The hour was drawing to 10.00pm on Friday, June 20, the eve of the governorship election taking place in Ekiti State.
I was sitting at the lobby of Dave Hotel located along the Ado-Ekiti
– Ifaki Ekiti Road in the state capital. I was among more than a dozen
journalists lodging at the hotel, albeit, in town to cover the watershed
election,
which, had, days before, generated a lot of anxiety and
apprehension, particularly with regards to lives and property due to the
apparent desperation of interests involved and notoriety of the people
of the state to recourse to violence if the political tide was seen in
the slightest to have been manipulated or run against the common grain.
I was waiting in the lobby to take Charles Adegbite, The Sun
resident Correspondent in Ado-Ekiti, who had booked our accommodation
and arranged that The Sun reportorial team I was leading was
comfortable, back in my car to his house in Oke Yinmi, another part of
town, as it was too late for him to find any cab or commercial
motorcyclist (Okada), a curfew haven been imposed on the state as part
of security measures to ensure a free, fair and credible poll the
following day.
Ado-Ekiti was swarming with security agents – soldiers in their
military fatigues, mobile and regular policemen, men of the Nigeria
Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC) and operatives of the
Department of State Security (DSS), all armed to the teeth. They were
everywhere – on the streets, at the Independent and National Electoral
Commission (INEC) State Secretariat, Divisional Police stations, Area
Commands and various checkpoints leading into town.
Those at the entry points into the state had in fact begun to
enforce the restriction of movements order by 6.00pm, turning back
travelers, including those who may even be transiting to other parts of
the country at the borders.
Charles and I had, after sending the last of our stories of the day
to the Lagos headquarters at the Press Centre, Old Governor’s office,
where other colleagues from other media houses converged at 8.00pm, gone
on shopping for food and victuals to tide us over for the period of
election and the day after as it occurred to us that local eateries
would not open, due to the prevailing restriction of movements. As it
were, we spent about an hour or two combing the city, as most
supermarkets and shops had closed in obedience to the curfew.
However, we managed to get some loaves of bread, tins of sardines,
sachet milk and Milo, a bunch of fruits and bags of sachet water, which
we took back to share with our other colleagues – Rasak Bamidele
(Political Editor); Omoniyi Salaudeen (on the Sunday Sun staff) and
Ayodele Ojo, the photographer.
Back in the hotel, we had shared the provision amongst ourselves and
I offered to give Charles a lift to his house as the restriction order
did not affect people on essential duties pertaining to the election
including journalists, so long as you had your identity cards and
accreditation tags issued by INEC authorities.
Just then, he pleaded with me to allow him sort out some business
with Ojo, the photographer and dashed off to the latter’s room, which
was upstairs.
I decided to wait for him and sank into a sofa directly facing the
door of the hotel lobby overlooking the entrance and the forecourt. I
could not have been in this position, disinterestingly watching a match
in the on-going World Cup Football tournament on the television (I am an
avowed sports philistine), with a chap who I assumed was also a guest
in the hotel and two female and one male hotel receptionists, when I
noticed their furtive movements in the outer compound, though the
partially opened glass doors. Gunmen in masks!
The darkly figures moved briskly, distributing themselves and
cordoning off the hotel, as the one that appeared to be their leader
issued orders, barely above whispers.
Robbers! My heart skipped a beat. They apparently came to attack the
guests, whom they knew must have come into town with loads of cash and
riches, I surmised.
As they approached the lobby, I sprang up to my feet and made for
the door which adjoined the bar to escape. My hand was just on the knob
when their leader came in and barked: “Don’t move! If you move…” I froze
and gently turned back to face a tall, masked figure wearing a blue
vest on a striped shirt and jeans trousers with a pistol holstered
around his waist. Flanking him were two others in black, menacingly
brandishing automatic rifles.
“Who are you?” he growled.
I hesitated, wondering if divulging my identity as a journalist
would not draw the ire of the bandit who may fear that I would report
the robbery if spared.
“Who are you?” he quizzed again, this time, rather impatiently.
“My name is Yinka Fabowale” I answered, wondering if that would satisfy the hoodlum.
“What are you doing here?” he pursued.
“I’m here for tomorrow’s election” I replied.
“Oya, follow me”, he ordered.
He then turned to the receptionists who had turned ashen faced in
fear behind their desk and bawled at them, “Hand me your phones!”
The scared hotel workers hurriedly complied. The young man with whom
I was watching the football was also taken up. Trembling, he disclosed
that he was a student living nearby and had come to watch the world cup
match.
Together with him, I was led outside, sandwiched between the gang
leader and his comrades. Now outside, I beheld greater number of them in
military fatigues and mobile police uniforms, swarming the hotel
premises. I was sat on the bare floor, with two of them guarding me,
with nozzles of their guns trained on me.
Then the bedlam began. They stormed the main building and annex
structures of the hotel, going from room to room, banging doors and
shouting “Identify yourself!” The whole place was thrown into commotion
as screams rented the air.
While this was going on, I calmly observed that some of the vehicles
the invaders came in bore official government number plates, while
their discussions and demeanour suggested that they were rather security
personnel. My suspicion was confirmed shortly later, when I spotted the
inscription, DSS, on the back of one of them in mufti.
