Chapter 31
“Baby, I don’t know how to say this but…I have a very strong feeling that David might be dying.”
Alexander stepped on the brake. He picked his phone from the suction cup and placed it on his right ear. He turned the steering wheel towards the left till he parked close to the sidewalk.
“Hello…baby…are you there?”
Alexander rubbed his hand on his face. “Yes, I’m here. I…” he breathed. “It’s just crazy that I was on my way to church to see Pastor Chad when your call came in.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. I’ve been having suspicions about him too, you know, because of the way he has been acting,” he exhaled, remembering how difficult it has been to respect David’s wishes not to see him.
“I could not deal with the anxiety anymore so Pastor Chad and I agreed to meet up and pray about it today,” he gripped the steering wheel. “Death did not cross my mind though.”
Ívíé sighed. “I didn’t mean to give you an unnecessary fright. This was just more than a weird, passing thought. After it hit me, I could not sleep peacefully.”
“I understand. You don’t have to be sorry. I’m glad you took the feeling seriously.”
“I should leave you so you can get there quickly then. I will be praying along here.”
“I hope your sister and her baby are still doing fine.”
“Yeah, they are very well. I’ll be leaving the hospital tomorrow. Please, take care.”
“I will.”
Then her voice softened with longing. “I love you.”
Alexander wore a sad smile. He missed her but in an unprecedented, peculiar way. Since the start of their relationship which was almost two months ago, they were usually around each other — affectionate and loving as usual, but it was often in the presence of troubled loved ones or in the midst of an ever-moving, turbulent life. Affection required an extra bit of intentionality as opposed to a natural outpouring. He missed that afternoon at the beach, where they had just been themselves, in love and relatively at peace, without foreseeing that all of these would happen.
“I love you too, so much.”
When the call ended, he turned on the ignition and steered on to the main lane.
I’m trusting that you will give us ordinary days, Lord.
While he continued driving, his thoughts moved to another direction: the matter at hand. He realized how timely Ívíé’s call had been and felt a sudden assurance. It made him reduce his speed by a few meters. Then he took a few minutes to say a sincere prayer;
“Thank you, God. I know you want to save his life. Thank you. Please, protect David from evil. Frustrate the plans of the wicked over his life. Please, strengthen him and give us also the peace that we need that all will be well. You have been so good to us. Help us to trust you this time too. Amen.”
***
David landed on his back with a loud thud. He could hear people running and shouting, ‘Jesus, have mercy!’, ‘Ye!”, as the collective sound of their feet made the ground shake. He knew they were finding their way back to their cells, where safety was certain. He turned to his side and saw a few men standing a few feet away. Some mouths hung open, calculating what was unfolding before them, while some put their hands on their waist, holding their cutlass in hand. The rugged ones.
Then his heart began to pound wildly. As he breathed through his mouth, a searing ache fired in his compressed chest, as though his body was punishing him for that simple attempt.
That was when he felt it. The burning, throbbing wave of pain from the open wound as hot liquid poured out of it. He forced his chin towards his chest, breathing heavily. As he looked at his uniform, he saw that the area around his abdomen had turned a dark burgundy. As the blood spread down the hem of his shirt, it took on a bright, crimson shade. He rested his head on the ground and stared at the cloudless sky. The ground beneath him was softening like foam.
Why do I feel like sleeping?
“Your sister thinks she can buy my pain with her money!” The voice boomed and raucous laughter followed, forcing David’s eyes open. The laughter died off and his voice became dangerously low. “Because of you, you this bastard, I never saw my daughter. I don’t even know where her corpse is.”
He saw that Zipporah’s father had knelt above him, his eyes flashing with deathly rage. He raised the knife. Its tip dripped insidiously of his own blood. David heard someone scream, ‘Warder o!”. He touched his bleeding stomach and it pounded with his heartbeat. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead to his temples.
I need to move my body. I need to do something.
He pressed his fingers and dug his heels into the sand. His upper back slid along the dirt as he moved backwards. This micro-movement did not leave him without the white-hot throb from his stomach. It pulsed through his entire body, forcing out a groan from him. Zipporah’s father lunged forward and threw a hard fist into David’s stomach.
