The Beauty of Jungle Justice

The world has grown wild and weird, though we sweep her arrogance under carpet each time she unmasks her heinous character. The world's etiquette must have mapped out legal means of getting justice. Jungle style has become a White bride and most accepted mean of getting already made justice, especially in the countries where enlightenment and civilization flopped on its belly. No society can proudly stand out to say   'such doesn't exist here' or 'such has never happened here'
In America, we had the popular 'Mobocracy and Lynching', even legalised. You see it in Europe, Asia and Africa where it built her house house on solid rock. But our main concern here will be sub Saharan Africa, where the practice is a widely celebrated tradition, due to weak legal system, feeble government policies and  corruption, etc.

The total percentage of jungle justice witnessed in Nigeria each year can be presented using this table from naija.com. About 60% victims of jungle justice in Nigeria are men, while females constitute 35% and unidentified takes 5%.

In 1966, a group of Hausa students in Ahmadu Bello university felt that the Igbos offended them. They picked up arm and started killing them. Funnily enough, people clapped for them.
In the northeastern Nigeria where a terror group called Bokoharam sacked villages, indigenes suspected to be working with the terror group were killed without chance of defending their selves legally.

Generations to come will never forget the era of Bakasi, in Nigeria. Countless lives got missing without the victims being fortunate to defend their selves in the law court.

Could history erase its mighty inscriptions from the memory of Nigerians who witnessed the public killing of five students of university of port Harcourt? It was alleged that they stole phones. They denied the accusation and pleaded for their lives. Before fact could uncover lies, they were stacked naked, matched through the street of PH, beaten black and blue and were finally set ablaze. People video and watch as they dangled and maneuvered in the fury of fire. Many hold the view that those boys are innocent, because no evidence was presented to justify their suspension from the bowel of life.

How about the seven year- old boy who attempted to steal gari from a shop in 2015 at Badagary, Lagos. He was beating by a large mob. His eyes plucked out before they set him ablaze.

Before you raise that beautiful rods, sticks and knives of yours, think deep. Before you jump over that gutter in search of petrol and tire, read your mind.

Now hear my pen...
Can we observe these few things each time such scenario arrive at our door step, before raising our machetes to cut off heads?
How nicer it sound if we hear that shout of ole, onye ochi, etc and wait fkry some minutes to know if actually he or she is a thief before raising our machetes.

Won't it be genuine if we catch that garri, tomato and et cetera thief and probe them to know why they engage in such pernicious crime?

What if we apprehend them and encourage them not to steal again?

Don't you think it will be OK to hand them to law enforcement agencies like police?

Can't we search for the truth before we run to that vulcanizer and fuel seller to buy tires and petrol?

Can we think small about humanity, before buying the matches?
Come on, let's think like humans. What joy can we derive from a combustion scenario?
Does it help in curbing crime in our society?

One beautiful thing about jungle justice, is that innocent people die for crime committed by their accusers. A friend was labeled as a thief by one ALAYE boy who actually intended to rub him. Before he could shout for help, the ALAYE boy started beating him, calling him a thief and inviting people to assist him in the execution of a thief. Before the mouth could talk, the eyes blink and the ears open, a friend is already dangling and dining in flames, with tire piled up to his neck.

I lend my pen to abolition of this beautiful culture, because I was a victim who God saved through one Michael.
That was in my junior class one. I was so small and calm, perhaps the little baby of my hostel. I was loved by all. The love I think, made me the only junior boy in a senior hostel and guess what, olisa was a jewel.

Our refectory prefect began to shout on a sunny afternoon, jumping up and down in agony. We ran towards him to know what's going on.

'You know that phone I brought newly from village last week? That my white phone that looks like Samsung. They don thief am...'

He jumped up again and rolled on the floor; from one side of the hostel to the other. I had pity on him, but I couldn't hold the laughter. They way he made swipes on the floor, like a fish tired of its habitation made me laugh. He swiped like a bloom sweeping mud. It came out unwillingly and I wasn't the only person that laughed.
He went home the next day and returned few days later. He yet again assembled us to break the news that a native doctor has told him the name of the thief. And we wondered when pastor 'Refectory prefect' began to dine with a native doctor. It's quite obvious, some one said that day.

"Call the person now. Let's dance on him" one thin boy said and laughter stole the atmosphere for a while.

I didn't laugh much to avoid the thin guy punishing me, may be for laughing at him. Truly, his compassionate stone heart, is known to every sensible junior student in the whole school.

"Call the person" they chorused.

"The person should bring out that phone o! Hmmmm, to avoid malady o. Hmmmm, let the person bring it out o. I won't call name until three days of grace" he said.

One week passed, our refectory prefect was calm. Later he began to pester around me, begging me to bring out the phone.
At first I thought it was a joke until the day our 'thin Senior' assembled everybody, especially those in the senior hostel, promising to expose the thief.

Who will be this thief that everybody came with long sticks and bloom to dance on? Could the thief survive the beating already pilled and loaded in the hearts of these angry looking seniors? At a point, I began to feel pity for the hidden thief who will be unmasked soon and at last seriously dealt with.
My heart started beating faster in fear saturated with enormous pity. I was too emotional then, always ready to roll out liquid burbles from my eyes.

"Who is olisa?" He shouted, staring scornfully at me.

I  was calm, because only close friends knew me as olisa. I was popularly known as johnpaul, although some call me Tata. One olisa raised up his hands but he aptly said  'not you'

'You're also olisa right?'
And I said yes, now dispatching the pity and ready to defend my self.

'Only truth shall set you free: john..... Bring it out'

'I don't use phone. Even at home, I don't have phone' I cried as the probing became hotter.

'Let's ginger him small. Beat him and see the truth flow out from his mouth. All these small calm people are green snakes under green grasses '

Opinion was divided on this. Many kicked against it, but he came for me. I was helpless and hopeless.

 He is a criminal, some hissed.
Yes he is an innocent thief.

I'm a thief who deserved to be dealt with. I'm a thief who doesn't think anything about phone but to make A's in exams and have mummy buy him laptop and send him to secondary school of his choice.
In my memory, I began to draw the image of sticks landing repeatedly on my helpless body. I began to erect cathedral of mass beaters, who in that situation of uncertainty, would punch and trade blows on my big skull. I knew they would beat me, even though I would be vindicated at last.
What if I died on the process? What if I couldn't see mum and dad again? My little sisters, my friends, even those owing me considerable amount of money. What of those who I did tea and bread trade by barter with? Why did I enter secondary school and got placed in a senior hostel where I would be powerless to fight with hands if words become an obsolete tool of defense?

I was not beaten, God sent a savior. Michael is never physical might person but intelligence flows under his vein. His cool nature made the Principal to say ' no he is too cool to be a senior prefect'.
But the coolness vanished as he came to my defense and saved me from one way justice. He deeply engaged all in a hot debate and won. He was a saviour. I would have been beaten black and blue for a sin I knew nothing of.

Jungle justice has one good funny package. It tarnish the real Image of people and masquerade them with false pictures.
It places people at the apex and apogee of humiliation.
It denies it's victims the right of fair hearing.
It rape people of their worth and make them a common commodity.
It kills the peace of a nation and make it a haven of death.

The Beauty of jungle justice is that it condemns at will and breaks bridges of humanity in the heart of people.
The beauty of jungle justice is that it bring quick peace and at last cages us in the belly of regrets.

It's not easy but it's achievable. Ending Jungle Justice is a collective obligation. Do it for humanity or do it for God.

In this long race dear, I shall be counting on you for we all know that success is sacrosanct.

Ben Onyekelu. J. Olisa

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Ben Onyekelu Olisa