I just saw this piece. I typed on my mum's PC last year. A time I spent at the prison. Would love to keep it here.
I was in prison last year.
I'm wondering what the expression of your face would look like now. I really was there. At the Ikoyi maximum or is it the minimum prison?
Now let me say the truth, not as an inmate but as a member of an evangelistic group that holds a Sunday service in the prison once every year.
It all started when my sister voiced out the SMS she received from the youth president of our church, Mr Tunde, as we drove.
'Are you going to the prison with the youth team?' She asked.
'Prison?' No.
They sent a message to me yesterday. She said.
oh! I didn't receive any. Is it on the blackberry group?
No. SMS.
Okay. I responded.
And we didn't talk about it again.
I didn't even hear of it till I got to the church, Foursquare Gospel and behold, there stood Tunde Busari. He pressed me to go. And I did.
I had never done this before. I had an opportunity to at Covenant University but I didn’t take it. It would have meant joining the Project 1 million souls team. With that, I would have seen something related to this.
I was given a small white tag, made of cardboard paper at the gate. A large green coloured gate, the ends adjoined to the wall, making it difficult for an insider to see anything outside. The walls of the prison were high. It would double the height of Manuel Bol that tall basketball player that played for the Washington Bullets. Would anyone consider going over this?
I was given a tag, made of paper with a stamp in the shape of an ellipse, a signature made in the middle, on top of a line running from one end of the ellipse to the other.
'Do not lose this tag. Keep it very well. It is your key or access to the outside world.' The warder with the lemon-green khaki said. The cloth was similar to that I wore during my NYSC only that his shoes were purely black and mine had this orange cloth on it. The warden stood by a counter painted green, the same green colour you would find on the Nigerian flag.
I imagined if the inmates knew they could take one's tag and get out of the prison. All they had to do was beat one up or maybe I'm taking it too far, they just had to scare one and get it anyway. But then, my mind thought of how they would choose who was to go assuming they were more than one.
The ladies on the evangelism team were allowed to go without tags. The prison was for men and any woman found inside would be let free. I went in. My mind on my tag. Let me add this. My mind never left my tag till I passed through that gate again.
Sunday school was the first session we had as I sat amongst them. Among those that chose to come under the large canopy made for the event or rather service. Some watched from afar. There was a gutter that separated the section where the canopy was and a set of buildings which I would like to refer to as their dormitories or maybe their cell. I didn't bother to find out.
While the Sunday school was on, I was told to share tracts to invite people, a small piece of paper with information about the gospel of Christ, telling you more about him. I had to cross the gutter that separated the canopies from the dormitories. I wasn't scared. I was just more conscious of everything around me. I shared. And shared. I invited them to come over the gutter to the canopy. Some talked about the fact that we would share paper and not money, some asked if food would be shared. I didn’t have an answer to that. The food had a great impact. The number increased when it was announced.
It was an experience. An experience you’ll never have till you see or imagine.
We’ve got freedom. Some people don’t.
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