His ears rang with pain as he cried out. More blood trickled down. Zipporah’s father raised another fist, aiming for his face this time. David brought his hands up and curved it over his face. He tried to push his body backward again.
Then it came, in the twinkle of an eye.
David yelped as blood splashed on his cheek. The skin before his elbow pulsated with fiery pain. He turned the back of his hand to his face and saw the horizontal bloodied line. A piece of his flesh had been angrily ripped off by the knife. His eyes flashed. It was at that moment he realized he was going to die.
Everything he had done from the moment Sindara died was his punishment to himself for being alive. Although he felt death was an easy way out, he did not live his life like someone who had any regard for it. He spent it grooming and controlling young girls with hopes that he could appease Sìndárà. He saw Zipporah’s father raise the knife again, aiming for his thigh this time.
David had once used the tip of a broken Coca-Cola bottle to slash his upper thigh. There was no more fresh space on both of his hands to inflict a new injury. Alexander had walked in while the area bled and yelled. His spirit seemed to have left his body and David felt he was overreacting. It was when the doctor said that a deeper cut could have touched his femoral vein and caused death that he realized that he had taken his self-harming too far.
As he heard the frenzied shouts and humiliating exclamations from the prisoners who were watching, tears slid from the corner of his eyes into his left ear. He trembled for the life he was about to lose.
He thought of Alexander’s wedding with Ívíé, the babies they would carry. He imagined Alexander doting and keeping a watchful, loving eye over his children like he had sacrificially done for him.
He saw the storeroom of Mommy Gbẹ́ngá’s shop in his inner eye. What would happen to the plans he had made to repaint the peeling walls once he saved enough money?
Life was beginning to mean so much to him and it hurt his heart to realize how much he did not want to go. He was starting to see that he could be someone useful — like a responsible uncle to his brother’s children, if the Lord so willed.
He squeezed his eyes shut and gasped in pain.
I can’t go like this.
He opened his eyes and through blurred vision, saw that the other prisoners were still standing there, watching. They seemed enthralled by the death show playing out before them. Were the warders deaf? Where were they? All of these people…they couldn’t be so wicked, right?
“Someone please…” he heard himself murmur faintly. “Please…” he tried to increase the volume of his voice but pain pricked through his body like a thousand needles. “Please help me,” he surrendered in a whisper.
He heard the first gunshot. He flinched. Silence followed. His head pounded in confusion.
He waited for a hot sensation or for the sound of his uniform ripping apart as the bullet tore his skin but there was nothing new. More gunshots followed. It sounded nearer, angrier and more incessant by each passing moment. The ground beneath him thundered with footsteps.
“Everybody lie down on the floor! Right now!” A loud voice echoed.
“If you stand up and you collect bullet, God no go judge us o, we don warn una!” This voice sounded familiar, even more so with its mocking language.
Before David could steal a glance to see what was going on, he felt a strong hand grip his knee, holding him captive. Zipporah’s father loomed over him. The lines of his forehead were now stretched taut in panic. David saw the knife come down.
God, it seems like you have willed this for me.
He closed his eyes, trying to embrace his fated ending.
He forced happy images to play in his mind; that afternoon he spent with Ívíé, the smile on her face when she pulled out the boots he had gotten for her from the gift box, the day Mommy Gbẹ́ngá took him to the library to read physics books, that afternoon he had spent, resting on his mother’s lap as she welcomed him back home, the miraculous event that happened before then — the day God saved him from his demons. He wore a determined smile as he waited for the blade to cut in, for blood to spurt out and for the darkness to snatch him away.
Another gunshot fired.
The grip on his knee loosened. He heard a deep, guttural cry with obscene curses flowing in between.
He opened his eyes and saw that Zipporah’s father was no longer above him. He had rolled off to the side, grabbing his freshly pierced ankle. Then he saw five men in olive green uniforms surrounding Zipporah’s father. Among the five wardens, he recognized Officer Bánkọ́lé, the owner of the mocking voice. On the grassland, the other prisoners were laying flat, as the warders had instructed.
“Drop that knife now or I will shoot you again and you will die this time!” One of the warders shouted the command.
