A man has narrated how an accident victim was shocked when he and his friend stopped to help him.
He shared this on Twitter saying that ethnicity and religion have wrecked our empathy as humans.
He narrated how the Igbo accident victim was shocked when two Hausa men stopped to help him even when other cars left him to his faith.
He narrated how he even told the police who was at a checkpoint that an accident has occurred but they didn’t care to save the victim.
Read the thread…
About two months ago, @im_deey and I were on Abuja’s Shehu Yar’adua highway, towards Life Camp, when we sighted a smoking and badly wrecked car, with what looked like a lone survivor standing beside it. It’s past 1 am. He’s on the bridge from the other side of the road. We drove towards Life Camp roundabout and, first, informed the police at the checkpoint that an accident had occurred nearby, and then made a u-turn towards the accident scene. The policemen assured us they would be in tow, and we were moved by their warm response and concern. The car was almost entirely damaged that we wondered how he survived. There’s only the driver. We asked him to sit down, and whether he’s alone. He confirmed he was. We said the police would join us shortly and then proceeded to check out the damage. It didn’t start or move.
I had the phone number of a towing van owner who rescued me the day a Benz humiliated me in Abuja🙄, and so I called his line to ask it wasn’t late for him to come to the accident scene. He asked for specifics of the car and agreed to come with a van in about thirty minutes. And the long wait for the police continued. There was no sign of them anywhere close. In the meantime, I told our new friend I had contacted a van owner, and he’s coming to tow the car to any destination of his choice within Abuja. He was overwhelmed and asked for our names. That’s where the problem began. He was concerned that we didn’t care about his religion or ethnicity, and didn’t even bother about the security risk in coming to rescue him. We brushed off the questions. But he was persistent, and it’s, of course, his emotion at work.
He told us his name, that he’s Igbo and lawyer, and that he was utterly shocked that two “Hausa men” have stopped to help him when so many cars met him in that state and yet refused to stop and intervene.
He said one of his best friends at school was from Dogon Daji in Sokoto state, and then called to tell him about his northern brothers. We spoke in Hausa, and then I mentioned to the caller that one of my best friends is a Sokoto prince from Dogon Daji. He knew him immediately. We told the caller that his friend was probably having a “culture shock,” and he laughed. Because we didn’t see why it’s unusual to help an accident survivor, let alone bother to ask for his ethnic or religious affiliations. And the wait for the police continued. The towing van arrived. We got the car set, and our new friend asked for our phone contacts. Another drama ensued when we offered financial support, knowing he would be needing that. He said it’s not possible for that to happen. Strange.
My friend and I were both confused when the van left, with the car and the owner. It’s not his shock that we stopped to help him that even bother us, we were more amused by his expression that we didn’t pay mind to his religion and ethnicity in rendering this assurance. We met the police at the checkpoint again on our way home. @im_deey told them it was disappointing that they abandoned a citizen in such a critical state, and he was angry, and that life could’ve been lost that night. “Where’s he now?” They said. We hissed and drove off.
The next day our friend called and asked for a meetup. “I’m going to write about you,” he said. We dodged his attempts to meet. The reason was that it’s just “bare minimum,” nothing extraordinary. But, on a deeper reflection, I began to see his point. Empathy isn’t as common. “Bare minimum” maybe a Twitter joke based on the life of those who glorify the common and the ordinary, but it’s, unfortunately, creeping into our affairs offline. These polarizing interactions and engagements we take for granted are already defining us, and such a mindset is scary.
And on this day, I also lost what’s left of my faith in the Nigerian police. It may take a while to regain this.
