ItHappenedToMe
“Hello, hello. Oga David, the man don die o!”
“What man?”
“That officer that arrested you.”
“What? What happened?”
That was how the conversation began. But there’s a backstory, and yes, #ItHappenedToMe.
I was working as an IT Operations Supervisor at the e-Learning Center of one of the major universities in Delta State. We were a close-knit team.
Outside work, I also served as an Associate Pastor in a local church.
One evening, our church had a drama presentation. One of the props used was an old, rusty wooden gun, the type often used in folklore performances, long defunct and harmless.
After the service, I hailed a bike to head home. One of the drama actors asked to hitch a ride, carrying the prop with him.
We had barely gone 50 meters when people started waving frantically for our bike to stop. Moments later, a man on another bike chased us down.
I asked the rider to pull over.
The man turned out to be a plainclothes policeman. According to him, we were under arrest for “carrying a dangerous weapon.”
Church members and passersby gathered quickly, explaining it was just a prop. But the officer insisted on taking us in.
The irony? He knew me, he knew my position in the church, and he knew exactly where we were coming from. Yet, he was determined to make an arrest.
We were taken to the station. Soon after, my pastor and other ministers arrived. A brief conversation with the officer revealed what he really wanted: a settlement.
I told my pastor I preferred to follow due process: no bribe, no shortcuts, and he agreed.
When it became clear we wouldn’t pay, the superior officer stepped in, listened to our side, and promptly dismissed the case.
Before leaving, I turned to the arresting officer and asked,
“You know me, you know where we were coming from, and you know that gun is a prop. So tell me, were you trying to embarrass me, or the church?”
He said nothing. Just silence.
Now, here’s where it gets interesting.
Weeks later, the same officer walked into the university e-Learning Center, where I worked, to register for his courses.
The moment my colleagues saw him, they were thrilled. “Ah! Karma don catch am!” they said. Some even suggested frustrating him just to teach him a lesson.
When one of them came to inform me, I surprised them with my response.
“Bring him to my office.”
They did. I offered him a seat, ordered a bottle of cold soft drink, and personally registered him on my system while he kept eyeing the cold Coca-Cola bottle on my desk.
I never mentioned the incident. I didn’t act differently.
When I was done, I printed his documents and even paid the processing fee from my own pocket.
With a look of disbelief, he muttered three words:
“I’m sorry, sir.”
My colleague, watching in shock, later asked why I responded that way.
“Never repay evil with evil,” I said quietly.
Two months later, I relocated to Lagos for a new job. A few months after resuming, my colleague from Delta called me.
“Oga David, that officer don die.”
Startled, I asked what happened.
“Nobody knows,” he replied, before adding jokingly, “Oga, I no go offend you o!”
When the call ended, I sat quietly, reflecting on how fleeting life is.
And from that experience, I drew a few lasting lessons:
Never repay evil with evil. You’ll sleep better knowing your conscience is clean.
Guard your words when angry. Many have spoken careless words of vengeance, and when tragedy struck their offender, fingers pointed at them.
Don’t misuse power or position. Do good, even nature notices.
Did his death have anything to do with his actions?
I’ll leave that for you to decide.