Issue #11: Public Humiliation
Do I look like a thief?
The image was generated using DALL·E
Did I ever imagine the accusation of stealing a car would fall into my life experience? Definitely not.
Earlier that day, I’d driven late to work - unfortunately that meant the entry tags at the gate had finished. Not a problem. The number of people working across the two buildings sharing a compound, outnumbered the availability of tags.
Time came to go home. Yay!
I drove to the gates, lowered the window and explained to the uniformed security man that I didn’t have a tag to handover to him. He held his chin, sizing me up in silence. Amused, I asked in jest if he wanted to search the car. Honestly, I expected him to laugh and bid me farewell.
He said, “yes, park.”
Park? Because of a plastic tag?
The compound’s entrance sloped downwards, and as a new driver, navigating the terrain was already difficult. I shifted the car to the right, but not enough to allow an easy passageway to the two cars behind me.
One of his colleagues asked about the time I came into work. I told him.
“Tags should have been available at that time,” he said.
Dazed, I reiterated that I wasn’t given a tag.
The second man was more understanding.
When I overheard the first man asking around for someone to identify me, I lost it.
No, I didn’t scream or curse – I wish I had those in my DNA. I cried.
Looking back, I wish I’d challenged him.
“Do you want to see my ID?”
“You haven’t asked me for the name of the company or the floor?”
“You haven’t asked me for my name.”
He could have identified me without the public humiliation.
I’ve had past experiences outside Nigeria, of security men following me around in shops, alluding to the stereotype of my black skin and shoplifting. Nevertheless, this felt different. Worse, somehow. I might need more time to unpack my reflections on the incident.
A kind police officer walked up to the car and I said to him, “humiliation just for a tag?”
At that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that the insinuation wasn’t that I’d hidden their tag somewhere, but that I’d stolen the car. A conversation with a friend, long after I’d left the building opened up my eyes to the real reason behind my humiliation. That’s why the security man was looking for someone to identify me.
I feel obliged to mention that the car in mention wasn’t a flashy one, but a simple, economical one.
The cliche of ‘don’t judge a book by its cover,’ reverberated in my mind. I’m constantly mistaken for a teenager. I hate it. I don’t believe it, but suddenly I wanted to claim it and scream, “I look like a child!” I’m glad I didn’t voice out my thoughts. Forgiving myself would have been difficult.
The two receptionists I exchange morning greetings with walked by, and noticing me, they stopped to enquire about my well being. The man clearly didn’t think their obvious recognition of me was worthy of his ‘investigation’ about my identity.
His colleagues sat back, until they saw the facility manager – I’d called him in tears. Suddenly, they were on my side, castigating him.
Finally, I was allowed to go home.
I called seven people afterwards. Five, I called in tears. Two, I called much later, laughing at the absurdity of the experience. To the final two, I commented that I’d just had a stereotypical, wrongly accused ‘yahoo-boy’ moment. Did he see my small stature and decide the only plausible reason I was behind the wheel had to be that I’d stolen the car?
I repeat: the car is a simple, economical one.
What theories did he have about how I stole the car?
I stalked its owner for days, tracking them to the building?
I had one of those super-keys, people use to steal cars? (I don’t know the right terminology.)
Perhaps, the car’s owner was a careless person, dropping keys on the table.
Why do we take out our frustrations on others, especially when we have uniforms or titles?
Did I offend him by jokingly asking if he wanted to search the car for the tag?
As usual, there’s a part of me that later sought to excuse his behaviour.
He was doing his job. Was he though? Why didn’t he ask the right questions?
I do have two regrets,
I should have stepped out of the car, stood aside, and urged him to search the car for his precious tag. The imagery in my mind of how ‘cool’ that would have looked will haunt me for a long time.
All the people I called. Why? They’re all close enough to me that I envision random, “Do you remember when you were accused of stealing a car?” moments. What have I done?
Everything happens for a reason. Maybe this is mine: the next time someone enquires about my age, I can say, “Old enough to be accused of stealing a car.”