She was fair-complexioned with a face ravaged by pimples and tribal carvings; the unfortunate heritage of most African children who had no one to defend their cause at birth. She was remarkably pretty nonetheless. She was dressed in a black tee shirt, simple gold watch faded to a dull silver by constant exposure to the harsh sunlight, she also wore a pair of navy-blue cargo pants (trousers) and she had short hair plaited in braids and done up in a modest bun.
As the taxi careened merrily down the highway, she kept a calm watchful mien, her eyes swinging this way and that in spite of being quashed in the back seat with three other passengers, myself included. Given that I was seated right beside her, I kept an eye on her, observing her out of the side of my own eyes. I mean I figured it was my civic duty to keep an eye on her while she kept an eye on everything else.
As we drew even with a military checkpoint, she absently whipped out her phone to receive an incoming call. The driver jolted with fright, almost losing control of his steering as he realised one passenger was about to earn him a few frog-jumps and several hours cooling his heels at the military checkpoint while other commercial drivers sped past to pick up passengers from the busy streets of Abuja.
"Madam no fhone call! Naa army check foint!" He whispered urgently, fright and an Hausa accent causing him to mispronounce his words.
The lady jerked, hurriedly took the phone away from her ear, then apparently recalling her 'status', she returned the phone to her ear and continued her call, leaning back lazily as she deliberately prolonged the call. By now, the other passengers had joined the driver in frantically urging her to end the call as we were a mere three cars away from the lone soldier inspecting passing vehicles. I could sense the palpable tension and fear; who could blame them? Apparently in Nigeria the fear of the military is the beginning of preservation of your basic human rights. Just ask communities which saw pythons come out to dance in the village square. 🙄
Anyway, phone lady continued her call until we drew even with the soldier. By now our driver had shrunk in on himself and was now so tiny in his seat that I could barely see his head above the headrest.
Everyone probably thought I was either a stranger to Nigeria or recklessly unconcerned because I was the only other passenger at peace in Zion. I didn't tell them but I knew what the phone lady knew; I knew what she had recalled before she got courage to continue her call.
The gallant soldier waved us on and as we drew away, he shouted, "Stop!". Obviously he had belatedly sighted the phone pressed to her ear.
Our driver was a shivering wreck by now shooting impotent glances of fury and accusation over his shoulder at phone lady. The soldier strode up to the car but before he could get a word out, phone lady tossed the magic words at him, "Esprit de Corps."
He wasn't impressed. "Who are you?" He barked, veins standing out on his forehead while sweat glimmered on his craggy face.
She lifted her buttocks to enable her reach for her ID Card. The motion drew the soldier's attention to what I had already noticed: Her navy-blue pants screamed 'Civil Defense'.
He didn't bother to see the ID anymore; he just ordered us to "Carry on".
I could almost hear the palpable sighs of relief in the minds of the other passengers as visions of frog-jumps and guardrooms vanished.
I smirked.
As we left I reflected that the military probably created the draconian 'law' banning phone calls at checkpoints because to the best of my knowledge there is no written legislation to that effect. And apparently, the law only applies to "bloody Civilians". 😂😂😂
Morale of the story? Sometimes all you need to create the law is a uniform and all you need to break it for free is yet another uniform.
Learn the lesson and share the story
©2017 by Sherina Okoye
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