“What do you mean?” Zipporah’s father yelled, wide-eyed. He pointed the knife in David’s direction. “He is the one you should be shooting, that devil! Do you know that it is because of him that my daughter is no more? Do you understand the pains of a father? I never got the chance to care for my daughter. He acted like he cared but she died because of him, that snake! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?” He jerked towards the warders and roared, pouring spittle on their faces.
Officer Bánkọ́lé, as well as the other officers ignored his questions and pinned his shoulders from behind. Another warder carefully wrung out the weapon from his hand while a fat officer crouched over him. Zipporah’s father writhed in protest but was eventually subdued as the warder bounded his wrists in handcuffs. He shrieked however, mumbling incoherent words while tears streamed down his face.
David’s heart ached with an anguish that was far worse than the pain from his severed nerve endings. He clutched his bleeding stomach. God, my sins are many. Please have mercy on me.
Someone tapped his forearm.
“Can you hear me? If you can hear me, please give me a sign.”
He turned to his right. Through dizzy eyes, he saw a man with a surgical mask. Festus.
“I’m glad you can still hear me. Just hang in there.”
***
David saw the prison’s sick bay for the first time. Its rotten, antiseptic smell made his head hurt even more. There were two bed frames by both sides of the wall with plastic covered mattresses. The iron frame of both beds had turned a burnt orange with holes in between the rods. As Festus and Officer Bánkọ́lé transferred him gently on the bed by the right side of the room, he winced.
Festus brought out a bundle of thick blankets — about five of them — from a red bag.
He spoke in a calm and compassionate voice. “I need to fold your knees into a V-shape. Your small intestine is coming out,” he faced the Officer. “Abeg, you go help me carry him leg.”
David’s eyes widened, wondering if the sharp pain he had been feeling was because of his internal organ spilling out. He forced a look at his stomach. This was when he noticed, first, that Festus had taken his blood-soaked shirt off. He was, however, dissatisfied to see a cloth secured right above the wound with Festus’s hands firmly on them. Festus chuckled when he noticed what David had tried to do.
“See as you dey do. I can’t leave your wound out in the open. It’s very dangerous. Just calm down. This will help to relax your stomach muscles and keep the organ inside before I wrap another cloth over it,” he inched closer and handed the blankets over to the guard. “E go pain you small but you be man. Try chest am, you hear? I will also need you to relax your knees.”
David sighed, too weak to give a jocose clapback. He gave a small nod.
Festus nodded to Officer Bánkọ́lé. The warder went on his knees and slid his thick hands under David’s calves. He lifted them at the same time into an upside-down position. David groaned, calling on God’s name. Festus increased the pressure of his hold on David’s stomach. Quickly, Officer Bánkọ́lé placed the rolled bundle of blankets under his knees. The guard slowly removed his hand and allowed his legs to rest on the material.
Festus’ eyes briefly drifted to David’s injured hand. Blood was dripping out of his elbow to the cracked tiles. “Abeg, help me comot another cloth for that bag. Tie it over his elbow.”
Festus continued working on his stomach. He lifted off the blood soaked cloth, revealing a glistening pinkish-gray tube and a yellow clump of fat poking through the tear. In the next split second, he brought out a fresh wet cloth from a bowl on the glass cabinet. As David watched Festus sweat profusely, laboring to save his life, and Officer Bánkọ́lé working to cover up the wound on his arm, he understood why it had taken forever for help to come during the attack. They had prepared everything ahead for him.
And did he deserve such treatment? Especially from this same man he had aggressively slapped a few days ago.
Festus put the wet cloth over his stomach. As he leaned over to place a plastic bag above the moist cloth, David spoke in a whisper, making sure only Festus could hear him.
“I’m really sorry about the other day.”
Festus did not say anything. Because of the mask he always had on, David could not make out his expression either. The only thing he had caught before Festus turned away was a lump moving down his throat. Facing the left side of the room, he pulled out the bedsheet from the other bed. He tore off a large portion of it. He looked at Officer Bánkọ́lé for a moment, then he tilted his head.
“You can go, sir.”
Officer Bánkọ́lé raised a brow. “Go kẹ́? You sure?”
