The Day My Baby Brother Called 911 Over a Biscuit

It was supposed to be a calm Saturday morning. The kind where you just relax, maybe scroll your phone, and enjoy the peace. But peace packed its bags and left the moment my 5-year-old baby brother, Tobe, decided I was doing "wickedness."

Let me take you back.

My parents had gone to the market and left me to watch over Tobe. Now, Tobe is cute, cheeks like puff-puff, smile like butter but don’t let that fool you. That boy has drama in his blood. If he doesn’t get what he wants, you’ll think you’re in a Nollywood audition.

After breakfast, he came to me with his little hands behind his back like a village chief and said, “Brother, I want biscuit.” I laughed and said, “No biscuit until lunch.” I expected noise, maybe a fake cry. But Tobe just nodded and walked away quietly.

That silence should have been my warning. But I relaxed. Ten minutes later, I heard him talking in the sitting room. I thought he was pretending again, using his toy phone to ‘order pizza’ or talk to Spider-Man. But this time, it wasn’t his toy phone. It was my dad’s real phone.

Next thing I heard?

“Hello, 911? My brother is doing wickedness. He’s refusing to give me biscuit.”

My soul left my body.

I rushed into the room, snatched the phone, and cut the call. “TOBE! Are you okay like this?! You called 911?!” He looked at me with his small, serious face and said, “You refused to give me biscuit. That is emergency.”

I started sweating. What if they tracked the call? What if police showed up? What if I went to jail... over biscuit?

Two minutes later, the house phone rang. I picked up with a trembling hand.

“Good morning, this is emergency response. We received a distress call from this number.”

“Uhhh... sorry. It was a child. False alarm. Everything is okay,” I replied, nearly whispering.

“Please make sure your child doesn’t do that again,” the woman said gently.

I apologized like five times. When I turned around, Tobe was coloring like nothing happened. I asked, “Are you trying to send me to prison?” He shrugged and said, “I just wanted biscuit.”

That was it. I gave him the biscuit. The full pack. “Take it! Eat everything. In fact, call them and tell them justice has been served!”

When our parents came back and I told them, they didn’t know whether to laugh or scold. My dad burst out laughing. My mum said, “He has sense oh! He knows his rights.”

I wasn’t laughing.

From that day, any time I said no, Tobe would hold the TV remote like a phone and say, “Should I call them again?” So I started calling him Inspector Biscuit.

One day, I told him to clean his toys. He looked me dead in the eye and asked, “Is that a request or a threat?”

At that point, I knew I had created a monster.

We eventually sat him down and explained when it’s okay to call for help and when it’s not. We used simple examples: fire, accident, someone not breathing. Not biscuit. Definitely not biscuit. We even got him a proper toy phone with sounds, no calling ability.

Now he understands better. He knows 911 is not for food fights, and I can finally sleep with both eyes closed, sort of.

Moral of the Story

Kids are sharp. They observe, they learn fast, and they don’t forget. That’s why it’s important to teach them early, not with fear, but with love and clear explanations.

And most importantly: hide your phone when biscuits are involved. Because to a hungry child, biscuit is not a snack... it’s justice.

Your Turn

Have you ever been “reported” by a child for something funny? Share your story in the comments! Let’s laugh together.

#PeaceOfMind