It was enough to calm me down and I relaxed. Summoning up courage, I
told the two operatives guarding me that I was a journalist there to
cover the election and also gave a few details about myself.
“Where is your identity card?” one of them inquired.
“It’s in the car”, I replied, whereupon he led me to my official car
where I parked it. I fished out the ID card and showed it to him.
Satisfied, he patted me on the back and advised that I return and stay
in my room promptly. He then whispered to me: “Sorry bros, it’s a joint
operation involving the DSS, Army and the police. We are looking for
political thugs”
Later, when the siege was over and some of the hotel guests came out
to share experiences after the team’s departure, we learnt that some
nearly died of shock at the frightful manner of the invasion.
The Sun Ayodele Ojo and his colleague, Bayo Obisesan, formerly of
The Guardian and The Punch, said they almost had hypertension when the
security agents stormed their rooms in masks and such violent manner.
“We thought they were robbers! My older colleague, the poor man was in
terrible shock long after they’d gone. It affected his health”, Ojo told
us.
We also later learnt that similar raids were conducted in other
hotels across the state, based on intelligence that one of the political
parties had imported thugs to rig the polls or foment trouble and that
they were housed in the various hotels.
This would seem to be true, because as at Wednesday, June 18,
Charles had informed me that virtually all the hotels in the state
capital were fully booked. By Thursday, however, following an
announcement by the Inspector General of Police, Mohammed Abubakar,
warning that any political thug caught in the state would have a free
ride to detention in Abuja, there were suddenly vacancies in some of the
hotels.
I gathered that prior to the raid on Friday, some of the DSS
officers had visited our hotel earlier that day and demanded the guests’
list which they photocopied and took away.
Thus, the security precaution would seem quite in order. But the
question is: Why did it have to take the dreadful form it did? In fact,
why did the state agents have to wear masks while on duty, giving fright
to innocent members of the public, who, of course, would be right to
mistake them for rogues?
Perhaps, to cover their tracks and identities in case they made a mistake in shooting dead any innocent member of the public?
It has also been observed that the panoply of security cast on the
state for the election, well-meant as it appeared, was fraught with
partisanship by the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) controlled Federal
Government and overzealousness by some of the security operatives. For
instance, on election day, six journalists were arrested and barred from
covering the polls despite being duly accredited by INEC for the
purpose. The reporters included: Gbenga Adesina (The News) and Jadesola
Ajibola (Inspiration FM) and four of their broadcast colleagues from the
Osun state Broadcasting Corporation (OSBC). While Adesina was
intercepted and whisked away along Oye-Ifaki Road and later detained at
the INEC State headquarters, Ajibola and the rest of the OSBC crew
including the driver, were “deported” and escorted to Oke Ila, a
boundary town between Ekiti and Kwara, and warned not to dare re enter
the state by a mobile police team led by Commandant G.B Selekeri, who
ignored the ID cards and INEC accreditation tags the reporters showed,
authorizing them to cover the polls, insisting they ought to bear
another official letters from INEC approving of their monitoring roles.
Although the IGP later ordered the release of the journalists and
that they be accompanied back to their duty posts, following
representations made to him by colleagues, they had been frustrated in
the discharge of their assignment and their constitutional rights
flouted, because by this time, the election was over.
One could hardly disagree with Ajibola when she remarked: “The harassment of journalists was
an indication that the authorities and security agents probably had
sinister motives of preventing transparent coverage and reporting of the
polling activities. It’s obvious they don’t want us around for
whatever reason best known to them. My colleagues and I had a rough
deal with them despite the fact that we all identified ourselves and
showed them our INEC tags. But they insisted that we should have had
letters approving our coverage of the election from INEC. I don’t want
to believe that this is a shameful betrayal of ignorance of the official
process. I think it is a deliberate mischief to run the media
out of town”.
Also curious was the motive of the security agencies in denying
Governors Rotimi Amaechi, Adams Oshiomhole and other All Progressive
Congress (APC) colleagues from attending the party’s final political
rally on Thursday, while allowing Musiliu Obanikoro, Mr. Jelili Adesiyan
and Chief Chris Uba of rival PDP unfettered access and movements in the
state on election day.
Of course, the presence of Obanikoro and Adesiyan could conveniently
be justified by virtue of their offices as Ministers of State for
Defence and Police Affairs, respectively, but how do you explain that of
Uba, who, the outgoing governor and candidate in the election, Dr.
Kayode Fayemi, alleged was moving about with men, intimidating his
party’s supporters.
I think the Presidency goofed in allowing the men to go to Ekiti,
having barred politicians from the opposing party who are equally state
functionaries, thereby opening itself up to the charge of bias and
shameful display of might. It was obvious its candidate, Mr. Ayo Fayose
would win the election. It needed not have taken a course which could be
used to impugn the victory.
But the PDP is lucky. Governor Fayemi, in a show of rare
sportsmanship had conceded defeat and conferred legitimacy on the poll
as free and fair.
For me, leaving Ado-Ekiti on Sunday morning, day after the election,
was a relief from the sight of menacing guns wielded by a plague of
soldiers, policemen, DSS operatives and men of the NSCDC. But the
frightful experience of Friday night kept haunting my psyche.
Yinka Fabowale
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