The following events take place between 4:45am and 4:45pm on the day of the National Assembly elections for the 2011 General elections….
Somewhere in North East Nigeria….
4:45am…
My phone’s alarm rings, buzzing me into consciousness. I am already agitated, but I become calm when I see my girlfriend sleeping sweetly beside me. She’s so cute when she’s asleep! I close my eyes again waiting for the next alarm in five minutes. See, I don’t like to get up on the first call – a very bad habit I don’t want to drop. Five minutes later, the alarm rings. I slip quietly out of bed to avoid waking her up. She stirs, and then she turns her back, still asleep. I take off my clothes while saying a quick prayer – another bad habit. I make for the bathroom to get a quick shower. By the time I’m done, it’s 4:49am. I rush to the kitchen and find it exactly how I left it – empty. I put on my N.Y.S.C. crested vest and my khaki pants. I also put on my leather slippers, but for some reason I felt it would not make me mobile enough. So I put on my black sneakers instead. My favourites, they are. By the time I’m done dressing up, my baby’s already awake.
“Are you up?” she asks in her sleepy voice.
“No, I’m still sleeping” I want to reply, but I feel it’s too early for sarcasm.
“Yes dear, I am” I say instead.
“Did you have anything to eat?” she asks.
“No, don’t worry. I’ll probably get some snacks at the polling station” I reply, lacing my sneakers.
“Oh! O.k.” she says laying back.
“I’m good to go” I say. I plant a soft kiss on her lips and tell her I love her, she smiles back and tell me to be safe.
I leave our apartment. It’s still early, but not too early for the “achaba” riders. Within minutes I’m en route the I.N.E.C. (Independent National Electoral Commission) state headquarters, our rendezvous point...
5:32am...
I arrive at the INEC state office, settle the achaba man and make straight for my superior’s office. I meet the other officials attached to my ward there. The polling officer for my unit has not arrived. As the polling clerk and next in command, I begin the process of collecting and taking stock of the election materials. The polling officer eventually arrives and I hand over to him. He continues while I chat with the other officials. It had been a short night and everybody wants to complain. The polling officer (P.O.) for my unit calls me over to assist him. Collecting the materials is taking longer than necessary. We learn that we have to move into the adjacent building to collect the remaining materials. We get there and meet a crowd of officials waiting to be attended to. The officer in charge is saying his prayers and we all have to wait. He finishes and strolls into his office like we are invisible. Typical! He starts attending to the officials...
6:57am...
It’s finally our turn after what seemed like three years! We collect the voting cubicle, ballot boxes, the tamper proof envelopes and other documents. The checklist however, isn’t complete. We wait a little longer, keeping ourselves busy by exchanging rumours about the size of the pay package. Thirty minutes roll by; still nothing. Eventually, the officer in charge shows up and says we are going to have to leave for our respective stations and await the remaining materials. We naively agree, totally oblivious of how the system operates. We spend some more time packing up and sorting out transportation...
8:05am...
We are still having problems with transportation. The driver is yet to be paid and is insisting on full payment upfront. These things should have been taken care of since yesterday. The accreditation process should have started five minutes ago! Talk about African time! The bus is a six-seater and is assigned to a ward of 18 officials. Figuring this out is pointless and frustrating. We manage to squeeze 12 officials and 2 unarmed policemen with tons of election materials into the bus. We finally get moving...
9:30am...
We are off road. All I see is dry land on both sides. The sandy path is barely visible. I wonder how the driver manages to manoeuvre through. As usual I’m plugged into my music player, enjoying my favourite playlist of gospel songs. We stop to drop off some officials at their units. There are 6 officials (for 2 units) left with the policemen in the bus. We arrive at the last village. This village has three units. The last unit did not follow us as extra transport had to be organised for them. We enter the village into the furious glare of anxious villagers already growing restless and impatient from the long wait. My team and I are dropped off at our unit. We immediately begin the process. We arrange the venue to suit the accreditation and voting process, setting up the necessary furniture, ballot boxes and voting cubicle. Luckily, the supervisor for the ward decides to stay at our unit. The accreditation process begins. We divide the voters among ourselves to make the process faster. As expected, it’s a rowdy session with everybody trying to jump to the front of the queue. We are however making progress...
10:50am...
The accreditation continues. The crowd is reducing considerably. The midday heat is creeping in as the temperature gently increases. I can already feel small beads of sweat trickle down the side of my face. I’m beginning to feel a little fatigued.
“You should have had something to eat for breakfast”, my stomach seemed to be telling me.
I glance quickly at my colleagues working beside me, both engrossed with the crowd around them. Their faces also look tired and stressed. To think we are still a few hours from midday! This INEC work no easy o!
Suddenly, we hear from a distance, shouting and yelling in Hausa. I don’t understand what is being said. I turn to one of my colleagues, who does, for interpretation. He tells me they are chanting a particular party’s slogan: let’s make progress! The crowd moves closer to our unit, disrupting the queue in the process. They make straight for us the officials. They number about 20 to 30 angry looking youths; their faces toughened and blackened by the hot Northern sun. I take a dive as they grab the table we are using and break it to pieces. They continue chanting but it’s something else this time. I don’t wait for an interpretation. I take to my heels, my colleagues following closely behind me with some of the security men. There is chaos...
11:30am...
