National Police Day 2025: What Defines The Nigerian Police Force? By Yahaya Kana Ismaila
In 2006, we had just stepped out of a football viewing centre when a police squad car, clearly lying in wait, swooped in on us. About fifteen of us, not quick enough to take to our heels, were bundled into the van. It was around 10:15 p.m. They drove us around town till it was well past 1 a.m. before finally taking us to the police station. Our crime? “Late hour” – a popular charge used by the police in those days against peace-loving Nigerians just minding their business.
We were tossed into a reeking police cell, packed like sardines with actual criminals. By morning, I saw a charge sheet that claimed “conspiracy to commit crime.” I didn’t know whether to laugh my heart out or burst out crying. In the end, we all had to bail ourselves. Never mind that the signage above the charge counter boldly proclaimed, “Bail is free” and “The police is your friend.”
That incident won’t be the last I will experience of the famed friendliness of the Police. In 2013 or there about, Blessing, a female tenant in our house at the time, was arrested, beaten, and dehumanised. Every part of her fair skin bore signs of torture. Her offense? Daring to record police officers brutalising a civilian in the full glare of day. They treated her like she had committed the most heinous of all crimes. All attempts to secure her bail were rejected. They painted a disturbing picture of her alleged crime, a practice that usually precedes the kind of bail sums they’ll be demanding. It didn’t take long before the officers started quoting outrageous sums for bail. That was when I reached out to the Police Public Complaint Rapid Response Unit (@PolicePCRU), which had just begun responding to social media alerts.
To my surprise, the response was swift. I provided my details and those of the police station. Before long, the Divisional Police Officer (DPO), who hadn’t even been around earlier, was contacted. While Blessing’s family was still haggling over a lower “bail fee,” the DPO stormed the station, demanding answers. Before long, a police adjudicator was dispatched from HQ and between the reprimand and police officers making faces with Blessing not to identify them as the culprits, she was released shortly after. Her phone, hitherto confiscated was returned, and no money was paid. We even got a rare apology.
Yet, for every Blessing who escapes by a stroke of luck, there are hundreds more who weren’t as fortunate. Tales of police extortion are now routine. From illegal stop-and-search operations to outright kidnapping under the guise of law enforcement, Nigerians are often at the mercy of those meant to protect them. It all seemed to go mainstream after the Apo Six incident where six young people were murdered by police officers after discovering huge sums of money in the trunk of their car. The victims were motor spare part dealers at the popular Apo Mechanic Village. Intriguing stories of how the faceoff started could pass off for a Nollywood movie. In a desperate cover-up, the notorious killer officers either “disappeared” or died mysteriously in custody.
Then came the Police Special Anti-Robbery Squard (SARS) and other tactical units. These outfits, it will appear were given blanket powers to arrest, charge, prosecute and discharge justice. Posting to such units became so lucrative that police officers were alleged to pay millions in palm-greasing monies to be attached to one. The question would have been why? Well, only a newcomer to Nigeria would ask such a question. This is because, virtually everyone knew that beyond the public display of activities portraying these tactical units as the Police’s response to increasing crime, SARS and others was notorious for commercialising policing, the alleged torture of victims to death sometimes; or the extortion of huge sums from many Nigerians—guilty or otherwise.
To its credit, the police hierarchy has, in recent years, taken disciplinary actions—setting up orderly room trials, de-kitting and dismissing rogue officers. But despite these efforts, the rot persists. From being hauled off and charged with vague crimes like “conspiracy,” to road users being shot for refusing to part with ₦50, the average Nigerian’s trust in the police is dangerously low. In fact, the police currently rank among the least trusted public institutions in Nigeria, sharing that notorious title with power officials.
It’s no surprise then that the Nigerian police force, which should be a beacon of public safety, is widely seen as more threatening to law-abiding citizens than to actual criminals. An ordinary Nigerian would rather not report crime to the police for fear that they may become the prime suspect. It is a street rule to keep your mouth shut when the police arrive after a crime had been committed.
In all of this, the Police force can’t take all the blame. Let’s talk numbers. Nigeria has a population of over 250 million people but just about 370,000 police officers. That’s roughly 1 police officer to every 751 citizens, far below the United Nations’ recommended ratio of 1:450. Even worse, an estimated 15% of our officers are posted to VIPs—carrying handbags for politicians’ wives or guarding expatriates who use them to intimidate their fellow Nigerians. This leaves the nation grossly under-policed and vulnerable.
But, beyond personnel shortage, the training and equipping of officers remains the singular most critical inadequacy you can think of. We see flashy announcements about state governments donating vehicles, but modern policing goes beyond sirens and pick-up vans. Technology—CCTV networks, forensic labs, real-time crime data, bodycams—is the global standard. Nigerian police officers only see some of these things on crime TV shows.
I once met a police officer who told me how they raffled uniforms “donated” to their station by Police authorities. Imagine a formation with 500 officers, supplied kits that could cater for just about 100 officers. Such is the situation on ground. All this, despite budgetary allocations that suggest every officer is adequately catered for and a Police Trust Fund receiving regular inflows. Just imagine that we can’t even manage to kit our police with ordinary uniforms, then imagine the challenge of fitting them with body-cams!
In the Police, like in every Nigerian public agency, the disconnect between funds allocated and actual resources on ground is as glaring as it is damning. You would expect that an institution as important as the Nigerian Police would be insulated from this petty corruption. But that’s not the case. And, whereas Nigerians see only the corruption of the officers on the streets, it will appear the mismanagement in the high offices of the force is markedly worst.
To be fair, there have been a few successes. The police have occasionally acted swiftly in high-profile cases. But for the ordinary Nigerian, the Force still feels like an extension of a colonial relic—more feared than respected. Even super cops like Abba Kyari winded up crooked. It turned out he was allegedly using his privileged position to acquire illicit wealth under the guise of putting away high profile criminals.
To change this, the government must take bold, deliberate steps. First, massive recruitment is non-negotiable. Nigeria needs to aim for at least 1 million police personnel in the next 10 years, gradually moving toward the global benchmark. Secondly, the training manuals in use at our police training institutions need a total overhaul. We need to adopt a more modern approach both for the training and equipping of our police force if it is to stand any chance against the increasing threats of non-state actors in Nigeria. Modern policing is no longer just about adding more boots on the ground but equipping and retraining officers for 21st-century challenges.
Technology must be adopted wholesale, and most importantly, the political class must stop using the police as a tool of intimidation. The misuse of the Force’s coercive apparatuses in incidents like the bomb scare in Kano, the police’s conduct during LGA elections in Rivers and Osun, or the controversial invitation of HRH Muhammad Sanusi II only serve to deepen public mistrust.
So, on this National Police Day, perhaps it’s time for the Nigerian Police Force to look inward and ask: Who do we really serve? How should we be defined? How do we improve our public image? Are we to be defined by the notorious arbitrariness that culminated in the #EndSars agitations? Or would our image be of a professional security outfit whose swift actions always comes to the rescue of security situations, saving the lives and properties of Nigerians in the process? The choices are before the Nigerian police.
I think it was a verse in the Bible that urged sinners to cut off their limbs if they make them sin. The Nigerian police may also start considering cutting off practices and avenues that encourages corruption. They must be deliberate about their policies and relationships with ordinary Nigerians. They must find a way to replace fear and intimidation as the mainstay of their relationship with collaboration and mutual support.
And, until the Nigerian Police can take a definite stand on the above, to many Nigerians, “The police is your friend” would remain nothing more than an ironic slogan.
Yahaya writes from Kana of Nassarawa LGA in Nasarawa state and can be reached on: kanaismail@yahoo.com
