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Mike Forde's report in the Daily Telegraph has been attacked by readers and commentators already, this is just to voice our own opinion to the raging storm.
A British Expat came to Nigeria and had some unfortunate experiences with the police. As usual, Mike vent his exasperation by publishing the news in the Daily Telegraph UK. The report further dented the dense image of Nigerian police. Wait! On closer review, we found yawning gaps and albeit acts of illegality on the part of Mike.
Our posers:
Why did Mike encouraged his driver to drive against the traffic flow, an offence that may get you banned from driving in the UK? Can Mike ever do that on Oxford Street or Peckham, in the United Kingdom?
Where did Mike get the USD20,000.00 in his briefcase from?
Did Mike pay any taxes or declare it to the Nigerian government or customs on exit?
Can Mike ever do that in the UK where it is a crime to walk in the streets with any amount over GBP1,000.00 in your pocket?
What was his mission in Nigeria??
So many unanswered questions and gaping holes in his narration below.
Since the Nigeria's Ministry of Information seems concerned with other things and the Police Service Commission cannot be bothered to issue a rejoinder, we believe as a veritable medium, to do the barest minimum and query the report accordingly. Mike's fallacious publication is reposted below, culled from the Daily Telegraph of April 23, 2013.
Nigeria corruption: how a bottle of whisky saved my life
Expatriate Mike Forde related his experience in Nigeria to the Daily Telegraph UK on some unfortunate encounters with the police.
Picture: Mike Forde
By Mike Forde
It was not until after accepting an assignment that would take me to Lagos that I bought a copy of The Rough Guide to West Africa. The Nigeria section was prefaced with remarks by Nigerian writer, the late Chinua Achebe: "Listen to Nigerian leaders," he wrote, "and you will frequently hear the phrase 'this great country of ours'.
"Nigeria is not a great a country. It is one of the most disorderly nations in the world. It is one of the most corrupt, insensitive, inefficient places under the sun. It is dirty, callous, noisy, ostentatious, dishonest and vulgar. In short it is among the most unpleasant places on earth."
Not the best of introductions, but there was no going back. A contract had been signed, airline ticket issued, hotel reservation made. I'd grown up in Tanzania and was confident I could handle whatever Lagos had to offer.
The flight landed at midnight local time. Immigration procedure was an unnerving blend of aggression and inertia, a flanking assault on the senses that requires a stiff upper lip and in-flight drinks to overcome. A sullen-faced official snatched my passport as I stood in the queue and began flicking through the pages. He was a policeman, dressed in a black uniform, armed with a pistol and truncheon.
In a parody of suspicion, his eyes narrowed as they flicked back and forth between my face and my picture. I thanked him when he gave it to another man in a green uniform whose job it was to check the validity of my visa – a task he seemed determined to perform in slow motion.
In the arrivals hall I identified myself to staff at the hotel's airport reception desk and was led outside to a Land Cruiser. Sitting next to the driver was another policeman cradling an assault rifle. It was like Dodge City with palm trees; he was riding shot-gun on our stagecoach.
A thin, slack-jawed Englishman in a white suit, an old colonial from central casting, sat next to me in the rear. We joined a freeway; there were garbage fires on the roadside, smoke billowed into arcs of light cast by a row of streetlamps, like an establishing shot in a mean-streets movie. We were on the 12 kilometre road-bridge spanning Lagos lagoon.
What was his mission in Nigeria??
So many unanswered questions and gaping holes in his narration below.
Since the Nigeria's Ministry of Information seems concerned with other things and the Police Service Commission cannot be bothered to issue a rejoinder, we believe as a veritable medium, to do the barest minimum and query the report accordingly. Mike's fallacious publication is reposted below, culled from the Daily Telegraph of April 23, 2013.
Nigeria corruption: how a bottle of whisky saved my life
Expatriate Mike Forde related his experience in Nigeria to the Daily Telegraph UK on some unfortunate encounters with the police.
Picture: Mike Forde
By Mike Forde
It was not until after accepting an assignment that would take me to Lagos that I bought a copy of The Rough Guide to West Africa. The Nigeria section was prefaced with remarks by Nigerian writer, the late Chinua Achebe: "Listen to Nigerian leaders," he wrote, "and you will frequently hear the phrase 'this great country of ours'.