“Yes sir. The thing wey dey my mind, we no go fit do am. The man dey very weak. ”
“Okay o.”
“Abeg, as you dey go, help us get heavy antibiotics like Ampiclox or Cipro,” David could hear the frustration in his voice. Everything he had used to keep his bleeding controlled were improvised materials. “If antibiotics no dey, I go pay for am. E dey very important for this man.”
“Okay sir, I go try my best.”
Festus huffed, the expelled air inflating his mask. He wanted to say something but simply shook his head. After the officer left, he cursed the prison system and the whole of Nigeria.
David wanted to ask why Festus had offered to foot the cost of his care without inquiring first to know if he had any money but every muscle of his body felt impossibly heavy.
Festus resumed working in the silence. He folded the long strip of cloth and slid it under the little space that the curve of David’s back created. He shuffled it around his waist.
“I’m about to tie the cloth over your stomach. Expect pressure but it would be alright. Also, once the bleeding reduces, I’ll stitch your wounds. I’m afraid that we might have to stitch it while you are awake, if we no fit get painkillers.”
David wanted to respond again but his body wouldn’t move. The sharp outline of Festus’s face bled into thin, wavy lines. He felt Festus pull both ends of the cloth. David gasped in a sharp breath. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Festus tied the cloth into a firm knot, his wound securely bandaged.
He stepped back and walked towards the sink. The tap squeezed out a few dry drops. As he scrubbed his bloodied hands with the small bar of ọ̀ṣẹ̀ dúdú, Festus spoke softly.
“I heard the words that man said out on the field. I’m sorry about that.”
David managed to raise a brow. Festus was finally speaking to him like a fellow prisoner. “Why are you sorry? I…did the things…he accused me of…his daughter died because of me.”
The tap stopped completely, leaving Festus with his soapy hands. He looked around for a plastic bucket and saw a small blue one placed right beside the sink. He scooped the water with a bailer and continued washing his hands.
“Regardless of the full story, I believe in you still.”
David scoffed under his breath. Here we go again.
He saw that Festus was just as much a poke-noser as everyone else. The only difference was that he was kinder and sane. If he was not in such a vulnerable position; if this had been a normal day at the field or in their cell room, he would have applauded Festus for his brilliant tactic and told him to go and hug a transformer. Now, however, the story had changed. He could not speak to his lifesaver in such a way.
His mind flashed back to what happened on the field. By now, everyone must have known that he was the guy who didn’t let a father see his daughter’s corpse. He forced his eyes shut. Would it have been better if he had died? Life was about to become more unbearable now. Even if he chose not to divulge the full detail, they would taunt and mock him to no end with the little they had heard.
A sudden darkness engulfed him, rescuing him from the cruelty of his thoughts and the agonizing heaviness of his limbs. The last thing he had heard, though fragmented, was Festus’s shrill voice, screaming his name and shouting for Officer Bánkọ́lé frantically.
***
David did not know that the instantaneous ‘sleep’ he had experienced in the sick bay almost two weeks ago had been a knock on death’s door. Festus had saved his life yet again.
This was not the only strange thing he discovered since the attack. Two days after he regained consciousness, a warder came to the sick bay and told him that he was going to be moved to a VIP cell. When Festus and three other warders carried him into the cell, the first thing he noticed was the ceiling fan. Even more surprising was the fact that it was fully functional. Then he saw that there were bunk beds. He did not have to sit on the floor like he did in cell A5. And that hellish smell of waste, the worst of all, did not exist here.
Get Ojuolape Amusa’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
As he continued to live in the special cell over the days, he noticed that it also had fewer cellmates. Who had paid for this?
His mind initially went to Festus. After all, he had paid for his antibiotics. Then he realized that it could not have been him. If it was him, he would have paid to live in a special cell himself. He was a fellow inmate who also needed to survive. Secondly, Festus knew he used medication but did not know what specific mental illness he was managing. It was only someone who knew his condition and understood that he needed a noiseless and crowdless space that would have provided this for him.
Alexander.
