Eleven fifteen a.m.
Three hours beyond the time scheduled for
all vehicular movement to have stopped - and we were still on the roads. The
air was still not free from the dampness that permeates most coastal West
Africa mornings. I had earlier completed the accreditation process in my
Polling Unit -a simple process which had become rather tedious, encumbered by
the malfunctioning of the Permanent Voter's Card Reader machines- and, but for
meeting three other friends, would just have gone back home to wait till voting
commenced.
Armed with a car- owned by one of my friends,
our PVCs and an adventurous, daring-spirit; four of us headed out into the
roads for a bit of Election-day adventure.
Before this, rumours of grab-and-run of electioneering
materials in other units had filtered into our polling unit.
In nearby Afaha Ibesikpo, it had been a big
fiasco as youths from the two big political sides were said to have clashed and
fought over the box. Casualties were recorded. In Ikot Iko, the opposition had
scored clean: stowing the voting box, electioneering materials, INEC ad-hoc
staff and even corp- members into an awaiting bus and absconding with all of
it. In such cases, the helpless voters would be left in a pitiful state, bleary-eyed
and totally cheated out of their franchise rights.
We had driven out, the Toyota camry running
almost noiselessly over the smooth tarmac. Inside, we were toying with so many
ideas and defense mechanisms (in case we were accosted on our way). We could
claim to be a monitoring team or claim we were returning after accreditation to
where we lived. We could feign ignorance- about the restriction on movement
after eight in the morning.
"Olboy, I hear say na AIG dem send
come Uyo o!", one guy had said from the back seat, affirming the rumour
that the Assistant-Inspector-General of police had been assigned to Uyo senatorial
zone for election duties.
"Make we no meet am for road o!",
the second guy at the back seat warned.
"Hum! Dem fit think say we be
picking-box boy's o!", I had quipped from the front passenger seat, using
our recent coinage to refer to the youths who engaged in the act of grabbing
election materials and disenfranchising the voters. In our area as well as
other parts of the state, stealing the election materials was the only surety
at winning the polls. Some youths are usually unleashed on election days to
steal electioneering materials for whoever employs them. Recently, we had
coined a name for them: picking-box boys. It is rumoured that safe delivery of
these electioneering materials to the political racketeers who needed them to
rig elections, attracted a huge financial emolument, attractive enough to
motivate these boys into a grab-the-box-and-run frenzy. It was a youth run business
and our youths had embraced it totally. Just like the fulanis identified
with flogging at betrothal ceremonies; it was a show of guts, a proof of
manliness for the youths that engaged in the business.
We had not driven far when we met the first
security blockade in front of Boeclar Memorial School. It was manned by the
hated, shabby and near-powerless black uniformed policemen. We didn't have to
convince them to let us pass, we just had to buy our way- and a crisp hundred
naira note did the magic. Almost automatically, we were saluted and bid
farewell.
For another five minutes we drove on a near
deserted Aka-Obot-Idim dual carriage way, passing the prestigious Lutheran High
School. The chitchat inside the car had climbed a crescendo; then came a hush.
The silence came as we saw a great population
on the road ahead of us. We were being waved from both sides to slow down,
which we momentarily heeded. On the middle of the road was a sizeable crowd of
uniforms. The AIG and his entourage of policemen, Federal Road Safety Corps,
few Army men and Highway marshals were gathered there as we were told. We
quickly alighted and left the car at the roadside about hundred metres behind
them.
We had barely alighted, than the case at
hand was told to us. The APC "picking-box team" had hijacked election
materials from the polling unit in Ikot Ambon and another from Ikot Oduot and
where on their way out when they ran into the ATS squad. There was a brief
exchange of shots and driving bravado for them to be able to escape. While some
had spilled onto the road leaving the tarmac littered with papers, a huge
portion of the election materials was still in their possession when they
escaped. The AIG and his team had come along later.
On hearing this, I had advanced on foot, a
bit ahead, to the spot where the supposed AIG was interviewing some members of
the disenfranchised citizens of the area. I was not interested in hearing what
he was asking as I was to ascertain if it was the AIG Adisa Bolanta, who was
purportedly sent to Akwa Ibom State. It must have been him with all the rank-buttons,
dangling medals, multi-colour breast patch, feathers-on-cap, aplomb and heavy
stand-on-guards. On the other hand, it might have been any other such high
ranking Policeman since I couldn't steal a glance at his name tag from the
distance- obscured by the heavy police-guard presence around him. I blame my
ever-failing sight for that. Ten minutes later, a canister of teargas was shot
at the tire of a fleeing red Volkswagen Jetta.
Someone in the crowd had pointed
the occupants of the Jetta as some of the members of the picking-box team. The
Jetta sped away unhindered. Though it is a strong car, it wouldn't have escaped
if the police had shot a bullet directly through its tyre or at the driver.
