Bro, you see crime, stay away from it. Stay away from crime! Run from anything that will make you spend a night in a Nigerian Prison. I know what I am talking about. Nigeria Prisons are neither meant for humans nor for rehabilitation of criminals.
You all know how I was arrested by the Police for trying to scam those who scammed me. I thought I was doing the right thing, but (as usual) the police thought otherwise. All the money I made was confiscated and labelled exhibit, including the fifty naira I had reserved for bus fare.

Subsequently, I was thrown into Kirikiri Maximum Prison, Apapa, pending my meeting the bail conditions.
My first night at Kirikiri was not a laughing matter. That night, a hefty warder held me like Satan and led me to hell. As the gates were thrown open, I walked in and the gate closed behind. It was dark. So dark I couldn’t see my hand stretched out in front of me. Apparently, there was no power supply. That was understandable because even law abiding citizens did not have power supply let alone hardened criminals. But the fact was that, not all who were in the prison were criminals, and not all who walked the street were law abiding. I am sure many honourable senators know what I am talking about.

As I walked into the cell, I felt as though I was stepping on Mouka foam. A smile spread across my face. The prison was more comfortable than I had thought. I hadn’t taken more than five steps when the foam stirred like a python; I lost balance and staggered on the “cushioned stirring floor.” The room came alive instantly, and from nowhere, I felt a draft of hot slap narrowly miss my cheek. But that was as far as my luck went.
Grappling with the thick darkness, I felt something that felt like a branch of thick bamboo hit my left thigh. I reeled forward like a drum rolling down a steep heel, then landed squarely into the arms of a macho man I would later know as Double Cross. By now, my eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness, and it occurred to me that what I had thought to be Mouka foam were actually prisoners lying on the bare floor.
Double Cross pushed me forward so that I was at arm’s length; then, he punched my cheek-bone with a slap that illuminated the whole prison. For an instant, I saw the prison for what it was.

Dazed, I staggered like a drunk and fell into the arms of another demon and felt a sizeable punch hit me below my heart. Another man caught me as I fell; I quickly tried to wriggle out, but he kicked me so hard that I felt for a moment that I was going to suffer a major paralysis.
The whole cell came alive as several inmates turned to the nearest person to vent their anger. I sat in a corner to regain full consciousness. Then when I was fairly stable, I grabbed a hard object I felt on the floor and stood up to strike a massive figure that stood like a shadow before me. The cell was dark, so no one would know who struck who. That was my plan, but as usual, my plans always backfired. For as I pushed my arm backward to strike the figure a death blow, the bulbs came on and the whole cell was illuminated like daylight. Double Cross stood before me grinning.
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Divepen1:
I'm not the organiser. I'm even thinking of competing so that if I win I'll give part of it to the winners of Seun Osewa Battle and even do a little something for the judges...

Hi check out my story
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More episodes coming soon. Lemme go and brush my teeth, I ate garlic last night. Please drop comments, tag your friends, visit my blog, I have completely redesigned it. Tag the Mods.

Abeg no vex, I dey come!

Episode 10: BODY BAG

“Uduak is dead!” I announced.
The cell went into an uproar, some weak hearted ones started banging the gate, and soon it was as though the roof would cave in. Scarface sprung suddenly from his corner and I knew then that I would soon join my dead friend, Uduak. I wanted to give in and let him hit me as he liked, but then I thought of the sweetness of Nkwobi and a bottle of palmwine. It dawned on me that there was a lot to live and fight for. I quickly ran to the toilet and hid by the overfilled WC. That shit smelled like shit man, but I have seen worse.

The toilet was dark, but I sensed Scarface’s approaching footsteps. I heard a warder scream for the inmates to keep quiet. They screamed even louder. After a while, I heard the voices of more warders. Then the gate opened.
“Everybody out. Everybody out to Cell 13B.” The warders screamed.
I heard rushing footsteps; then everywhere was quiet; even Scarface was gone, but I couldn’t move. I was too afraid. Then I heard the voice of Doctor Mathew.

“Give me the body bag” he said. “The old man is gone.” There was silence, and then I heard them lock the zip of the bag. Everywhere was quite. They must have gone to set up the ambulance I thought. I quickly tiptoed out to join my mates in cell 13b, but I had scarcely taken a few steps when a thought occurred to me. It was in fact a flash back from a film I had seen some years ago. The Count of Monte Cristo it was called.

I stepped out and unzipped the body bag. I dragged Uduak’s remains to the remotest part of the toilet. I quickly ran back to the cell and jumped into the body bag. As best as I could, I zipped the bag.

