Wonderful Olfactor. I was just speaking with Senegambianews editor Jambang
two hours ago, reason why I came on now when I saw your tantrums, about
sharing Junior's editorial with Ellen. I didn't even know Gainako also carried
it. Men. You see how DaarManso works in mysterious ways don't you? You and
I are really meant to be friends and by God we will be bosom buddies.
Thank you so much for sharing this with us. You are a remarkable man sometimes
Olfactor. All I have to say is I love you. I mean it.
Sincerely,
Haruna.
In a message dated 4/5/2010 2:25:28 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time,
[log in to unmask] writes:
I Lost Faith In the Gambian Justice System; A Miscarriage of Justice -
Says Femi Peters Junior!
Femi Peters Senior UDP
By: Femi Peters Jr (Chelsea)
I would have given a lot for it to be a joke. Sadly, the matter at hand
wasn’t. It was about as hilarious as cackling at a funeral.
April 1st 2010...the day justice in The Gambia hit the buffers. Drew its
last. Curled up and gave out. Ceased to be. Got coffined and earthed.
Take your pick.
We all have dates in our lives etched in our minds forever. Mine are 29th
October and 9th November. I will explain why some other time. I will
always remember where I was, what I was doing, what I was attired in when I got
the call that my dad (the man who sired me, gave me all his names, paid my
fees, raised me right and instilled in me the love for books) has had his
freedom curtailed. I mean, it is not daily the average Gambian guy’s dad
gets accommodated in Mile Two.
I was reading the Metro paper on a bad weathered Thursday afternoon when
my phone shrilled. It was my dad’s baby sister, aunty Acy to me. ‘I got
news about your dad. Guess what?’ My heart took a leap. Ever the
pessimistic one, I blurted out, ‘h-he got jailed?’ hoping I was wrong. ‘Yeah, he got
a year plus D10, 000.00 fine and hard labour.’ I had the experience of
being mad and sad at the same time and, take it from me; it is not a very
pleasant one. It is that sinking feeling when you feel there is not much left
to breath for.
When the miserable red mist cleared, my first thought was my ten year old
brother, Lenrie Peters. Growing up, I was lucky to have my dad around me,
help with my home work, help me transform from a baby to a toddler, boy to
a man, answer my questions and simply being there. As I write this, it’s
not with pride I say I took those things for granted. You know, daddy leaving
home in the morning and be back in the evening is as guaranteed as
scorching, throat-parched weather on any given Friday afternoon in Banjul.
Now my baby brother will be denied that opportunity of having dad around.
All the basic, normal things dads do for their seeds has been heartlessly
yanked away from him. All because the APRC government thought my dad
possessing a loudspeaker and initiating a rally is worth a year behind bars.
My dad just clocked 64 in January and not in the very best of health. Do
the math on what a year in the direst of conditions in the state prison,
throw in unpalatable food and hard labour would do to a man his age and see
what you come up with it. Might as well start putting away for a casket!
I lost faith in Gambian justice when, ten years ago this week, students
were gunned down and it was left at that. Forget me being caught that day and
given a pasting my dad has never given me, which resulted in a bad knee I
will take to my grave. My dad being banged up for exercising his right as
a citizen leaves a bad taste in the mouth of any sane individual. I can’t
remember knowing anyone who had to grow up with his dad in jail. To have to
happen so close to home, to my baby brother, is a nightmare.
I’ve been made to understand the order to jail my dad came from above and I
’m not on about the flaming sky.That don’t surprise me one bit. If
journalists can get detained, tortured, one killed, one disappeared completely
off the face of the earth, printing press torched, political opponents get
arrested, refuse permission to hold rallies and existing in a society where
such is how it unfolds, jailing the man whom I’ve looked up to all my life
is a drop in the ocean, if you look at the bigger picture.
Home, since 22nd July 1994, is not what we know it for what it had been.
It has transformed in a very un-Gambian kind of way and it is not getting
better.
Today, it is my dad down for a year for his political beliefs. Tomorrow it
would be your mum doing a bid whose only crime was looking funny at a
portrait of the president. This madness will not stop. A complete change at the
helm is called for and the opportunity for that is at next year’s general
elections should it be free, free and held in a conducive environment.
Knowing what we all know, there is a better chance of God lowering a ladder and
we all scurry up to heaven than that happening.
I had always thought April 10th 2000 was the day I felt less good about
being Gambian. I erred. April 1st 2010 it is and will always be.
God willing, my dad will survive this and I pray his dream of a democratic
Gambia would be in his lifetime…
PS: Thanks for all your calls and emails during these trying times. You
know who you are. God bless and keep you all.
Courtesy of the Gainako newspaper
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Yero,
I hope it is ok with you and your fellow editors at Gainako by my sharing
this poignant write-up of a son on his father's unfair, unconscionable and
illegal incaceration. Yaya and his goons will not break and connot
suffocate the will of good and truthful persons.
Best,
Mboge
*
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