This story is dedicated to all my friends who had their birthdays this month of February.

I ate by 2AM. I could only eat by this time in the hostel. This could not happen back home. Allowing any solid food to pass through your esophagus any time past 7pm would attract lashes of varying intensities, the rod of correction would be used, just to ensure that, such gross indiscipline as papa usually puts it, do not repeat itself.

Whenever those strokes were given, I would run to mama for succor, of which, I usually get equivalent rebuke. This made me understand that my parents were unified in their decisions. The sooner I got used to that, the better. I then discovered safer places to run to when whipped, of course, outside the compound!

I ate very slowly, grinding every chunk with utmost precision in order to get maximum satisfaction. I had not eaten since the previous day afternoon; having felt the pangs of hunger, I joyfully ate the cold rice. I held the pot with great jealousy while I initiated the mashing and swallowing process.

I was concentrating too hard on the eating process, hence I couldn’t hear the first knock on the door. All my roommates were asleep, the electric bulb in my corner was dim, dimmer than those kerosene lamps used in some western villages, but it was bright enough to see the food.

The knock came again but this time, more subtle, and inconsistent as if the person at the door was dithery. Who will be at the door by this time? I thought. I stopped chewing and hurriedly swallowed the food in my mouth so I could quickly reply this unwanted visitor.

“Who is that?”

There was absolute silence; absolute enough to hear the seconds’ hand of the wall clock race to eternity, the snore of my roommate which was initially not audible now sounded like an embarrassing ‘a cappella’; the snore simulated the screeching sound of a vehicle trying to avoid a stray dog. A troubling mouse ran across my legs as if the visitor at the door was coming for it; troubling, because it took delight in stealing my foodstuffs. If not for this night visitor, today would have been its day of reckoning.

“Who are you looking for?”

“Francis, I am looking for Francis”. He said.

There was no Francis in this room. My name was Ezekiel, middle name Osahon and my alias was Trisler, my bunk mate had Joshua as his name. We were 10 in the room. We had stayed in the room for more than 4 months hence no one would bear any name as of Francis without me knowing.

Knocking at the wee hours of the day, and not mentioning the correct name could be a death sentence in this part of the country. Many thieves before entering the room would knock for a number of times and if there was no answer they would be rest assured that no one was awake, they then sneak into the room to claim their spoil. Thieves usually have no mercy, they rob you of everything available, even down to your underwear.

“There is no Francis in the room please leave the door”, I said.

Almost immediately, Samuel jumped down from his bed, opened the door, dragged the night visitor inside the room and bolted the door. Samuel’s phone was recently stolen and he was ready to vent his anger on this suspect, at least, if he could not give any logical reason why he knocked on the door at 17 minutes past 2AM.

“Who did you say you were looking for?” Samuel raised his voice like those village town criers who made eerie announcements under the scorching sun. His voice made Akpan stop snoring.

‘Fraaanciiss’ the boy stuttered.

The young lad was already frightened by the way Samuel drew him in; like a hawk stealing a chick from mother hen. This boy was tall, taller than Sammy but he had a baby face.

“What is the room number of the Francis you are looking for?”

“I don’t know his room number”.

Oh! That annoyed Sammy, he opened his locker, took a wire and was ready to hit this suspected thief, but I instantaneously dropped my almost emptied pot of rice, rushed to Sammy and held the wire with my left hand, this reduced the impact of the wire on the suspect.

“You don’t start beating anyone like that” I said in a harsh tone. I had not used that harsh tone for a very long time; for over 4 years now; since when I stopped shouting at my younger ones, since when I stopped playing football with gamblers and touts, and since when I started reading spiritual books especially, ‘The way of truth’.

“Why would a student forget his room in the middle of the night?” Samuel was furious, his side moustache were darkly colored like the underneath of my almost finished pot of rice. Even if I frequently wash the back of this pot, it always got blackened by my stove; the stove blackens my pots as if its function was to blacken and not to heat. Samuel was chesty, and he was a good goalie. He usually calls me his mentor yet I never knew what I mentored him on.

The shout of the boy from the little impact of the wire woke the rest boys. When they inquired the cause of the hullaballoo, they commanded the suspect to sit on the bare floor. I warned them that, no one was going to lay hands on this suspect at least not until he was proven to be a thief. I hated jungle justice.

