One Thursday at the Prison
Well rested and fully recovered
from Thursday's experience, I sat on my reading table the same night. It was
12:39am and there was absolute silence; the full moon resting on the clouds
outside almost drove the darkness away. This time I wasn't watching Chimamanda
or listening to her talk about how skin color only became an issue when she
first came to America or how condescending it is that the success of women is
always attributed to their bottom power. I had books littered on my table; an
outdated blue diary, a red pen, an old notebook and a gadget that helped me
think clearly while sliding beautiful pictures of nature. I sat almost directly
beneath the ceiling fan and tried writing under the reflection of the
fluorescent light bulb hanging on the ceiling then I remembered how Evangeline
introduced herself from one corner of the bus some weeks ago, not as a preacher
but as one specialized in selling various textures of toothbrushes for various
dentition and medicine for every type of worm: tapeworm, ringworm, small
worm.
Uwais sat like that; compressed
at the same angle Evangeline had sat weeks ago in the bus and the rest of us,
crammed up like sardines arranged in a can. The journey to Lafia prison seemed
increasingly distant but we all found a thing or two to keep us busy. While
some had earphones plugged to their ears, others kept staring at varnishing
vegetation; few people flipped over pages of new books that were not legal and
the young lady who sat beside me maintained her gaze on the same page for eternity.
It was obviously her first time of traveling with a team of Law students and
now I imagine the cascading disappointment in her at the realization that it
was practically impossible to learn Fallacy in peace with the "law
students" who are supposed to be nerds and not chatter boxes even outside
the classroom.
Instructions are always dished
out in the most indirect and noblest of ways by the Clinic Head so he reminded
us about having our notepads, obtaining all basic information, observing due
decorum and the being highly professional while interviewing the
prisoners.
"Hafsat please you'll write
us a report after all these" said Basil, a very genuine gentleman and
leader of the team then silence saturated the bus again.
Two hours into the drive, we
arrived at Lafia Prison. We filed straight into the prison from the bus holding
files like unemployed Nigerian graduates job-hunting only that in our case, we
were neatly adorned in black and white apparel, holding blue files (not white
files or long brown envelopes) and walking the earth in well polished shiny
shoes with NSUK Law Clinic identity cards hanging on our necks.
The reception of the prison had
potholed cemented floors, large portraits of the President, Governor, Minister
of interior and Controller of Prisons hanging on one side of its stained walls
and a naked circuit box sitting inside the wall.
There were three offices outside
and a long corridor by the left that led to the DCP's office; the same
direction he appeared from to address us. "The prison is not a secondary
school, the inmates are good and non-hostile. It is an interesting place to
visit and you'll encounter no problems if you play by our rules". He said
all these smiling at intervals. The other officers present were dressed in
fifty shades of green uniforms and stood like mannequins in black coal shiny
shoes while the DCP addressed us. A notice above the barricade separating
the offices from the prison yard boldly read "PHONES ARE PROHIBITED INSIDE
THE PRISON YARD" so we all dropped our phones and received the Visitors
Cards to hang on our necks then were searched before entering the prison
yard.
It was an entirely different
atmosphere. There were full fleshed trees to aid ventilation in the yard but
the atmosphere still smelled entirely different and even though the prisoners
roamed about freely without handcuffs inside the yard, it didn't feel the same
as freely walking up and down the streets. There were rooms they slept in, a
poorly maintained kitchen, a church and a mosque for prayers. An empty story
building stood quite a distance from where we sat on wooden benches and the
inmates came hovering around us immediately we entered, calling us lawyers in
discreet whispers. Some of them wore uniforms and others did not but they all
looked the same; desperate to leave the yard as the welfare officer rightly
emphasized.
Before the interview began, we
were notified that each team of two clinicians would interview four
inmates to make a total sum of forty inmates at the end of the day. The
guys who wore YARD POLICE uniforms went in to "bring all these people who
no get lawyer, God don catch them today and lawyer don come".
My partner fidgeted. It was
obvious her heart was racing because she sweated around her nose and jaws but
this wasn't my first time of visiting the prison to fight injustice so I knew
better to wear my cloak of superpower if we were going to play the messiah. I
assured her it was easy and everything she needed was on the action sheet then
she released a deep sigh accompanied with a large grin.
Our first client was a young man
of 21, he narrated how he was arrested by police officers for murder and put in
a van on his way to visit his friend with some other guys he didn't know from
Adam. He said they released the other guys in 2016 when they were arrested but
his guardian who lives in Kano has failed to come and he has been transferred
from one prison to another, finally landing in Lafia prison with neither a
legal representation nor a court arraignment since the arrest. It's been 1
year, 7months.
The second client confessed to
being a cultist who gave his life to Christ before he was arrested and charged with
conspiracy and armed robbery; a crime he claimed he didn't commit but only got
involved in the whole mess because the guy who killed his bosom friend over
"the number one position" was also his friend and accused our client
of being in possession of a memory card acquired from a robbery. He begged me
to bring soap the next time I was visiting and showed me a paper titled
Barrister with a phone number beneath then requested that I never relent in
calling "even though the number no dey go since he come here." Mr.
Barrister came just once; he never showed up in court the three times our
client was arraigned and never returned to the prison either. I was moved by
all two stories but the situation demanded professionalism so I kicked emotions
out of the way and promised to do my best with a beaming smile they returned.
We didn't get to interview all
four inmates because they were all sent in at the clashing sound of the heavy
metal hanging on the tree immediately the cloud gathered. The DCP welcomed us
into his office for a brief but very interesting conversation. He told us about
the prison, the behavior of the inmates, activities of the prison and the mode
of operation. Some inmates were students of the Nigerian Open University and
received lessons in the prison. The challenge he lamented the most about was
lawyers asking for too much money and abandoning cases of inmates in court;
most inmates are still in their custody because they lack legal representation
and even if the entire village contributes appearance fees, no lawyers to stand
in for them. Fortunately for the inmates and the prison, more organizations
have come to help and have made frequent donations since the procedures of
visiting became less stringent.
The DCP, Mr. Godwin Ochepa
commended our efforts and appealed that we return to finish what we have
started since we reignited the hope of the inmates to leave there someday and
reunite with their families. In his opinion, the Penal Code favors the men more
than the women and the young female law students must unite and ask for a
review when we become lawyers. He was very hospitable and his rich sense of
humor eased all our tension.
The road home smelled of wet sad
and the wind constantly blew cool breeze on my face. The rainfall must have washed
away every old habit of excuses and now watered the seed of compassion that
lived within to volunteer diligently in this project. The thoughts of what I
experienced at the prison lingered on until the driver pulled over in the
faculty. We were home finally and the second thing I still think about, is
justice necessarily the truth or is it merely a question of procedure?
Reflection from NSUK Law Clinic (By Mbadzedzei Silas, submitted Sunday,10th May 2018 via
whatsapp)
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