Forget your Pastors, Prophets and Prophetesses [ whatever they call themselves] who have been conducting themselves like small gods. Wait a minute. It’s now time for policemen!
Gone are the days when a 1000 shillings bribe to a police officer meant the world to the man or woman in the Khaki uniform.
Ever since the announcement on the ban on public and private transport was made as a measure to control the spread of Covid-19, police officers have been living in plenty, unlike the majority of Ugandans merely surviving on saliva.
As an essential work exempted from the painful [ but necessary anyway] ban on travels, I have happened to witness most of the atrocities being exerted on the public by these new gods in town.
Watching Okello shout at the Butchery last week made me to recollect my post high school decision not to join the police.
” Hello nini, mpatia kilo moja na nusu. And also give my change harakaraka,” a police officer ordered as the meat seller watched in amusement.
Perhaps, just like myself, the butcher man had never seen Okello buy meat. I have been his neighbor for nearly two years but the only time I remember smelling meat from his studio room is when he had hosted a sick Grandma. It was around this time last year. It was still in a lockdown period, no wonder.
” Give a kilo to my neighbor also,” he commanded as he pushed his long arm to receive his change from the seller.
As he walked away, I recalled all the times my neighbor had looked like he had spent a year without a decent meal. I also recollected an incident with Isabirye – our Musoga chapati seller who once caused commotion at our muzigo accusing the officer of defaulting on his debts for the kikomando he had been borrowing.
I had paid then. But now is his time. Okello has even developed some flesh on his prior too bony cheeks. And here he is. Buying meat for me!
That evening, as I returned from work, I passed by the diary opposite my house to pick some stuff for supper since there was no one else I expected to find home. It was about 15 minutes to 8pm.
As I branched to get into my fence , I encountered another swarm of these demigods. They were moving on a police patrol vehicle. I had my media tag dangling from the neck.
” Hello nini. You think you can walk the way you want simply because you have a tag? Hurry up and go home, “ordered the driver of the patrol.
Hugely terrified, hurriedly I complied without saying a word.
But just after walking one meter away, I heard another voice commanding from the bank of the car ” let’s arrest him for not putting on a mask!”
I had my face mask below my chin. It was at night and there was nobody closer to me and so I had deemed it unnecessary to wear it properly. Which I think is okay.
Surprisingly, the majority of my captors, about six out of 10 or 12 either had theirs won on their chins or had none at all!
They ordered me to mount the Kabangali and for fear of mixing with these hungry officers with masks carelessly won on their chins, I resisted and kept on negotiating for some leniency.
Before any resolution had been reached, a tipper supposedly carrying construction materials passed us and the driver set off at a terrible speed, nearly throwing down his mates that had been following my case with an uncontrollable monetary greed.
They had realised that the other one was a bigger catch than me who was still telling them, ” Because because”.
They later asked for a soda after realizing I had all the reasons to warrant defeat for them unless out of courtesy.
I went home and continued reflecting on how and why had the world changed so drastically like this. I remembered how just so recently the largely emmatiatated police men begged for lunch with all the humility in the world. But now, they command. You either pay or you get locked up.
At the police station, you meet the biggest horror of your life.
Reagan is my boda boda friend. He is one of the most humble and disciplined guys I have known in the boda boda industry. He doesn’t drink nor does he party. A staunch Adventist by faith, Reagan can perfectly be defined as an astute Puritan.
Then last Sunday, he called me requesting to bail him out of Nansana police custody. He had usually carried me to my work place at the President’s office and so he strongly believed I was the right person to contact at this hour of need.
I complied and went. While there,I learnt from the officers that Reagan, along with two others had been held on allegations of drinking and eating pork. But Reagan is an Advent and the other two were muslims. They denied committing the offence and I believed them.
I asked to talk to the trio who was still at the reception and a female demigod asked who I was. Suggestively, I only qualified to talk to a suspect if I was something or someone! And indeed I was. I called the former area District Police Commander who happens to be my personal friend – names withheld.
He asked me to give the phone to the DPC at the station for he had left the place long ago. It seems he too never knew the current Station boss physically. I was told he was not around and had to return the following day.
When I reported back the following day, Monday 21, I was shocked to learn that the person I was introduced to as DPC had watched me yesterday as I desperately pleaded to meet him.
To cut a long story short, he told me to keep waiting for the three boys could only be released on orders from Kampala Metropolitan Police Commander!
All along, a deal was being negotiated with the poor mother of one of the boys for a Shs15, 000 ransom for the freedom of her son.
When I approached the Investigating officer [IO], his first question was, are you the one who has the things? He was asking for money.
Those little gods!
In Zirobwe, along Gayaza road, Hassan is someone I have known for quite some time. He was a friendly boda boda rider.
Yesterday, I received information that he had been shot dead for riding across his Wakiso district. He was laid to rest yesterday in Luwero.
These are but just a few of the many terrifying moments Ugandans are going through each and every other day.
A 60 year old widow from Nabweeru was asked to pay 1 million shillings to secure freedom for her son who had been caught entertaining his mates on liquor at home. Painfully,she had to sell her house belongings to raise the money to wet the beaks of these now so powerful olive officers.
Try to peep at any police station one of these days you will understand what I am saying. Police cells filled to their beams, relatives of the inmates flooding police compounds and money exchanging hands as though in a marketing area.
Yet still the worst seems to await us. No one for certain knows when this situation is going to end. How long Ugandans will have to endure the police tyranny is a matter for anyone to guess just.
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