In the bustling neighborhood of White Sand, Isheri Oshun, Lagos, a story of betrayal and systemic failure unfolds behind closed doors. Assistant Superintendent of Police (ASP) Amadin Monday lies bedridden, his once-proud uniform now a moth-eaten relic of a life abruptly halted. The irony is palpable – a man sworn to protect, now victim to the very institution he served.
On that fateful September day in 2021, the unthinkable happened. Not in a shootout with hardened criminals, but in a moment of alleged internal strife, ASP Monday’s career and life were shattered by bullets from a colleague’s gun. This wasn’t just a workplace incident; it was a seismic event that sent shockwaves through a family, exposing the fault lines in Nigeria’s law enforcement apparatus.
The aftermath paints a grim picture of institutional abandonment. Two years and nine months have crawled by, each day a testament to the family’s resilience and the system’s apathy. Mrs. Augustina Amadin, once a proud police wife, now finds herself in the unenviable position of sole breadwinner and caregiver, her days a blur of hospital visits and desperate pleas for help.
But the tragedy extends beyond the physical confines of their modest apartment. It seeps into the future of their children, dreams deferred as education takes a backseat to survival. The eldest son’s linguistics aspirations gather dust, while his brother’s electrical engineering ambitions short-circuit in the face of financial reality. Even basic secondary education becomes a luxury, with one child forced to seek cheaper options in rural Delta State.
The silence from police authorities is deafening. Two petitions have disappeared into the bureaucratic abyss, while the alleged shooter reportedly continues his duties unencumbered. This isn’t just a failure of justice; it’s a betrayal of the very principles of brotherhood that should bind the force together.
Yet, in this dark narrative, a sliver of light emerges. The intervention of Complete New Basic Life Skills Advancement (CNBA), an NGO, in funding a crucial surgery for ASP Monday, serves as both a beacon of hope and a damning indictment of the system’s failures. It begs the question: In a functional system, should the burden of care for injured officers fall on charitable organizations?
This case is more than just another headline; it’s a mirror reflecting the deeper malaise within Nigeria’s law enforcement. It challenges us to confront uncomfortable truths:
- How prevalent is blue-on-blue violence, and what does it say about the psychological state of our officers?
- What mechanisms exist to protect whistleblowers and victims within the force?
- How can we bridge the gap between the lofty ideals of service and the grim realities faced by officers?
As we delve deeper into this story, we’re not just reporting facts; we’re unraveling a complex form of institutional failure, personal tragedy, and societal indifference. The tale of ASP Monday is a clarion call for reform, a demand for accountability, and a reminder of the human cost of systemic neglect.
In a country grappling with multiple security challenges, can we afford to ignore the enemy within? As ASP Monday’s story unfolds, it serves as a stark reminder that sometimes, the most insidious threats to law and order come not from the streets, but from within the very institutions sworn to protect them.
This is more than a news story; it’s a national reckoning. And as the Amadins wait for justice, the question remains: Will Nigeria’s police force rise to the challenge, or will it continue to turn a blind eye to the suffering in its ranks?
