A few people here think of me as mad. I heard Kabiru laughing with the others, they wonder why I’m writing letters in a diary no one would ever read. But it is my way of coping and holding on to hope, to the hope that I will see you again.
Life here is getting better Father. Although nothing here has changed, I have. In the past week, I found myself slowly getting accustomed to this new reality and my new identity, as an inmate.
Every day since I have been here, I have relived over and over the day I was arrested. I have asked myself if there was something I could have done differently, and maybe I would be home lying down tonight. But it all happened so fast. One minute, I was bone tired, walking down the street on my way home, and the next, I was in the interrogation room with four policemen yelling at me. I can’t even remember clearly what happened to my phone because when I reached into my pocket to take it and call somebody, anybody, it was gone.
“I know my rights” “I have the right to a phone call” All of those sentences only work in the movies, father. They just laughed in my face when I said it. “Who are you?” “Who is your Father” they screamed as they beat me to confession.
It’s hard Father, but I’m surviving.
The last time I wrote to you, I couldn’t bring myself to write that I already knew who I was being accused of killing. It is Blessing Father, the lady I told you lived across the street from my house and throws herself at me. They found her body close to the canal behind our house. She was strangled. My neighbours told the police we had quarrelled the week before and that I promised to deal with her. That fight and my angry but empty words sealed my fate. No one else was suspected, I was guilty. So, they waited for me that night and arrested me as I walked home.
I wished I hadn’t lost my temper that day Blessing and I quarrelled, but she wouldn’t let me be. Like many ladies of the night, she was very confident in her sexual appeal. She had sneaked into my room and slipped into my bed with only her underwear on. Oh, I was livid Father. I said many things as I pushed her out of my room, a lot of those things I am not proud of. She was a pest I couldn’t get rid of but not enough to kill.
I don’t know what to do Father. I wish I could hear your wise counsel right now. I’m slowly losing hope, even as I try to hold on tight. Senator said the legal aid lawyers visits once in a month to help as many inmates as they can, he says they might be able to help me.
I dreamt of you and my mother last night. I dreamt that you were in distress. Perhaps, I will see you again soon, when you take your first trip to the infamous Kirikiri. Senator has promised that the lawyers will help contact you whenever they come.
Hopefully, they come before I write again. But if they don’t, it means you will have a lot to read when we see.
Tell my mother to take her medications, and to keep her blood pressure stable.
I hope Omolade has perfected her amala making skills. Tell her that her amala is the first thing I want to eat once I leave here.
Eat well Father, and rest too.
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