ADSactly Short Story - Getting Behind Bars

Dear Kehinde,

Congratulations on your successful interview. We are happy to offer you a position as a Cash Officer in Bullrun Bank.

In line with the recruitment process, make yourself available on Monday, 19th October, for a visit to the Kirikiri Maximum Security Prison.

Regards,

Olu George

For HR Bullrun Bank

He looked at the SMS with euphoria tinged with a little bit of apprehension. He had made it! The four years of constant applications, rejections, heartbreaks, brokenness was over. This was it! Maxwell was right again, just like always. His good friend who seems to know just about anything on earth had told him that banks these days take new intakes to a visit to prisons to act as a deterrent to crime. According to Maxwell, "If you can see what awaits you when you embezzle a customer's fund first hand, you'd be a fool to want to do it!"

Kehinde had never committed any crime in his life before unless you will count the few times as a child that he had tiptoed into the kitchen to help himself with meat which the stingy stepmother always exclusively reserved for her children. Going to prison is something that he had never done. He had heard horror stories from his crooked uncle who seemed to have spent the best part of his young adult life there.

On the morning of 19th October, Kehinde wore his best suit, polished the shoe he borrowed from Maxwell and was at the headquarters of Bullrun Bank by 5.40AM. He arrived so early that the security at the gate refused him entrance, "Oga, Boss, you will have to wait till 7 AM, I cannot allow you into the banking premises since you are not officially our worker yet." What the security said made sense, he was ok to wait in the security office until its time for him to go in.

Time flew by, and moments later he was ushered into a hall. One hour later, the room was a bustle of activities. They were about fifteen other new guys that were there for the concluding stage of their recruitment.

"Hello, congratulations to everyone here." A man in an oversized rumpled suit wearing a crooked red tie addressed the group. "You are all welcome to Bullrun Bank, today we will take a moment to visit the prison. You already must have heard the saying, you do the crime, you do time. Today, we will see the people doing that time." He laughed. The recruits did not see what was funny about that but joined him out of politeness.

He continued, "There is no need for long lectures. Our chariot awaits outside. Let's go." And with that, he headed out of the hall with the employees in tow.

They silently filed into the air-conditioned forty-seater bus with the BullRun name and logo in crimson, a stark contrast to the white which was the bus' colour. The ride to the prison was a pleasant one. There was a lively discussion amongst the new intakes. But as they approached the prison, the conversation died down. Even the roads got bumpier than the already untarred patch of the way they had driven on the last twenty minutes. Then the bus came to a halt, two prison guards with AK-47 approached the vehicle with their fingers on the trigger, "Can we have your order for visitation?" One of the guards barked at the driver. The driver wordlessly handed it over. One of the guards suspiciously glanced over the document while the other one circles the buses looking in at the faces and peering suspiciously inside the van. Kehinde thought those two guards were the most suspicious set of humans he had ever come across.

Satisfied with what they saw, one of the guards said, "Remember, no phones are allowed inside the prison premises, surrender your phone at the second gate. Also, a word of advice, do not believe anything an inmate tells you."
The other guard chirps in, "They are all innocent." And they both laughed.

With that, they raised the barricade and waved them through. In the second gate, another set of guards came out, one of them held out an empty carton.

She was so fat her neck almost disappeared into the massive flesh. "That's it boys and girls, hand over your phones and cameras. This is not a Christmas gettogether. If you want your photo taken, kindly murder someone, and we will gladly take lots of photos of you." She was walking around the bus collecting everyone's phone. When she's satisfied that all phones were turned in, she made a sign and about three prison warders in dirty grey uniform stepped forward.

"Ok, now you guys can have a wonderful time. Remember we are always open and in dire need of criminals. Follow the boys in grey and enjoy your day."

Kehinde was the first to come down. He surveyed the environment. Not as bad as the uncle had painted it. He followed the orderlies past the game. A heavy iron door swung open after the third gate, and that was when the smell hit him.

"What was that?" He asked the orderly closest to him.

"Oh that, our water supply stopped last two days. The toilets have not being flushed. No worries, they are presently working on the water pump, and in two days it'd be up and running." His flippant reply did not go down so well with Kehinde. It means the prisoners will have to stay inside this smelling hell for the next two days.

Swiftly they entered a big building, each room facing the hall had about 40 prisoners in it. These rooms should not contain more than four people. The prisoners were unruly and uncouth. Some of the males were making obscene gestures to the ladies amongst the recruits. It was disgusting. Everywhere smelt so bad, it was like a poorly maintained poultry farm. This was hell. Kehinde seemed about to throw up. The guard who noticed his discomfiture said, "Don't throw up boy, you'd get used to it. It is not as bad as it looks." But it was as bad as it looks.