It meant that Alexander knew he had been stabbed but was probably respecting his wishes not to see him. So he showed his concern behind the scenes. David did not know how to feel about that at first. He cursed the officer who told him the news. However, as time passed, he thought it was best that it stayed that way. If Alexander saw him in such an injured and broken state, he would be exceedingly sad. Even worse was the fact that he could nor face him. He had promised Alexander that he wouldn’t have to be his caretaker anymore.
So much for keeping to his promise.
As Festus came in every morning to check his stomach bandage and clean the scabs with warm water and antiseptic, David would always feel his chest tighten. He was getting to know Festus more. He noticed the way he always mixed pidgin with English. He was amused to see that he would rather sound phony and ridiculous than stick to the language he knew better. He was also impressed by his medical and surgical skills and learned that he had schooled at Essex. What was such a well-educated, young man doing in Ikoyi Custodial Centre?
Festus stopped trying to hint at David’s story. He did not even speak of the attack. He kept the conversations casual and talked more about himself. David preferred it that way — he was meant to — but he could not shake away that uncomfortable stir in his heart. It seemed like God was trying to tell him something.
David heard the clatter of keys. He tore his eyes away from his bible and saw Festus waiting beside Officer Bánkọ́lé who was unlocking the bars. When the door swung open, David closed his bible and tucked it beneath his pillow. He nodded a greeting at Festus.
“If you need to finish your bible reading, I fit wait for a few minutes,” Festus placed a black nylon bag on the wooden table beside David’s bed.
“Don’t worry. I was already done anyway,” he smoothed his bedsheet. Then he relaxed. “I was just wondering what Solomon meant when he said that he hated all his hard work because he must leave it to the person who would come after him.”
Festus arched his brow. David gave more information to save him from cluelessness.
“It is from the book of Ecclesiastes.”
“Oh,” Festus’ tone was flat. He brought out two bottles containing Methylated Spirit and Dettol from the bag. “I’ve heard of the book before. When I was in school, I had a few friends who were big on philosophy. They always said that Ecclesiastes has a lot of gems in it despite the bible being so full of contradictions.”
David looked at Festus to see if he agreed with his friends. This time, he was not wearing a mask and yet, his face was still hard to read. The many scars on his cheeks and forehead served as a shield.
“Did you try to find out if they were right or wrong?”
Festus shrugged. “I never had the time. I was always preparing for one exam or the other.”
David curved his mouth to the side. That strange, unexplainable ache beat through his chest again but he exhaled softly and pushed it back. He watched Festus bring out pieces of cotton wool, a razor blade and tweezers. He lined all the materials up by the edge of the bed. David laid flat on the bed and pulled his shirt up. Festus crouched under the steel linings of the top bunk and unwrapped the cloth binder that was secured over David’s stomach. While David stared at the Mouka Foam mattress above him, he asked another question.
“I’ve been curious about something. If you hold this much power, why do the other inmates bully you? You are practically the only doctor we have here. I would have thought they would give you more respect.”
Festus breathed a laugh. “I don’t treat any of them when they fall sick or get an injury. It’s one of the reasons for my scars. They get angry and beat me up because I refuse to help them. Then they are forced to outsource their treatment. I’m not always as nice or shy as you think o. I have some kolomental up there,” he tapped the side of his head with the tip of his finger.
“Is that so?” David laughed, intrigued.
He took a cautious breath as Festus peeled off the inner bandage. Blood and bodily fluids were no longer coming out of his stomach. In its stead was a bumpy, pink scar line held together by a row of knotted threads.
“I will be removing the stitches today. Your skin has dried up.”
Festus opened the bottle of Dettol and poured a little quantity into its lid. He dipped a piece of cotton wool into the liquid and pressed it over the stitch. While he waited for the warmth of the antiseptic to soften the scab on David’s stomach, he continued with the conversation.
“When I was new here — I mean, in my first three years of being here, I was like…” he raised his scarred brow, searching for who to compare himself with. “I was like…Mother Theresa’s clone or something. If someone even had just a minor fall, Festus was the go-to guy. The nurses who were actually employed here to do their damn jobs started taking breaks because I was doing all the work,” he shook his head.
“Many times I would treat these guys and I no go even get a common ‘thank you’. Then the trouble started when they wanted to know about my story and I didn’t want to tell them. I thought they would understand and not interpret it as me being rude or disrespectful. They have enough proof to the contrary but no o, they attacked me. So I told them, thinking they would leave me alone but like I told you before, it got worse. So I decided to do my own back.”
