The first sign of trouble I saw was when a police van with only one passenger inside cruised slowly past and turned off the road towards the back of the Secretariat. The passenger was watching us keenly. Mao saw it too and pointed at it and whispered to Brother. The people milled about aimlessly, staring up at the Secretariat building; some waved their placards at the staring workers, others stood in little groups, discussing. Children sat at their mothers’ feet, their faces alive with curiosity. I was standing with two boys of my own age, Ade and Michael, under a mango tree in the centre of the gathering, not far from Joshua. Now Mao was whispering urgently to Joshua.

‘They’ve no excuse. This is a peaceful gathering. And in any case, we are through,’ Joshua replied. That was when the anti-riot police came. They must have been positioned behind the Secretariat building for some time, waiting for a sign. Someone, probably the Sole Administrator, must have sent for them a long time ago. At the appearance of the anti-riot police, with tear-gas guns and batons and helmets and bamboo shields, a wail went up among the women. But Joshua quickly climbed the drum and shouted, ‘Stay where you are, everybody. Don’t move – stand still. Don’t run!’

There was really nowhere to run to. The police were in two groups, on the north and south of the gathering; with the high Secretariat wall on the west, the only, but risky, avenue for escape was the busy road on the east. The wailing diminished; the police halted. They were in single rows, their bamboo shields raised high before them – they were about fifty in all, twenty-five on each side. All eyes, including those of the police, were on Joshua as he jumped down from the drum and headed for the police column on the north, where an Inspector, fat and furiously moustached, stood in front, tapping his leg with his baton, looking undecided. The Inspector turned and whispered to his men, and just as Joshua reached him, he did a curious thing. He raised his right hand and brought it down sharply. And his men charged. I could imagine the surprise, the puzzlement on Joshua’s face before a baton hit him on the head and he went down. They trampled over him, like stampeding cows, and rushed on to us.