At one point, I never truly understood the reality of corruption. I had heard about it in conversations, listened to teachers explain it in class, and seen journalists discuss it on television. But it always felt distant—just another societal issue people talked about. That changed the day I experienced it firsthand.
It was the weekend after I resumed university, though I had resumed a week later than most of my classmates. My father and I left home at 6 a.m., hoping to reach school before evening since the journey was long. However, we had no idea that the day had other plans for us.
As we approached different police checkpoints along the road, each officer extended a hand toward my father—sometimes in the form of a handshake, other times like a beggar asking for alms. At first, my father complied, handing over small amounts at each stop. But eventually, he grew tired of it and firmly told them he had nothing to give. Those words felt like an insult to the officers. They immediately ordered him to pull over.
One of them demanded to see his car documents. My father handed everything over, and after a thorough check, they found no faults. Determined not to let him go without something, they began inspecting the vehicle itself, hoping to find an issue. Unfortunately, they did—a minor defect. The officer immediately seized on it, questioning my father. My father calmly explained that it was a minor issue and that he planned to fix it before the trip.
Despite his explanations, they continued to delay us. He pleaded with them, even mentioning that my tuition fees had been increased by 100%, making things financially tight for him. When he noticed that one of the officers had an Ekiti accent, he switched to their dialect. That small connection worked in his favor, and after a brief conversation, they finally let us go.
As I stood by my father, watching the scene unfold, I noticed something striking—several cars passed the checkpoint without stopping. Some drivers barely slowed down, while a few who did stop were allowed to leave almost immediately. It was at that moment that I truly understood corruption. The wealthy were not exempt from it, but they had the means to navigate it with ease. Meanwhile, those struggling to survive—people like my father—bore the brunt of its weight.
If you know my country, you know.
Pictures: Ai
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