURNED BACK AT ONDO, BUT THERE’S A WAY OUT
It appeared as though the journey had ended when approaching
Akunu, an Ondo town bordering Kogi, as officers at the roadblock denied us
access.
The team here consists of policemen and officials of the
Vigilante Group of Nigeria (VGN). With N1,000 in hand, the driver begged the
VGN official who had asked us if we had an interstate travel pass.
“There’s no way we can allow you to pass,” he said, shaking
his head and rejecting the driver’s offer.
He explained that the next roadblock ahead had cameras
monitoring vehicles coming and they could lose their jobs should we be allowed
to proceed.
“Even if you give us 20k, we will return that money to the
authorities with tears,” he said.
He maintained that we had to turn back into Kogi state. He
would, however, advise us to make use of (Ajowa), another entry point into
Ondo.
“Turn back, follow Ayere. There’s no camera, and your money
might be useful to the policemen on roadblock there.”
Indeed, with N1,000, we were granted access at Ajowa.
JOURNALIST ALMOST CAUGHT
Stopped at a roadblock before Akure, the team of police here
specifically asked the three of us occupying the first back row to step out,
and with our bags and phones. We had the boyish look, different from other
passengers who were older persons, and we immediately became suspects or so we
thought.
I was last to be searched, and I could only laugh when the
officer asked for the receipt of a laptop I have been using for over two
years. Then he asked for my phones. I
wanted to resist, but handed them to him. I was shocked the officer had started
accessing the phones I thought were locked with passwords. Of course, my email
and photo gallery were going to give me out as a journalist. Yes, there were
moments of bribe-taking policemen captured along the road.
Somehow, the officer missed the key folder on the
phones. He then asked me to identify
myself, and after a while, we were freed.
SMOOTH RIDE DOWN TO OGUN, BUT LAGOS IS CLOSED
From Ondo,
through to Sagamu in Ogun state, the ride was smooth. Lesser roadblocks, and
those around were good to go with between N300 and N500.
The journey
stopped at the Long Bridge stretching into Lagos. It was now 11pm, and the
curfew was in full enforcement.
Thousands of
travellers were going to spend their night just right here, until 6am when the
curfew is over.
POLICE: OUR MEN
ARE DOING A GOOD JOB
‘Doing a good
job indeed’
As police
officers were mostly seen at the roadblocks, the force authorities said the
officers should be thanked rather than criticised.
In a telephone
interview, Frank Mba, force public relations officer, said he does not know how
to authenticate the allegations made, but noted the fact that there are
exceptions from the general movement restriction rule.
“If you are a
pathfinder, there will be no way for you to move. Most of the persons you see
on the road are persons that fall within the exemption,” he said.
“You know it’s
funny in this country, but that is the luck of the police. There is nothing we
do that will not be criticised. If we choose to enforce this law strictly, you
people will cry that police are blocking everywhere; there is no movement;
journalists, doctors are not allowed to move. If we enforce with human face,
you people will accuse us that we’ve allowed the borders to be opened. So, we
have chosen to carry our cross.
“But, are we
doing the job? Absolutely we are doing it. Our men are performing excellently
well even in the very difficult situation. Those who try to break the law don’t
follow the major road. They go through bush paths, irregular and unconventional
routes. And that is why the IGP ordered the deployment of police horses to some
selected bush paths that we have uncovered, because those bush paths are almost
impossible for us to patrol. We have also discovered that some desperate
citizens also take advantage of the proximity in the internal borders.”
Mba said to move
from one state to the other would be like passing through the eye of a needle,
and if the police were not there, the whole of the road would be busy.
“I think people
should recognise this and pay respect to the men and women of the force,” he
added.
This is a special investigative project by Cable
Newspaper Journalism Foundation (CNJF) in partnership with TheCable, supported
by the MacArthur Foundation. Published materials are not views of the MacArthur
Foundation.
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