"Nigeria is not a great a country. It is one of the most disorderly nations in the world. It is one of the most corrupt, insensitive, inefficient places under the sun. It is dirty, callous, noisy, ostentatious, dishonest and vulgar. In short it is among the most unpleasant places on earth."
Not the best of introductions, but there was no going back. A contract had been signed, airline ticket issued, hotel reservation made. I'd grown up in Tanzania and was confident I could handle whatever Lagos had to offer.
The flight landed at midnight local time. Immigration procedure was an unnerving blend of aggression and inertia, a flanking assault on the senses that requires a stiff upper lip and in-flight drinks to overcome. A sullen-faced official snatched my passport as I stood in the queue and began flicking through the pages. He was a policeman, dressed in a black uniform, armed with a pistol and truncheon.
In a parody of suspicion, his eyes narrowed as they flicked back and forth between my face and my picture. I thanked him when he gave it to another man in a green uniform whose job it was to check the validity of my visa – a task he seemed determined to perform in slow motion.
In the arrivals hall I identified myself to staff at the hotel's airport reception desk and was led outside to a Land Cruiser. Sitting next to the driver was another policeman cradling an assault rifle. It was like Dodge City with palm trees; he was riding shot-gun on our stagecoach.
A thin, slack-jawed Englishman in a white suit, an old colonial from central casting, sat next to me in the rear. We joined a freeway; there were garbage fires on the roadside, smoke billowed into arcs of light cast by a row of streetlamps, like an establishing shot in a mean-streets movie. We were on the 12 kilometre road-bridge spanning Lagos lagoon.
"I've heard it's the best in town," the old colonial said, referring to our destination.
I was not immediately reassured. "The best hotel in town" sagged under the weight of comparative factors. It was freighted with wrong assumptions. The issue was unresolved when I fell asleep around four o'clock. Then at six, the bedside telephone rang.
"Passport," said a stern voice.
"What?"
"You must give passport."
"I'm sleeping."
"Passport."
I resisted the impulse to close the conversation with a piece of my four-letter mind and opened the curtains. The view fulfilled my expectations of a West African harbour. Rusty freighters rode at anchor. Below, the prow of his canoe brushing the harbour wall, a fisherman cast his net into floating refuse from the hotel kitchen. I switched on the TV. A moment later there was a power cut, but the hotel's own generator ensured normal service was resumed in my first-world cocoon.
Downstairs in the lobby, I had my passport photocopied and was asked if I had slept well. I took a bus tour of the islands – Ikoyi and Victoria. Compared to the klaxon-blaring blast of an average road in Lagos, the islands' leafy streets are tranquillity itself and it took less than the half-hour trip to discover why. There's a heavy police presence and cars are routinely flagged down. Included in these stop-and-search activities is something called dash – a voluntary payment that ensures your continued innocence.
Throughout Lagos, the police behaved like an occupying force whose job was to intimidate the civilian population. They regularly carved their way through traffic jams, brandishing weapons like hit men, whipping the bonnets and side-panels of cars with knotted rope, as if expecting them to scatter like cattle.
The company provided accommodation, a car and driver. I took to driving myself around the islands at weekends. Once, I was stopped by a cop for not wearing a seat belt. He climbed into the passenger seat and said I was under arrest. As he gave directions to the police station, it occurred to me that neither of us wore a belt, an irony I knew better than to share with him. I was tried to keep calm while I wondered how I would offer a bribe if he didn't ask for one first.
"It would be bad for you to enter the station," he said, as I negotiated deep puddles of seawater on the beachfront road. "Then you spend tonight in the cell while I do paperwork."
I had 3,000 naira in my wallet (about £12). "See you around," he said, pocketing the money. Indeed.
Lagos saved its parting shot for my final day. On the way to the airport, my driver encountered the grid-locked traffic of an Easter weekend. Seeing the police driving against the traffic flow and making headway, he followed them. It was a mistake. He was dragged out of the car and roughed up. Then two cops got in and demanded money. My bag contained US$20,000 in crisp, $100 notes. In Lagos, it's a sum that's likely to make you a missing person.
My adrenaline levels went into overdrive and I waved my ticket at them, babbling that I had no money and was in danger of missing my flight. My ineffective attempt to control mounting hysteria added authenticity to my performance as a witless loser. They accepted the bottle of whisky I offered in lieu of funds.
