Hey Reader
I remember walking down the dusty campus road one humid evening, earbuds in, the sun painting everything gold. Burna Boy’s voice crackled through the cheap earphones I bought for ₦500 at the campus market, a line from Gbona echoing louder than the rest:
“You no get money, you dey call police...”It hit different that day. Not just as a lyric, but as a mirror.
There’s something about music in Nigeria especially from artists like Burna Boy that carries more than sound. Beneath the beats and bravado, there are lines that say what many feel but few are able to articulate. That lyric transported me back to my first year in university, when life felt both full of promise and weighed down by reality.
I came from what Nigerians like to call a “managing home.” Not poor enough to beg, not rich enough to flex. We got by. My roommate and I were just two young guys navigating school, sharing late-night garri sessions like it was fine dining, chasing dreams with empty wallets.
We weren’t “street” but we knew the streets.
One night, our hostel got burgled. Phones, wallets, even someone’s electric iron disappeared. A stroke of luck or maybe just noise led to the thief being caught. The mood was tense but electric. Students gathered, fueled by adrenaline and a thirst for justice.
Someone shouted, “Take am go police!” And we did. At the time, it felt like the right thing. Law and order. Accountability. But the moment we stepped into that dimly lit station where time seemed to slow under the hum of a dying fan something shifted.
The officers looked at us like we were the inconvenience. Not the crime. Not the thief. Us.
“Who una be?” one asked. “Na una get this place?” Then came the unexpected twist. The thief, battered but calm, made a short phone call. Not long after, a man in a crisp kaftan strolled in quiet, composed, with a black nylon bag in hand. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
Within minutes, the entire energy in the room changed.The officers glanced at us and said, “Oya go. This one no serious. Na small misunderstanding.”And just like that, the case dissolved.
That was the moment I truly understood that lyric:
“You no get money, you dey call police...”It wasn’t just a catchy line. It was a cold reality. In many parts of the world, justice is an institution. Money doesn’t just open doors it decides who the law applies to, and who it bends for.
There’s no need to assign blame to individuals. The truth is bigger than that. This isn’t about one officer or one station. It’s about a structure. A system where privilege often walks free and poverty stands trial — sometimes for simply existing. Everyday, People have learned to navigate this system some with resignation, others with resistance. We joke about it, sing about it, sometimes even glorify the very things we hate. But beneath the surface, we know: the playing field isn’t level. People say the system is broken. But maybe it’s not. Maybe it was never built to serve us all equally in the first place.
Still, even in the face of that, there’s power in telling these stories. In remembering. In reflecting. In resisting quietly, creatively, collectively. Because sometimes, saying it out loud is its own form of protest.
Josh 🙏🏼