Since they didn't, I marveld at their professionalism and reverence for human
life. This lent credence to the fact that it must have been the AIG team for
real. Fifteen minutes later, the team had collated some information and headed
away with scanty siren sounds. We allowed five minutes in-between us and them,
and followed towards Nung Udoe.
At Nung Udoe, we encountered more combat
ready ATS teams and had several close shaves. After we had parked near the
Council headquarters and blended into the crowd, more drama began to unfold; and
more stories too.
The APC picking-box-team came: shots were
fired, the crowd "heltered", the PDP stand-down team fired back, the
Police fired canisters of tear gas, we ran, INEC staff "skeltered",
we came back moments later, a figure with a bullet wound to the head was writhing
on the ground; one dead. The ballot box still sat where we left it.
The PDP picking-box-team came: same cycle-
helter-skelter, more casualties. The ballot box still sat precariously. At some
moment, while running along with the crowd, I ran into a stronghold held by the
APC in one of the hamlets. I was laid on the mud and flogged thoroughly. Claiming
I was a discreet election monitor sympathetic to their cause and having snapped
some election related pictures with my blackberry cellphone- to give credence,
became the only saving grace; I would have been lynched. I know others must
have faced same or worse fates. At the end, the AIG came and it was decided the
two political sides should join team and guard the electioneering materials.
So, elections were held on ground, but most of the electorate who could not
stand the whiffs of gunshots and apprehensions could not venture to vote.
Stories filtered in from different quarters.
"Did, you hear APC stole everything in
ward ten?"
"That is toy story, the PDP took all
units in ward one, two and three".
"I think the PDP has rigged more than
the APC".
"Someone fell from a bus which had
stolen electioneering materials in ward five. The opposition fed on his body,
lynching him to near death"
Some Corp-members were caught totting fake
ballot papers with the originals folded into their mammoth khaki- trousers in
ward seven".
"One of the thugs mishandled an AK-47
and shot himself dead in Asutan".
"The police shot an PDP thug in
Mbierebe"
There were so many stories that I lost
count of time and lost the friends I came with in the turmoils of the to and
fro fleeing crowd. Collation had started and the violence had moved base from
the polling units to the INEC offices. Opposing political parties had to way-lay
their opponents as they came to return the boxes they took away. I didn't have
the stamina to witness this phase of fracas anymore, so I quitted.
It was six twenty-five when I boarded a
moped on my way home. The Keke- driver was feeding us his own post-
electioneering gossips too. He was bragging of how many boxes he helped steal
away in his ward. I sat there, silently taking in the events of the day, while
the other passengers patronized the squawking keke-driver on his braggadocio.
So many had left their homes that morning
and would never make it home again. So many had left with empty pockets and
came home enriched. I knew that all sides had tried their best efforts at
rigging; yet, the best rigger would win. In between the APC and the PDP, the
winner will be the political party with the most efficient picking-box team.
The other political parties didn't matter a bit.
In my country, rigging takes many forms.
There are areas that rig in big rooms in big hotels under humming ACs. In some
other areas, it is done in the field, where the opponents thug it out by who
steals the most number of boxes. Others may collude with the Electoral
commission through the Resident Electoral Commissioner,; the card readers may
be hacked to accept even ATM and personal Identity cards; under-aged voters may
be registered and accredited to vote; figures may be over-blown; fake materials
maybe released to the electorate while original materials are being stashed in
big hotels and thumb-printed on by a team of expert thumb-printers; electorate
might be coerced to vote unilaterally by bringing in a mob of heavy-chested and
weapon branding thugs or result sheets might be way-laid and unfavorable ones
burnt.
It just depends on the style of your area
for we are a million light years away from getting better or reforming our
system. Change only comes if we pledge to accept it. If we are not ready, even
the most rig-proof system, which works best in other countries would still
produce catastrophic results when implemented here.
The Card-Reader system was borrowed from
the Ghana Electoral system; it has failed woefully here.
So my advice: let us not forget that peace and reconciliation
should proceed after our typical violent elections. There is no need to make
the enmity linger. I only hope, we could take a cue from President Jonathan-
and call-to-congratulate the winner of the polls; for we all try our efforts on
rigging and the best rigger usually wins. So if, we loose, it doesn't mean we
lost a truly just cause- just that we rigged a bit below the rig-to-win
benchmark.
And about the arrogant moped driver, when I
alighted and paid him with a one thousand note; he confessed not to have any
change since he hadn't gone out of his house since morning. He forgot he boasted
about stealing voting boxes. Some people can lie.
Bye.
©Poet Razon-Anny Justin,
April, 2015
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