I was not immediately reassured. "The best hotel in town" sagged under the weight of comparative factors. It was freighted with wrong assumptions. The issue was unresolved when I fell asleep around four o'clock. Then at six, the bedside telephone rang.
"Passport," said a stern voice.
"What?"
"You must give passport."
"I'm sleeping."
"Passport."
I resisted the impulse to close the conversation with a piece of my four-letter mind and opened the curtains. The view fulfilled my expectations of a West African harbour. Rusty freighters rode at anchor. Below, the prow of his canoe brushing the harbour wall, a fisherman cast his net into floating refuse from the hotel kitchen. I switched on the TV. A moment later there was a power cut, but the hotel's own generator ensured normal service was resumed in my first-world cocoon.
Downstairs in the lobby, I had my passport photocopied and was asked if I had slept well. I took a bus tour of the islands – Ikoyi and Victoria. Compared to the klaxon-blaring blast of an average road in Lagos, the islands' leafy streets are tranquillity itself and it took less than the half-hour trip to discover why. There's a heavy police presence and cars are routinely flagged down. Included in these stop-and-search activities is something called dash – a voluntary payment that ensures your continued innocence.
Throughout Lagos, the police behaved like an occupying force whose job was to intimidate the civilian population. They regularly carved their way through traffic jams, brandishing weapons like hit men, whipping the bonnets and side-panels of cars with knotted rope, as if expecting them to scatter like cattle.
The company provided accommodation, a car and driver. I took to driving myself around the islands at weekends. Once, I was stopped by a cop for not wearing a seat belt. He climbed into the passenger seat and said I was under arrest. As he gave directions to the police station, it occurred to me that neither of us wore a belt, an irony I knew better than to share with him. I was tried to keep calm while I wondered how I would offer a bribe if he didn't ask for one first.
"It would be bad for you to enter the station," he said, as I negotiated deep puddles of seawater on the beachfront road. "Then you spend tonight in the cell while I do paperwork."
I had 3,000 naira in my wallet (about £12). "See you around," he said, pocketing the money. Indeed.
Lagos saved its parting shot for my final day. On the way to the airport, my driver encountered the grid-locked traffic of an Easter weekend. Seeing the police driving against the traffic flow and making headway, he followed them. It was a mistake. He was dragged out of the car and roughed up. Then two cops got in and demanded money. My bag contained US$20,000 in crisp, $100 notes. In Lagos, it's a sum that's likely to make you a missing person.
My adrenaline levels went into overdrive and I waved my ticket at them, babbling that I had no money and was in danger of missing my flight. My ineffective attempt to control mounting hysteria added authenticity to my performance as a witless loser. They accepted the bottle of whisky I offered in lieu of funds.
Mike Ford in my opinion is an idiot in West Africa. I cannot see the extensive difference btw Nigeria landscape of lagos and London... Mike's hatred for Africa especially Nigeria is evidence in his write up I can understand he loved to be African but unfortunately couldn't be one , hence his hatred. Mike ford should be brought to record and probe to explain how he came about the alleged $20,000 dollars said to be in his briefcase. Mike is an Idiot for life.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteSecond comment is a duplication of the first. The first comment summarises it all. Just the last sentence that seems a bit emotional. Apologies to Mike if Demola hastily voiced his comments. All in all, Mike still has some questions to answer!
ReplyDeleteWho cares about him? "Mike Ford"...I am only pissed off based on those useless adjectives he used to qualified my proud country 'Nigeria'...he owes us an apology for such. On the other hand, you and I know that there's need to sanitize the entire activities of Nigeria police, we have a lot of black sheep among them and they are denting the image of our society(s)and our nation. It's a great lesson for us if truly we are ready to learn and cry out loud for CHANGE!
ReplyDeleteYes, i con-core with the last speaker. The police having accepted bribe of money in the first case and a bottle of whisky in the second has lost the moral wright having abdicated their duty in the first and second instances. Supposing he was arrested for breaking the traffic rules, The process would have lead to the question as to the contents of the vehicle and there and then the sum of 20,000 dollars of so would have been discover, and lead to further questions. Therefore, Mr Mike ford is not to blame. If the first and second police officer had acted for the state as demanded by law, Mr Mike Ford would have been standing trial in a Nigeria Court. And his account, and the adjectives used in his report would have been different.
ReplyDelete