This article is part of Had I Known, Zikoko’s theme for September 2025, where we explore Nigerian stories of regret and the lessons learnt. Read more Had I Known stories here.
Tade* (25) recalls February 2023 as one of the scariest times of her life. She had sworn never to vote, but her brother Toba was the opposite. Excited to cast his ballot, Toba left the barber’s shop with his cut hair sealed in a nylon bag and headed straight for Sagamu — an innocent decision that changed everything for both siblings.
This is how Tade’s mind replays those memories:
February 2023 still haunts me and forces me to stay quiet when people complain about this administration. I was one of those people who would rather chew stone than stand under the sun to vote. You couldn’t even pay me to do it.
My brother Toba, on the other hand, was the opposite. He was one of the first set of people to register for their permanent voter card (PVC). They showed him pepper and wasted his time during the collection process, but he was determined to “make Nigeria better.” Foolishness, I called it.
“Nobody can make Nigeria better,” I’d think to myself.
Toba finally got the PVC and couldn’t shut up about it. He was schooling in Ijebu, Ogun state, at the time, while I was in Lagos, yet I heard all about how Peter Obi was going to change everything for Nigerian youths.
He planned to travel down to Sagamu, Ogun state, where he registered to vote — just a short distance from Ijebu. He intended to arrive two days before the election because he didn’t want to take any chances. He was so passionate about the voting process that he rushed to the motor park straight from the barber’s shop.
Toba has always been as superstitious as our mother, so he packed the cut hair inside a black nylon bag and put it in his backpack — an innocent act that would later make him a criminal in the eyes of the police.
“I’m going to deliver my polling unit #Obidient,” he tweeted from the backseat of the jalopy bus that was supposed to take him to Sagamu. I laughed at his dedication and moved on with my life. My only plan for the election was to spend time with my partner, cooking enough food to carry us through the day. I texted my brother, “Safe travels,” dropped my silenced phone on my bed, and took a long nap.
A few hours after I woke up, I checked my phone notifications and saw 15 missed calls from my mother, five from my father, and a text from my brother: “They are taking me to the police station.” My first thought was, “What the hell?” My mind went straight into panic mode. I was clumsily scrolling through my phone, trying to process what was going on. I called my mother and got no response. I couldn’t reach Toba or our father either.
My breath seized, and my heart started beating wildly. I was completely in the dark and unable to help Toba from Lagos. About an hour later, my mother finally picked up her call.
“What happened? Where is Toba?” I asked.
“They’ve arrested him. We’re on our way to the police station,” she answered.
Toba and the police station were two different worlds that could never mix. He’s always been sweeter and gentler than most young men his age. It just didn’t make sense.
“What did they say he did?” I pressed further.
My mother explained that the policemen had stopped his bus for a stop-and-search. They said he looked like a yahoo boy and asked to search his bag. When they found the nylon bag with his cut hair, they concluded that he was a ritualist. Toba tried explaining that he was coming from the barber’s shop and planned to dispose of the hair properly when he got to his location, but they didn’t listen. Instead, they asked the bus driver to leave and dragged Toba to the police station.
They took his phones, took his bag and threw him into a cell.
One of the policemen later gave him a phone to call his relatives, and that’s how my parents found out that their son had been arrested for the most ridiculous reason.
By the time my parents arrived at the police station, it was already dark. They asked if they could post bail that same day, but one of the superiors said he’d be keeping my brother in the cell until the end of the election because he suspected Toba might be one of the hoodlums paid to disrupt peace in the area. Another stupid assumption. My aged mother knelt down and begged him to let my brother go, but he refused. For days, I endured multiple panic attacks and lived in fear of what could happen to my brother. I had heard stories of people being unjustly sentenced to jail for even more ridiculous reasons, and I feared that would happen to Toba.
My parents had no choice but to stay in a hotel until the end of the election. Even after the country wrapped up the voting period, it still took three days, the involvement of a lawyer, and a ₦200,000 bribe to secure my brother’s freedom. He left the cell that day, but his mind is still recovering from the traumatic effect of the experience.
He missed the election he was so desperate to participate in, endured the worst and most inhumane treatment of his life, and came out to the news that his revered candidate had lost the election.
On election day, my mind was filled with “what if” questions. I kept refreshing my Twitter timeline to keep up with all the media houses in the country. What if Toba’s candidate could actually save Nigeria, or at least try to? What if I had put in some effort to vote?
My mind was filled with anger. You don’t realise how broken our systems are in this country until Nigeria happens to you or your loved ones. Toba’s arrest made me realise that maybe people like me, who would rather sit at home than vote, are part of the reason incompetent leaders keep ruling this country.
My brother’s arrest was a result of years of brokenness passed down from one incompetent leader to another. I felt useless sitting at home and leaving my fate for the next four years in other people’s hands. Maybe if we had more people like Toba, who would rather travel across cities to vote, Nigeria would be a better place. Maybe if I had voted, my vote would have counted.
I’ve asked him if he would be voting in 2027, and he says his vote will be counted as long as he’s still alive. I’ve pre-registered for my PVC too, and by God’s grace, I’ll be voting in 2027 as well.
If you’d like to pre-register to vote in the 2027 elections, kindly find out how to do so here.
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