We are inside a hut. It’s cool inside, but it does not stop me from sweating profusely. The pandemonium continues outside. The policemen can’t do anything. They are unarmed and outnumbered – federal government policy! I check my phone again, still no network coverage. One of the policemen rushes in and tells us it’s not safe here. “Sitting ducks” is the exact word he called us. He tells us the supervisor has been taken by the mob and taken to the village chief’s house. We argue that we can’t leave. He says the mob’s back will be towards us when we come out, and that we can sneak by unnoticed. There is a police outpost not very far from here, we also learn. We can make it there if we are fast. We step out cautiously. Wrong move: very wrong move! The mob was already waiting for us. We just walk into their waiting arms. They keep shouting, “Let’s make progress!” I wonder how very ironic this is. How much progress can be achieved by disrupting election? We are dragged to meet our supervisor who is currently receiving the beating of his life. He manages to grab the legs of the village chief, begging to be heard. Most of the conversation is in Hausa. It’s clearly not the time to bug anyone for interpretation. One of my colleagues is given a hard slap in the face. I decide to prepare myself. I take off my glasses to prevent broken glass from entering my eyes as I await seemingly inevitable beating. There is more chaos...
12:28pm...
My heart is still beating – three beats in one. My supervisor eventually manages to explain the situation to the village chief. The chief has ordered no one to lay a finger on us. I still don’t understand what the whole commotion is about. They still speak Hausa. The remaining policemen eventually find their way through the crowd and join in the argument. The chief seems to be conceding. It seems they have come to a conclusion. The policemen tell us to follow them. The supervisor stays back. I check my phone for the umpteenth time, still no network coverage. We are totally isolated we are heading towards the police outpost. I quickly ask for explanation from one of the policemen. It would seem that the last unit in the village is yet to be settled. The officials have not arrived and are taking longer than expected. The people from that unit immediately assumed that the opposition party had something to do with the missing officials and ballot boxes. They felt we had been paid to conduct elections in one unit and leave the others. Hence they decided that elections will not hold in any unit of the ward altogether, and that they officials should be made to pay. I’m sure they don’t mean to commit murder(s), but they were well on their way! Not after brazing those shiny knives and machetes! I also ask about the ladies assigned to the unit not so far from ours. No one knows. We decide to make a detour. We move in a tight formation. They officials stay in the centre surrounded by the policemen and NSCDC officers. It’s supposed to be comforting, but it only increases my agitation. We arrive at the other unit. It has received the same treatment as ours. Pieces of broken furniture and torn posters litter the floor, everywhere. I quickly scan the area for any traces of blood. I find none and I’m quite relieved. Some men hanging around there tell us the girls have been taken into one of the huts for their protection. However, only two persons at a time would be allowed to enter the compound – cultural reasons. One of the policemen and the presiding officer for my unit go inside. They come out after a few minutes, with the girls. They are visibly shaken. They relax a little when they see us. We suggest that they come with us but the policemen suggest we stay. It seems safer here. We agree...
2:30pm...
The sun is screaming down on us. The tree we sit under does little to protect us from it. My stomach is very empty. My head feels light. I’m dizzy, but I don’t feel sleepy. I don’t want to feel sleepy, or dizzy or any of these; at least not here. We have been waiting for a long time. Nobody knows the fate of our supervisor. I’m not sure if any of us will make it through the day. The villagers seem to give us “the look”. The one you give someone lost, helpless and hopeless. My colleagues mumble under their breath that they’ll never come back here again. I’m supposed to feel his way too, but I don’t. I still have hopes for peaceful elections. I remember the remaining officials we left at the INEC office. What could have kept them up until now? Someone begins to share pure water. It’s very hot. I gulp down two sachets. My stomach makes funny noises. I put my hand on it. I hate being hungry. My presiding officer comes with a report he just wrote for me to append my signature. I read through. It’s filled with unthinkable grammatical errors! I point them out to him and tell him to make another report. He does, very glad he showed me first. I sign the corrected copy. I ask one of the policemen when he thinks the remaining officials would arrive. He has no idea. Nobody does. We wait, and wait some more...
3:01pm...
A car speeds towards us from a distance. We become agitated again. We relax, however, when we see that the occupants are uniformed men. They alight and inform us that the elections had been cancelled since morning and that they had tried unsuccessfully to reach us. They also tell us that they’ve been to the chief’s house and talked with him. Apparently, our supervisor had to be locked in a mosque for his safety. He was later smuggled out through the back door and driven out of the village. At least there are still well meaning people in this village. We call the girls out. The policemen manage to find us vehicles to carry us and our materials back to town. I’m so relieved. They arrange our materials hurriedly in the trunk. We get in. It’s very cramped but nobody complains. The new policemen proceeded to tell us about the missing unit and the treatment they received when they entered the village. Their bus was attacked. All the windows were broken with heavy sticks. The driver sustained minor cuts. They only stopped when they saw the election materials and ballot boxes for their unit. They now believed all their explanations. They quietly dispersed, obviously embarrassed. To think they almost maimed innocent people for nothing. The policemen assured us that the INEC officials were safe and were well on their way to town.
It’s another long drive through the dry lands. This time it’s hotter. I’m very tired. I fall asleep listening to music from my music player. It just dawns on me that I have just had a near death experience. It’s not as fun as I always imagined it would be. I open my eyes to find that we are on the highway. We enter the town and head straight for the INEC office. There’s definitely going to be a lot of complaining to be done, but I had the funny feeling nobody would listen. We arrive and find it almost deserted, save for a handful of heavily armed mobile policemen. I alight from the car. It feels good to be in familiar territory once again. I’m home. I look at my wristwatch. The time is 4:45pm...
