My First Chapter

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October 7, 2016

My First Chapter

By Femi Johnson

It’s quite cold and lonely here at the Kirikiri maximum prisons. I miss my late hubby, Dapo, my boo for 6 straight years. I miss my son, Seun as well; so full of life, and fun to be with! I miss my siblings too, I’m always home with them! Two months gone by and it’s still like a Nollywood movie to me. I’m sure I would have done something differently if I had the slightest revelation the misunderstanding between me and Dapo would land me here. Perhaps, I’m facing the consequence of my negligence. Oh Adijatu Morolake, my mother of blessed memory! I wish I heeded your advice. You warned severally that my anger and aggression would cost me gravely if left unchecked. Unfortunately, your prophecy has come true, Maami; what I failed to deal with then is dealing with me now. It has cost me a jail term already; I hope I make amends before it costs me more. Not much to say about my dad, the polygamist was never at home with us. Six wives; twenty-seven children. That alone can divide a man to parts!

Tuesday, 11th of March, 2016 is a day I can never forget. I still remember vividly being accompanied here by the prison officials, and pushed into this confinement at past one o clock that fateful afternoon. Behind bars, in my prison costume, I banged the jail door screaming atop my voice pleading for release. I cried profusely for almost an hour while the other inmates scorned at intervals. “Hey, wetin dey worry you sef?! You be small pikin?” a voice within the enclosure roared suddenly. It was one of the inmates’, “iya wa” as fondly called by other inmates. “Awe keep quiet make we hear word o; abi you wan make I dash you some slap?!” she roared further. Terrified, I retreated from the prison iron door to a secluded corner, sat down with my bead hung in shame, and sobbed like a 3-year old. That night something in me broke! I lost three things: my liveliness, pride, and hope. I felt dead within me. 9 years sentence! How was I going to deal with that? Thank God I got a good attorney, maybe I would have gotten a life sentence. But then, even if it was a month imprisonment, how would I cope with the shame out there afterwards? Who would identify with a woman who murdered her husband in cold blood? How would I face my son? What would I tell him? Would he even want to identify with me again at all? All these questions amongst others clouded my mind. Amid these thoughts, Iya wa roared again, “O ya, come h t’s quite cold and lonely here at the Kirikiri maximum prisons. I miss my late hubby, Dapo, my boo for 6 straight years. I miss my son, Seun as well; so full of life, and fun to be with! I miss my siblings too, I’m always home with them! Two months gone by and it’s still like a Nollywood movie to me. I’m sure I would have done something differently if I had the slightest revelation the misunderstanding between me and Dapo would land me here. Perhaps, I’m facing the consequence of my negligence. Oh Adijatu Morolake, my mother of blessed memory! I wish I heeded your advice. You warned severally that my anger and aggression would cost me gravely if left unchecked. Unfortunately, your prophecy has come true, Maami; what I failed to deal with then is dealing with me now. It has cost me a jail term already; I hope I make amends before it costs me more. Not much to say about my dad, the polygamist was never at home with us. Six wives; twenty-seven children. That alone can divide a man to parts!

 Tuesday, 11th of March, 2016 is a day I can never forget. I still remember vividly being accompanied here by the prison officials, and pushed into this confinement at past one o clock that fateful afternoon. Behind bars, in my prison costume, I banged the jail door screaming atop my voice pleading for release. I cried profusely for almost an hour while the other inmates scorned at intervals. “Hey, wetin dey worry you sef?! You be small pikin?” a voice within the enclosure roared suddenly. It was one of the inmates’, “iya wa” as fondly called by other inmates. “Awe keep quiet make we hear word o; abi you wan make I dash you some slap?!” she roared further. Terrified, I retreated from the prison iron door to a secluded corner, sat down with my bead hung in shame, and sobbed like a 3-year old. That night something in me broke! I lost three things: my liveliness, pride, and hope. I felt dead within me. 9 years sentence! How was I going to deal with that? Thank God I got a good attorney, maybe I would have gotten a life sentence. But then, even if it was a month imprisonment, how would I cope with the shame out there afterwards? Who would identify with a woman who murdered her husband in cold blood? How would I face my son? What would I tell him? Would he even want to identify with me again at all? All these questions amongst others clouded my mind. Amid these thoughts, Iya wa roared again, “O ya, come here now!” I lifted up my head, turned backwards, and saw this massive lady gaze at me. I couldn’t stand looking straight into her ugly face, so I quickly hung my head after the first look. I mustered some courage and managed to stand up, still faced down. I counted a few steps towards her and knelt down on getting to her. She was sorrounded by the other inmates who chanted, “Iya wa, twaile fun yin!” periodically. She grabbed my jaw, faced me up, asked, “Wetin be your name?”. She suddenly landed me a slap at my reluctance in answering her question. I fell flat on the floor faced down and started crying out my name, “Sade, Sade, Sade…” I got up again, looked into her eyes, and answered again, “Sade.” “Ehen! So why you come dey form before?” she asked. From then on the hostility reduced. 

But come to think of it, what ensued between Dapo and I was a minor dispute that could have been resloved amicably but for my anger. Well, that’s a story for another time. In the meantime, I’m still in here and I regret it.

I have to draw the curtains here, Diary. I’ll add more pages as events unfold.

Xo,

 

Folasade.

ere now!” I lifted up my head, turned backwards, and saw this massive lady gaze at me. I couldn’t stand looking straight into her ugly face, so I quickly hung my head after the first look. I mustered some courage and managed to stand up, still faced down. I counted a few steps towards her and knelt down on getting to her. She was sorrounded by the other inmates who chanted, “Iya wa, twaile fun yin!” periodically. She grabbed my jaw, faced me up, asked, “Wetin be your name?”. She suddenly landed me a slap at my reluctance in answering her question. I fell flat on the floor faced down and started crying out my name, “Sade, Sade, Sade…” I got up again, looked into her eyes, and answered again, “Sade.” “Ehen! So why you come dey form before?” she asked. From then on the hostility reduced.

But come to think of it, what ensued between Dapo and I was a minor dispute that could have been resloved amicably but for my anger. Well, that’s a story for another time. In the meantime, I’m still in here and I regret it.

I have to draw the curtains here, Diary. I’ll add more pages as events unfold.

 

Xo, 

Folasade.

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