They interrogated this suspect with anger and fury, and surrounded him like a group of hen feasting on a dead cockroach. The suspect had more than enough question at a time to answer than the number of his tooth. If Akpan, Sammy and other roommates would maintain decorum for a second, the heartbeat of this suspect would be as loud as the drum used during the praise and worship sections of those new generational churches. If sound could generate electricity, the noise from my room would solve Nigeria’s power problems.

“Where are you coming from?” Osas asked. His voice was now the loudest, Osas’s expensive suit, as he usually puts it, was stolen from the line a fortnight ago. I knew the suit would not cost more than a ten thousand naira, yet, any time he refers to the suit, he never fails to attach the word ‘expensive’, as if the suit cost a lot more.

“I am coming from the school auditorium”.

The school auditorium was close to the main gate and it was a 10 minutes’ walk from the hostel.

“What would a student be doing at the school auditorium by 2AM”, added Joshua, a medical student who was still on his bed. I knew he would not join in beating the suspect even if he was proven to be a thief.

Just then, I noticed that my pot of rice was still opened, with the stranded meat at the center of it. I covered the pot, drank a little water and observed as this kangaroo court tried very hard to bring out the thief in this suspect.

They found two blackberry phones in his bag.

“These are stolen phones”, “he stole them”, “and this one has a lady as the wallpaper”, “what will you be using two blackberry phones for?” All these questions and statements left the suspect confused. All he was now saying repeatedly was, “I nor be thief, are beg nor beat me”.

Just then, Akpan gave him a hard slap; those slaps that fell under the category of dirty, those slaps that go along with lightening and also induces transient blindness. But he got an equivalent push from me. The push hit him so hard that he fell with his buttock to the ground, he almost retaliated but Emmanuel came to my rescue. The push was an armor for my fear. I knew that, except they saw me act in anger, they would never take me seriously.

“You are not allowed to lay your hands on him” I reiterated.

The suspect was now sweating in the cold night, and his eyes were clouded with tears. He never had the opportunity of answering any of the questions completely. I took the phones from my roommates and noticed that both of them were locked. I then gave the suspect to unlock the phones.

He took the first blackberry with quaky hands, the phone had a glossy look, it was new, and had a female picture as the wall paper. The girl had a broad smile, smiling like I usually do when I receive a favor from a lady. He tried to unlock the first phone, but it showed a wrong password notification. Everyone was now ready to start the beating process.

“He is a thief, Ezekiel allow me teach this boy a lesson”. Shouted Akpan.

Even if I was trying to help this suspect, I would be entirely helpless if he could not give the correct password on a second try.

“Calm down, your hands are shaky”, I bent down, took the phone from him and ordered him to call the password for me to help him input them.

As I typed the last letter, I really hoped it worked. But, even if it didn’t, I would never allow this suspect to be beaten, my roommates would have to beat me up as I was ready to defend this handsome and baby-faced lad. If I condemn jungle justice, then I should be ready to walk the talk.

Alas! The phone was opened. My heart beat reduced drastically, and my shaky hands were now stable. I saw the shameful look on Akpan’s face, his fair complexion was now reddish; the bulb was not bright enough to see the color of his pupil, it must have had ‘shame’ written all over it.

The hapless suspect cried like a baby. I was almost moved to tears. I felt his pain. He was a newly admitted student and he stayed off campus. He had spent the night in the class studying and decided to sleep in his friend’s room. The room he was supposed to enter was 104 and my room was 103. He had mistakenly knocked on our door because it was dark.

He was actually coming from the faculty of engineering which was close to the school auditorium, hence he said ‘auditorium’, thinking it would make us believe him. We didn’t give him time to explain. Moreover, his friend Francis, having heard his name frequently mentioned in our room, came to find out why he became so popular in the middle of the night but found his friend at the judgment seat, pleading for mercy.

As he hugged me, hot tears gathered in my eyes, and they poured out as soon as I squeezed them. I had never been this emotional. If no one had stood for him, he would have explained himself in the grave like the ‘Aluu four’, or more lightly in the hospital like many other victims of jungle justice.

Sammy and Akpan gave shallow apologies, explaining that if I had my phones stolen before now, I would have behaved worse than they did.

But was lynching the way forward? Was mobbing the solution, were there no other means to justice and equity? Was equity not best achieved by dialogue and peaceful resolutions? This were my musings as I lay back on my bed. I had forgotten my pot of rice and the stranded meat.

From a true life experience.