When this year began, I’d never have thought we would be on the streets, only a few days after our independence day, demanding an end to police brutality. This year has brought many surprises, but the unity and coordination of the youths during this protest, has been the best one yet. The cause itself and the losses therein have been painful and have built resentment, but we continue to push through.
The first time I experienced police brutality, I was in primary school. The Police shot the man in front of my parent’s car. I don’t remember what happened after that because I was in shock, and couldn’t shake it for days. The second time, I was still in primary school. The police arrested my father from a bus (he did nothing wrong) and they didn’t let him call home. My mum was crying all night and looking for her husband. We found him two days later at a Police station very far from home. They had beat him black and blue. Since then, the Police arrested and detained my brother at 16. Campus police arrested me in school at 18. They never allowed either of us to call home to explain where we were. These are just a few times that I can remember. I’m sure my brother has more stories to tell.
The fight is personal to me. I have younger cousins and a baby sister that mean the world to me. I can’t imagine any of them having to deal with what my generation has already experienced, and that is why we continue to fight.
On Thursday, October 8, 2020, I never thought the youth would still be coming out in droves one week later to assert their rights. Or that we would be campaigning so fiercely on social media. We’ve already demonstrated that we have the power, but there’s still much to do.
I was one of the very vocal online protesters. I wanted to go out, but my health wouldn’t have supported me. When I felt better and told myself, you’ve got to go out and join the fight in person. The previous day, Monday, October 11, 2020, unarmed protesters were shot at, arrested, beaten, and wrongfully accused. It was a bad protest day for us, the worst in Lagos yet. We lost a few protesters, and most of us were angry, sad and heartbroken. Social media was the place to go to share your pain, but it was also the place to feel all the hurt. It was a lot. I had seen enough. I had to lend my voice in person.
When I got to the protest venue at Alausa, I was terrified. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I soon found a few friends and my nerves were calm. After about two hours of being at the venue and random chants of “End SARS”, I decided I needed to do more. I could see volunteers with first aid kits, those buying food, snacks or drinks for themselves, and a few other protesters. Then, some were picking up trash. I felt compelled to do more, so I approached one of them and said, ‘Can I join you?’ He handed me a bag and asked me to walk to an ambulance and ask for gloves. That was how I began a new experience at the protest.
I picked up seven full bags of trash and a few lessons about the Nigerian youths. If seeing us all come together to fight a common enemy, didn’t already tell you that we are a different generation, being there would have shown you. The first thing I noticed was that everyone was playing a part, no matter how small. We were tiny parts of a big body, each playing our roles with a diligence that would make you wonder if we are getting paid for our efforts. There were the servers (sharing food), the drivers, first responders, the blockers (who held the road down), the photographers, sign holders, the instructors, the chant leaders, the entertainers, and more. The more I walked around picking up trash, the more roles I saw being played.
Next, I noticed that despite there being no ‘leaders’ for the protest, there were people whose voices we listened to. Mr Macaroni, Small Doctor, Pamilerin, and a few IG comedians were present at Alausa, and people listened to them to determine what next. There were no arguments about what to do. Someone would suggest what to do, and slowly, we would all hear, listen and act accordingly. It was almost seamless, as though there was a central control system.
I also noted how courteous we are. We are a generation raised on respect, but I believe that we are more on the side of ‘respect is reciprocal’. Every single person I spoke to yesterday or asked to help put their trash in a bag I was carrying, was courteous. You could hear them saying, ‘thank you’, ‘well-done’, ‘God bless you’. A few even asked to help and picked more dirt around them. I expected a few snide remarks but got none.
And I saw that the boys are finally learning to respect women. Consciously or otherwise, a lot of the men at the protest ground were looking out for the women. There was a silent threat of ‘touch any woman here and hear it’. One protester even said, ‘Let me see any man here move mad around these women, he’ll hear it’. Hopefully, when this ends, and our demands are finally met, the respect will remain, and they will continue to fight fiercely for the rights of women.
Finally, I saw that my generation has almost successfully beaten the tribal and religious differences set by the elders. At the protests, no one cared who was Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa, Efik, Igbira or even Muslim, Atheist or Christian. We were all firmly united and planted as one people with one goal. If that unity stays, Nigeria is bound to do great things.
The protests are still on, more facts about protesters will still come out, more stories will come up, and I’ll be here to share. The most important thing to do now is to continue supporting the movement anyhow you can. You can support by donating, signing petitions, tweeting, calling out fake news, educating ignorant people, and coming out to the protest. Nothing you do in support will ever be too small. Here’s to a better Nigeria!