Festus removed the drenched cotton wool from the stitch. “They’ve kind of left me to myself now sha. I don’t know if it’s because they think they can win me back by calming down or because they have a new prey,” Festus’s eyes creased in concern when he said that part.
David shrugged. “Oh well, they’ve not been targeting me for a little while now. It’s all thanks to being here.”
“Yeah. Are your new cellmates better people though?”
“Strangely, yes. They also eat shawarma almost every day.”
Festus’ lips cracked a smile. “Ask the person who paid for you to stay here to buy for you nau.”
“You are speaking as if you don’t know the person. Or you think I don’t know he’s the one who sends the money for all these materials you use to treat me?”
Festus smirked harder. “You won’t sha force me to talk, will you?”
David laughed for a moment then his face began to straighten, with only a small, sad smile left. Though Festus had not meant to be cheeky, he could not help but feel a little sting. After all, he had indeed been secretive. He looked up at the foam again, exhaling and deciding to let the matter be.
“By the way, you have been so kind to me. Why did you wake me up when I fainted that day? You also used your hard-earned money to pay for my antibiotics.”
“I will be cutting the threads now. Expect some pain but it will be okay.”
David sighed. At this point, it had to be on purpose.
Festus placed the tweezers directly above the stitch and used it to pinch the first black knot. He pulled it slightly upward. He used the razor blade to cut the suture thread. Once the thread was severed, he pulled it out. David’s eyes flashed as he sucked in a breath. Festus pacified him. Then he repeated the process loop by loop. When he pulled out all the bloodied threads, he poured Methylated spirit into a fresh piece of cotton wool and dabbed it over the scar. David gasped loudly this time. Festus chose that moment to answer his question.
“I think I have always felt the need to help you ever since you came here. Resonance, maybe? Though I couldn’t just throw myself at your feet because I was not sure of the kind of person you were. Prison go teach you plenty wisdom. So I said, “Let me just keep observing you first.”
David turned to him with rapt attention. Oddly, the hot sting from the spirit got a little bearable.
“It was the day you bought mọ̀ín-mọ̀ín for all of us that I realized that you and I were very alike. You were just trying to survive and you really wanted the prisoners to be like friends to you. Loneliness, yeah? I took your kind gesture seriously and I decided to reciprocate it to the best of my ability.”
“But…why did you come to save me again after I slapped you? Didn’t that show you that I might not have been as kind as you thought?”
“It was obvious you were having an episode nau. It’s not like you intentionally decided to hit me like those idiots do,” he added, laughing. “But the slap was very hot sha.”
Throughout the rest of the procedure, David was silent. He swallowed his antibiotic pills morosely and did not respond to Festus’ goodbye as Officer Bánkọ́lé led him out of the cell. As David stared out at the broken fence peeking out at the window, many things began dawning on him.
He finally knew the reason for the unfamiliar ache he had been suffering all along. God wanted him to talk about his past. The feeling was painful because it required a form of death; a call to forfeit self-preservation.
The evidence was glaring. Festus was the only one who had looked kindly on him in prison. He was also irreligious and he felt like they were similar in many ways. What else was the point of their growing friendship if it wasn’t that God wanted to use him to be a blessing to Festus?
Festus needed light as much as he did.
If he continued to keep to himself, he would never be able to touch his life in the way that God needed him to. David looked at his gray NIV bible and exhaled quietly. God help me.
***
“Ọmọ!”
For the first time, David saw a bold expression on Festus’ face. He lowered his mask. His mouth was slightly open, his eyebrows knitted in a frown, the scars along the hair assembling to look like gloomy raindrops. He was scratching his beard with one hand. He was not concerned about the possibility of the guards growing suspicious about their prolonged conversation. The harrowing story David had shared with him was much more important.
“So…” he cleared his throat. “How is your relationship with your sister-in-law?”
“She’s not married to my brother yet,” David managed a small laugh through the tears that pooled in his eyes. “And my relationship with her improved over time. I hated her at first and I hated my brother for loving her.”
