It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun was cheerful, the heat was at it's lowest. Cook breeze dried off the sweat on our foreheads as we stepped into the market.
It was just another market in Lagos, crowded with people and goods. So jam-packed was it, there was little space for feet. People were speaking at the top of their voices, traders singing high praises of their commodities while customers tried getting them at the cheapest prices possible.
Coupled with the various hawkers parading the length and breadth of the market, all these gave the idea that the market was always noisy. Which was very correct.
My kid brother and I walked through the crowd, in search of a shop to buy umbrellas and rain boots for the coming rainy season. I already knew where the shop was, so I simply led my brother in the direction.
We walked through the crowd, dodging wares and people, walking around them so as not to upset their market. A mistake that could be disastrous.
We were in the thick of the crowd, about to turn into a row of shops when we heard loud cries, coming from far ahead of us. Then suddenly, the crowd surrounding us became charged as people began to scamper out of the way.
Out of pure instinct, I grabbed my brother and yanked him out of the way as a heavyset man crashed into a basket of fresh tomatoes. He would have taken my brother down with him.
"What's going on?" My brother asked.
We got the reply soon enough. The chant was spreading through the crowd, and soon, almost all the traders were screaming it.
"Thief! Thief!! Catch the thief!!!"
Holding tight to my brother, I got to higher ground and watched a young man, shirtless and barefoot, running for his life. He was being chased by an angry mob.
"Thief! Catch the thief!!"
The man was like an eel, sliding through the people as he raced towards the exit. But the crowd was just too thick, how could he get out in time?
Apparently, he was suspected of stealing. And a market is the worst place to be suspected of stealing. Guilty or not, it could mean death. Especially here in Lagos.
The young man ran on, dodging two thugs who had tried to grab him. Another four thugs blocked the road up ahead. The crowd dispersed as though teargas had been sprayed. To avoid the thugs, the man tried to go around the stall but that was blocked also by a man holding a thick log of wood.
Without stopping, he diverted and made to jump over a basin of plantain. He miscalculated and lost his footing. He crash landed on the basin.
"Oh my God." I gasped, feeling as if I was the one who had fallen.
The crowd fell on him at once, kicking and hitting him.
The country was going through bad times. With recession, pandemic and unemployment hitting the nation hard, everyone was looking for an outlet for their anger. A thief was a handy target.
"Kill him!" The mob chanted, their voices pitched as the man, bloody and battered, was raised to his knees. "Kill the thief!!"
The fever was contagious, soon even customers joined in the chant, clamouring for his head.
"No..." I groaned.
This was jungle justice, I was watching one live. And I couldn't dare try to stop them. Not just because of my younger brother, but also because in their rage, they'll never see reason. They could easily see me as an accomplice to the thief. And the thing they hate the most after a thief is a thief's accomplice.
So I had to watch helplessly as empty tyres were brought, about five of them. And they were put around the young man, trapping him securely.
I could hear him crying and begging. But the merciless mob were deaf to his pleas and blind to his tears. I'm sure many of them had even forgotten what had actually been stolen.
Petroleum was gotten and doused all over him. This was not something a child had to see, so I covered my brother's eyes with my hand.
"Kill him! Burn him!" The empty keg was discarded as one of the thugs felt his pockets for his lighter.
"No..." That was all I coulf mutter as he found it.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and a canister of teargas landed in the midst of the irate mob, scattering them. Police men, fully kitted in riot gear marched through the crowd, surrounding the young man still drenched in petrol.
"Thank God." I gasped as the leader of the team spoke to the mob, trying to calm them down. Behind him, son of the officers took down the three and released the young man. But they cuffed him on the wrists. That was the only way the crowd could let them have him.
As the young man was led to the police van, the crowd slowly dispersed, talking at the top of their voices. I opened my brother's eyes once more.
This young man had barely escaped death. Thanks to the timely intervention of the police. As they drove off, I could only imagine how it could have gone if not for the police.
"Come on," I told my brother. "Let's go."
We went on to buy the umbrellas, but like everyone else in the market, my mind was on the young thief. Was he guilty? Or was he innocent?
I guess it was up to the police to find out.
