My visit to the maximum security Prison.

    My heart was sorrow laden as I listened with keen interest to the confessions of the 20-yrs old high school drop out that stared at me at the face. He narrated his ordeal with such veracity that could pass him for a Roman Catholic Priest.

    I had not visited the Lagos maximum security prison to get acquainted with the relics of the past life's of its inmate, I was there on a we - care note with a team of fellow philanthropist to keep up to my social responsibility of providing to the welfare needs of the inmates during the just concluded festive season.

  After the burgeoning bureaucracy at the gate registry we were allowed into the main prison walls. Although the prison cleaners had done their jobs well they couldn’t completely hide the surrounding fustiness caused by the deteriorating state of the correction facility.

    We gathered some male inmates in the open ground adjourning their barred rooms to have a little talk after we dropped our gift items with their wardens, as I sat perplexed I noticed a young man amidst the hardened criminals, he looked good, well built, fair, tall and handsome, but that was not the case here, he was incarcerated, I took time out to have a one on one discussion with him to find out what left him in his sorry state. Life had been more than wicked to him; he had indeed eaten out of the bitter bread of ill fate. He spoke with good English and narrated how he had lost his mum and dad in a ghastly motor accident after which his little sister had fallen so ill, he had taken her to a hospital cause he was her only help, cause of her ill health he had quit school and engaged in all kind of street-hustling as a means to safe up money for an operation which the doctor had slated to be carried out on her. He had visited his friend house one afternoon when the police raided the house; they discovered Ak-47 rifles plus some life cartridges hidden inside the house. Unknown to him his friend had been taken part in some armed robbery operations. He vehemently made me believe that he never partook in any such activities and him being totally unaware of the rifle being in the house. I believed every bit of it. His sister had passed on some days after his capture, he didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye. He was convicted by a high court of conspiracy and sentenced to 15 yrs imprisonment with hard labor. He had served two years.

    As I listened I tried hard to fight back my tears because I realized anyone could have been in his shoes, he was on the path to greatness like one of us when fate had dealt him a blow whose scars can’t be removed with time. I wondered why life had been unfair, why? Why did he have to pay so hard a price to live a free life? What did he do so wrong before that made him suffer this much? How can I cheat life back to repay it for its unfairness? Why had God destined this for him? As I walked on the murky waters of these rhetorical, my weary faith came to bare.
         
    I braced up and gave him some advices even though deep inside me I knew I had nothing to say. I told him of my readiness to help anytime he needed someone because no one had ever visited him since he arrived the correction facility two yrs back as he told me. I also assured him of helping when he gets out.
 
    Our time was up and as we walked along the rusty iron bars of the rooms on our way out I chided myself into believing this was just a phase in life for the inmates, I didn’t want to get entangled in thoughts.
I stepped on the accelerating pedal of my Mercedes after the gate man had flung it open for me, out of the gate I looked through the rear mirror of the car to visualize when the gates will fling open again and evict my new inmate friend so I could settle him back to life with my humble wealth and in relative sense prove life wrong. For now I remain posted up till then.