The time was around 11pm on Wednesday January 27, 1984. Femi Oniaiye and I had just hit Lagos after the long drive from Ogidi in his brand new Peugeot 504 saloon car.
Femi was on the driving seat all through until we got to Ibadan on our return journey when he asked me to take over.
So from Ibadan, I drove straight to his house in Mafoloku not far from Ikeja Cantonment. The plan was that I would first drop him at his house before proceeding to Festac Town where I lived. I still needed Femi to drive me around in Lagos to tidy up things before my planned departure to the UK on Sunday January 29, 1984.
Having dropped Femi, I made my way to Festac Town via the Apapa-Oshodi Expressway. I had just driven past the flyover at Isolo when I noticed that the car ahead of me had swerved suddenly to the left. Not knowing why the driver did that, I decided to keep driving straight ahead. Suddenly, I noticed an object rolling across the road. By the time I realised what it was, it was too late to avoid collision.
In those days, Isolo Road was one of the most notorious areas in Lagos noted for their incessant armed robbery attacks. There was hardly any day that a dead body was not found by the roadside.
The moment I realised that the car had hit the object, I had to keep driving even with the front left tyre completely flattened making the car to be virtually undriveable. I was determined to move the car as far away from the scene of the collision as possible. I managed to drive for about two kilometers further down the road before it finally grounded to a halt.
I was scared to the bones and so I began to pray, repeatedly calling the name of Jesus. I had never been so frightened in my life, thinking that my end was near. The street was dark. Several vehicles were driving at full speed. None of them had noticed what had happened. In fact no driver could see me where I was. The place was too lonely and without street lights.
I had some money in the glove compartment of the car which was wrapped with a newspaper and hidden inside a black cellophane bag. I removed the money and put it inside my pocket. Then I removed my hand bag and as I was about to come out of the car, I noticed that a big vehicle had pulled up right behind me with its full lights on. I was terrified. I could not scream. I just froze. I kept calling the name of Jesus. I was desperate to escape but did not know how. I started to say "Hail Mary, full of grace……". Then, as a Catholic, that was one of the few prayers I could recite. For the first time in so many years, I was calling on the name of Jesus without ceasing. I did not know what else I could do.
Then it occurred to me that I could try and run to the other side of the road. It was a dual carriage way. As I said, there were several fast moving vehicles on both directions of the road. Any careless attempt to run across was more suicidal. I had little option. I just had to do something to safe my life. I knew the car had gone. All my energy focused on keeping myself safe and away from harm's way. At that moment, saving the car was not a priority.
In the middle of my internal confusion, I turned round and saw about ten people dressed in military police uniform. I saw at least four of them flashing their torchlights at me. I could hear one of them saying, "be calm." I could not tell if the instruction was being directed at me or at someone else. Momentarily I froze. I had no way of escaping as I was not sure if they were actually armed robbers in police uniform.
One of the uniformed men approached me. He came so close that I thought he was going to attack me. He explained in a calm non-military tone that they were military police officers on routine patrol duty. He said they had seen what happened to me and that they had been following my car from the moment it hit the object. He told me that the people that threw the object had crossed over to our side of the road in preparation to attack me. He explained that when they noticed that I had been surrounded by the anti-riot police officers, they tried to hide themselves inside the bush hoping that the car would eventually be abandoned and they would come out and remove it.
One of the officers asked if I had a spare tyre. I told him I had. As two of them were helping me to change the tyre, I heard the name "Ade" coming from one of the officers holding a torchlight. I looked up and the person looked at me more closely. Suddenly, I heard him screamed my name again.
That was when I noticed that it was Boda Jimoh (now deceased) right in front of me. Boda Jimoh was the son of one of the Muslim members of my family. He was brought up by my father and we used to go to the farm together when I was a little kid. He started his primary school at the village’s Islamic school but went on to complete it at St Michael’s Primary School. I was aware that he had joined the police but had not seen him for many years.
As soon as he recognised me, he screamed and told his colleagues that I was his brother. He gave me a huge hug and introduced me to his colleagues. He said he had been told I was traveling abroad. When the change of tyre was completed, he asked me to drive on and that they would escort me down to Festac Town. I got home at about 12:30am and my wife had been waiting outside apparently wondering what might have delayed me. It was a miracle that I survived the ordeal and live to tell the story today.
Ade Medupin
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