He looked wistfully at the vast grassland, several heaps of elephant grass mounted up. Later on, the inmates from the regular cells would have to clear all of that up. “Many times, I feel like I wouldn’t have gotten better or seen the truth if she didn’t play this type of role in my life. My brother tried to show me the truth for many years but meeting a woman who was affected by my actions did the trick. I didn’t know how bad I needed a mirror. I guess that was the only way God could reach me since words were not working.”
Festus continued looking at David. He dropped his hands to his side. He opened his mouth then closed it after sighing. He raised a hand to scratch the thinning hair on his head. He sighed again.
“Oh God. But…” he tilted his head and pinched his nose. He stroked his mustache again. “But…hm…but…wait…do you know that the penalty for kidnapping under the Lagos State Laws is life imprisonment? Even worse, when the victim dies as a result of the kidnapping, you can get a death sentence. You’ve already spent twenty years living in a condition that’s worse than prison itself. Now that you care to live a more meaningful life, are you okay with spending it like this?”
David clenched his jaw. “Truthfully, no. This was a very difficult decision to make but I was sure that God wanted me to do this.”
Festus swallowed. His eyes wandered to the grassland and breathed out heavily. When he stared at David, there was a crestfallen look on his face. “Hm, I just really hope that this God you trust will do you well.”
David, feeling a sudden drive for an evangelistic defense, wanted to encourage Festus to believe in God’s kindness but Festus moved on to other things.
“Honestly ehn, you be strong man, stronger than you know. And you are not as evil as you think. This does not mean that what you did was not terrible. It was a wicked thing but at the root of it is deep love that was heavily misdirected. You felt like you needed to punish yourself for your sister and for disobeying your mom and nobody was asking you to do that. O boy,” he sighed again.
“I still don’t know what to say or if I’m saying it like it is in my mind,” he pinched the skin between his eyebrows. “I wish you had listened to your brother and didn’t go so far with your actions but there’s no use saying that now. You must have beaten yourself up millions of times,” he shook his head slowly and winced. “I’m so sorry about this. I thought you and I were so similar. I mean, in some ways, yes, but you’ve gone through so much more.”
David raised a brow, forgoing Festus’ previous words. This was much more important. “What do you mean?”
Festus licked his lower lip and hesitated for a moment but he opened up.
“I was charged for medical malpractice. I operated on the wrong part of a baby’s body. It was my first time performing paediatric surgery. I don’t know why. I prepared well beforehand but I still messed up. The baby had a hole in her heart. I patched the wrong blood vessel instead of the hole itself. I didn’t realize my mistake until we placed the baby off the machine and her heart would not pump blood on its own. She died immediately.”
David’s eyes widened.
“Yeah and her parents were powerful enough and had connections in high places to make sure that I ended up in prison.”
“I’m so sorry about this. Did you…have a family, a child…a girlfriend or anything like that?”
Festus looked at the other inmates. Many of them were chatting and arguing with each other while a few others sat on a long slab and played ludo. Then he gazed at the sky and smiled. David noticed how perfectly lined his teeth were.
“I had a very beautiful woman. We were crazy about each other. I was going to propose to her. When the incident happened, she said she would wait for me because she believed that a miracle would happen soon and I would get amnesty. I cried so much because I didn’t want to lose her but she hugged me, kissed me and told me not to lose hope. She tried to keep her promise. In the first two years, she kept calling and visiting as often as she could. Hearing her voice helped me cope with all the attacks,” his bright smile faded into a grim expression.
“Then in the third year, the calls reduced from five days a week to once. Then she would only call once in two months. Then she stopped completely. I tried calling many times but it would always say ‘not available’ or switched off,” he looked at the ground and sighed.
“I can’t fault her though. Life suppose go on, yeah? I have been here for five years now and I still don’t know when I will be called on for trial. She tried her best. Two years…and a half. I doubt I would have waited that long. Anyway, she wouldn’t even marry me if the government decides to release me today. I have become so ugly now,” he chuckled.
“I’m so sorry, Festus.”
“No jor. Don’t be sorry,” He squinted his eyes and then shrugged. “I just coast through life now, I guess. I don’t even know how I have been able to cope so far. I thought the guilt would end me.”