"This is the general population, these men here are for crimes ranging from petty burglary, disturbance of the peace, etc. None of the men here has a sentence of more than ten years." Kehinde could not imagine staying in the environment for more than a day. Ten years must have been an eternity for whosoever was unfortunate enough to be imprisoned here.

They were at least more than a thousand people in the hall alone. A sign on the entrance noted the capacity of the building to be 200. That meant that they had exceeded the capacity by five times and no one seemed to have cared.

He saw one man in a room alone, he appeared to be wounded and in need of medical attention. He asked the guard the problem, "Oh him. He's always getting into fights with other inmates over claims that he is innocent. He nearly got killed the last time he got into a fight. The prison governor decided to keep him in solitary confinement to avoid another death. We already have two deaths this week. We do not want to have a third. That's bad for business when people keep dying in your prison."

Bad for business? Kehinde almost slapped the guard.

"Can I at least talk to him?"

"Yes, you can. But do not give him anything. Not even a paper and never believe whatever he tells you as it is obviously a lie."

Kehinde strolled to the cell and stopped at the thick iron bars that separated him from the prisoner.

"Hello, I heard you got into a fight? What could it be about?"

The prisoner ignored him. Kehinde stood there a while surveying him. He appeared emaciated. His wounds are healing, but he still seemed far from ok. He wondered what his story was. As he made to step back, given the silent treatment, the man spoke.

"My name is Igala, and I'm innocent. I know no one believes me. But I am innocent." Well, Kehinde has already been warned not to believe anything they say. But the man's demeanour and voice rings of truth. Kehinde hesitated, then faced him.

"If you are as innocent as you say, how did you end up here?"

"It is a long story, but I will make it short. Four years ago I was a bus driver plying Mile 2, Oshodi Road. I was not making much money as the bus I was driving was always faulty and the N15, 000 a day remission I was making to the owner made me go home with nothing at the end of the day. One day, I met a man, his name is Ojara. Ojara is into hire-purchase leasing of motorcycles. We agreed on a contract of N200, 000 total for the motorcycle. But I'd be remitting N1000 every day or N6000 per week. So, when my bus broke down, I started riding the motorcycle and was making payment on time. A childhood friend of mine returned from the USA and saw me riding a motorcycle. He asked if I'd be interested in operating a bus he came back with. The bus was new, and I took up his offer. " He paused to swatch a fly that was buzzing near one of his many injuries.

Kehinde used that opportunity to ask him a question," So, you returned the motorcycle to its owner? "

"No, I didn't. I wanted to pay off the N200, 000 agreement for the motorcycle and own it outright. What I did was get a security man, Zobo, that works where I rented an apartment to ride it. He brought his brother as a surety, and a deal was done. I was now paying the 6,000 in two days now. Zobo now pays me that N1, 000 every day and I add the money I made driving the bus to make up that N6, 000 in two days. Trouble started when Zobo disappeared with the motorcycle. That same week of disappearance was when I had an accident with the bus. My friend was annoyed when he found out the cost of repairing the bus was N500, 000. He told me to go. He will repair his bus and get a better driver. The owner of the motorcycle arrested me after a week of non-payment and requested for his motorcycle. In the police station, I told them what happened. They arrested the man that acted as guarantor for Zobo. The man rallied round and paid Ojara N100, 000. Ojara wanted his whole N200, 000 paid, but he released the guarantor and asked me to pay the remaining amount which came to about N88,000 in all. I could not. He took me to court. When I was asked if I was guilty of the theft of Ojara's motorcycle I answered yes."

"What? Why did you that?" Kehinde shouted without meaning to.

"I didn't know the answer will put me in trouble. I thought that was the right thing to say. Surprisingly, the judge gave me a prison sentence of six years. I have been here for the last three years. I've got no one to help me. No family, no money. People here keep accusing me of being a criminal. Can you help me, sir?"

As Kehinde opened his mouth to reply he was disrupted by the guard, "That's it, boy, the conversation is over. Let's head over to where the murderers are kept, and from there we can call it a day."

"I'd be right back," was the only thing Kehinde muttered as he followed the guard out.

On their way back to the bank, the last sentence from Igala haunted Kehinde. "Can you help me, sir?"

Can he? He does not have an answer to that question, yet.

Authored by @greenrun

Click on the coin to join our Discord Chat

---

Vote @adsactly-witness for Steem witness!
Witness proposal is here:

Witness Proposal
Witness Proposal Update

Go To Steem Witness Page
In the bottom of the page type: adsactly-witness and press vote.

Use small letters and no "@" sign. Or, click here to vote directly!
Thank you!

---