In recent times, Nigeria has once again been confronted with troubling reports of police brutality, incidents where citizens lose their lives without due process, and where those entrusted with enforcing the law appear, instead, to operate above it. Across the country, stories continue to emerge of young Nigerians stopped, profiled, harassed, and in some tragic instances, killed under circumstances that are later explained away with familiar phrases: “accidental discharge,” “resisting arrest,” or “mistaken identity.” These explanations, repeated over the years, no longer reassure; they deepen public distrust.

The concern is no longer whether such incidents occur, but how frequently they happen and how rarely justice follows. The cycle has become predictable – an incident sparks outrage, statements are issued, investigations are promised, and then silence gradually returns, leaving the underlying issues untouched. Despite past movements, public outcry, and calls for reform, the relationship between citizens and law enforcement remains strained, fragile, and in many cases, adversarial. What makes this reality even more unsettling is that it is not new. This article will be presented as a two-part series: Part One focuses on lived experiences and everyday encounters with policing.

In April 2026, a young Nigerian man, Mene Ogidi, was shot at close range by a police officer in Delta State while already restrained and pleading for his life. The incident, captured on video, sparked outrage across the country not because it was shocking, but because it was familiar. Once again, the explanation would follow, investigations would be promised, and the nation would move on, leaving behind yet another reminder of a system that too often operates without accountability.

The article below was written eight years ago. Yet, it reads not as a reflection of a past era, but as a commentary on present-day Nigeria. It captures, with remarkable clarity, the everyday corruption, the structural weaknesses, and the contradictions within the policing system – issues that continue to persist.

One evening, during a recent festive period, which I had spent in my hometown, I decided to visit a friend in the neighbouring town and, as was my usual custom in my hometown, I drove my eighty-year self across towns. You see, all over my state, I am known as the Desert Warrior, in fact, in some instance, I am introduced as such. On this occasion, as I drove to my destination, I came upon a police checkpoint, where four policemen were stationed. As soon as they noticed me, they began chanting, “Desert Warrior, your boys are here.” Since it was the festive period, I chose to pull over and, as I did, one of them ran over and I gave him N2,000 for all of them. Immediately he collected the two N1,000 notes, he quickly put one in his pocket and held up the other shouting to his colleagues that the Desert Warrior had given them N1,000. I was already pulling away at this point and was tempted to reverse to challenge him but, you see, he was carrying a gun and I didn’t want to be the victim of an “accidental discharge,” a common mishap with our men in uniform. My encounter with the policemen in my hometown is not an exclusive experience, which only goes to show just how corrupt the average policeman is, even to his mates, regardless of tribe, education or religion. I then have to ask, how far down can we go before something is done to check the level of policing in our country Nigeria?

How do we expect them to safeguard life and property, if they are not sufficiently trained and equipped to carry out their functions? What hope do we have of them solving complicated cases when a simple robbery barely ever gets solved? Who is the policeman that would go undercover today to solve a case? How many cases of corruption have the police, EFCC or ICPC successfully prosecuted? How many people have our courts and judges put away for corruption? We live as if we make our own laws as we journey through life. We still see laws as those produced by the colonial masters to punish us. Hence, we must beg and bribe our way through the law courts, when we cannot bully our way through.

Nigeria is a country of laws. We have the penchant to make good and well-researched laws, a bit borrowed from the British, a bit from the USA, especially its Constitution. A good number of our laws came from the military, who structured them in such a way to ensure their indefinite participation in the affairs of the nation. In the main, all laws have been made to protect the citizenry, big or small, young and old, poor or rich. If that is the case, one may ask: how come we are perceived as one of the most lawless nations of the world and fantastically corrupt?

I have travelled and lived in most parts of Nigeria and I have observed that those that make the laws, those that wrote the Constitution and made the decrees, and those whose duty it is to enforce the laws are the same people that mostly and wantonly flout the laws. The consequences of this include the fact that Nigerians respect lawmakers but not the laws; they fear the law enforcement agencies but pay very little regard to the laws they are trying to enforce. Naturally, Nigerians are easy to govern but lawless because of the impunity of the law-breakers in high places. If we were really law-abiding and the enforcers could do their jobs with integrity, if the leaders could only exhibit a modicum of good governance, there would be very little talk about restructuring, sovereign national conference, or state policing. Rather, we would engage ourselves in such discourse as our ability, sincerity of purpose and transparency in modifying or changing obsolete laws with the dictates of a dynamic society. We would advocate progressive changes with a good heart and not remain mired in archaic and feudal laws. We should cease politicizing our intents and dump the notion of North/South dichotomy when we embark on any project that is for the common good. Let it be known that the killers in our judicial process are nepotism, sectional bias, cronyism, and lies.