“You are the stronger man here. You didn’t self-harm or lose your mind. Na you get the real superpower o.”
Festus snorted. “Strangely enough, I think I felt a little better while I provided medical care for the inmates, despite how draining that was. I poured my energy into it because, you know, it felt like a second chance. It always felt good to solve their problems.”
David curved his lips to the side. Then he spoke before he could stop himself. “Hm. You don’t think that might be God’s purpose for you while you are here?”
Festus laughed till tears formed in his eyes. “David abeg nau!”
“I’m serious though.”
Festus clutched his stomach as he continued laughing. Then he stopped when he realized that David meant his words. He looked at David with his mouth slightly open. It seemed like he couldn’t believe he had to state the obvious.
“I can’t continue fulfilling that ‘purpose’, not for those demons. It’s not worth it. Abi you no dey hear wetin I dey talk since morning? Besides, isn’t God’s purpose for people to know him? I can’t make anyone know God.”
David pressed his lips and swallowed his words. He would bring up the topic on another day, when he was sure of how to deliver his message. On the other hand, Festus was not quite done yet. He was frowning even.
“Some of the folks in this place are fighting demons in real time though. I see through the mask sometimes and I am tempted to feel compassion for them. Then I remember that they disfigured my face and I keep my guard up,” he moved closer to David and spoke in a lower tone.
“There’s a man here, I think he’s suicidal. I’ve not seen him in the middle of an attempt though but he always has a faraway look in his eyes. He walks very slowly too. In my college years, I took a course on mental health for a semester and we learned about all the possible signs,” he moved away.
“I don’t like the man though because he has joined other prisoners to beat me up before. Then again, even on that day, I noticed he did not exert much energy like the others. He would stare into space sometimes. It even seems like the other inmates forced him to attack me.”
David gave Festus a long look. After a while, he averted his gaze from him and watched an army of ants marching along the ground. He wondered why Festus had told him that. Did he feel convinced by what he had said about purpose and was trying to prove his point by sharing a real scenario?
“Hm.”
“Yeah. What about you though? Have you found your purpose for being here?”
Suddenly, David no longer felt sure of what it was. Did God want to use him for Festus, the suicidal man, both or none of them? Was his purpose even to impact anybody’s life with his story or had he just created the mission because of loneliness?
He looked at Festus and shook his head. “No, I don’t know.”
Festus said his usual catchphrase with a small nod. “Don’t worry, I believe in you.”
***
David was getting off the bench like the other inmates when someone tapped his hand.
The church service had just finished. Sundays were the only days that felt meaningful. Even though the sermons were full of false promises for prosperity, David was still thankful to be there. The praise and worship sessions often uplifted his soul and helped him gaze on God. On a few occasions, while he sat in the quiet of his new cell, he would imagine himself creating a small fellowship. Two people or three perhaps. If he could start with a few people and show them what the gospel really was, then perhaps, others would come to know the truth as well.
He dismissed the thought every time it came. He was a new convert himself, burning with too much zeal. Besides, ever since that conversation with Festus, he decided to take a step back. He left the lives of both Festus and the suicidal man into the hands of God. ‘If it is your plan for me to impact these people’s lives with the gospel through my story, please show me proof otherwise, I won’t do anything inappropriate,’ he had prayed.
He turned back and saw a man with a head full of gray hair. His eyebrows and lips pulled downward under the weight of sadness. David could see his reflection in the man’s irises. Yet, he could tell the man was looking at him but not seeing him. That vacant expression.
It had been almost one week since the discussion with Festus and this was the first time David was seeing the suicidal man.
His heart raced. Slowly, he settled back on the bench. Why did this man stop him? Was he calling his attention to an item he might have left on the floor? He looked at the ground but there was nothing.
“Sir, is there any way I can help you?”
The man looked away. His eyes were now on the plastic rectangular table in the center of the cell which had a white cloth draped over it. David watched him stare at the prison’s makeshift pulpit and could tell again that he was seeing something else.
The man’s shoulders slumped in a deep sigh. He looked at David. This time, there was color in his eyes. David was the object of his attention.
“Mr. Dàdá, how can I overcome guilt?”