Whoever tailored that bag did not anticipate that someone alive might use it someday. The bag was so airtight I could hardly breathe. If I hadn’t torn a tiny hole in the bottom part with my teeth, I would have suffocated.

15 minutes or more went by. I heard the approaching steps of the clinic staff, perhaps.

“We will drive it to Apapa Mortuary, then we will try and contact his family to come and claim him.” A voice said.

“Ok sir” another replied.

“Unzip the bag, let us be sure” the first voice said.

My heart froze as I felt a man grip the zip to drag it downwards.

Episode 9: THE GREY HAIRED MAN
The grey haired man caught his arm from behind and twisted it behind. In one fluid movement, Scarface was sprawled on the floor. Grey hair walked over him and sat in his corner without saying a word.

Two months passed slowly. I was still locked up. I had heard from neither Biggie my friend from day one, nor from Sarah, my ex.
I had become quite friendly with Grey Hair. One night, I sat close to him while he told me his story. He had two days to the expiration of his prison time, but he was not happy. He was severely sick and I doubted if he was going to make it. He had done a lot for me within the past two months I stayed in the prison, so I felt obliged to help him. But there wasn’t much I could do except to listen to his stories.

His name was Uduak Ekpeyong, and he had lived a very reckless life in his youth. At one time, he was sergeant in the army, but he went rogue and ran an underground gun running cartel. He did assassination as a part time job. He had a daughter. Ella was her name. It was the thought of Ella that kept him alive. She was the only family he could remember, his wife having left him some years after Ella was born. He dipped his hand in his pocket and gave me a picture of his daughter.

I have seen many girls in my life time. I have seen fair Fulani nomad girls, who were as dainty as cattle egrets; I have seen Akwa Ibom girls who were as thick as crude oil; I have seen Owerri girls, whose complexion was like the tender skin of young palm fruits, and the hardworking Ibadan girls who knocked on elevator doors. I have seen Roman Goddess, who walked with two tanks on her chest and the globe on her backside. I have seen Bobrisky who was born a black boy but now a white woman! I have seen them all, but I haven’t seen any girl as pretty as [url=https://i2.wp.com/www.madman.com.ng/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/ELLA.jpg?resize=290%2C420&ssl=1]Ella[/url].

She was in her late twenties. You see, if that girl were a car, she’d be Rolls Royce. She was classy like that.
Contrary to what I had thought, Uduak was 55 years old. But having spent 25 years in prison, he could pass for an octogenarian.
He was feared in the cell, but he never bothered anyone, and he expected not to be bothered. But once in a while, a mate stepped on his toes and he had to teach him respect.

He had two days to stay in the prison he said. But he feared he wouldn’t make it alive for he was awfully sick.
I fed him the next day, and helped him to the loo.

The last day of his stay brought some smiles on his face. He made efforts to look good and was able to say a few words. He waited for the gate to be thrown open, but it stayed locked. I tried to cheer him up, but he sat there in the corner, dejected, silent and motionless. By twilight he was dead.

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Episode 8: SCARFACE HAS NO CHILL

I froze like the statue of liberty, with my hand raised. Double Cross leaped forward towards me, like a bull; I said a brief prayer and slumped on the floor. In the morning, I felt as though a Mack Truck had run over me. I looked around me and was confounded to discover that there were more than 30 inmates in the 15 by 15 feet cell.

Sorely pressed, I looked around for a place to urinate. There was a tiny door that led to a darkroom. From the stench oozing from room, I needed no one to tell me it was the shit house. I stood up and walked towards it, making sure not to step on the still sleeping cellmates.
Hardly had I taken a few steps when Double Cross stood up like he had been having a nightmare and heaved his muscular frame towards me. His eyes were bloodshot. Apparently, he still nursed feelings of revenge against me for attempting to hit him. As he narrowed the distance between us, my leg buckled, and I felt urine drip down my skinny legs.

A grey haired man sprung up and positioned himself between Double Cross and me. The man looked like he was eighty but he moved with the agility of a 40 year old boxer.

“Enough DC. Day never break!”

As he spoke, Double Cross turned back and lay among the heap of sleeping inmates like a remorseful schoolboy.
Early in the afternoon of that day, we took a breakfast of hardboiled beans and bread. When I was done eating, I was more than convinced that the person who cooked the beans was in the wrong profession. The cook will do better hurling stones at a quarry. The beans and bread were so sandy that till today, my teeth shiver when I see a plate of beans and bread.

In the evening, we were served 2 pieces of yam. No sooner had I begun eating than a tall wiry cell mate stood up and walked towards me. He had a scar that ran from his chin to his jaw like a sickle. His eyes were bulging like they had been fixed by an inexperienced auto mechanic, and his lips were like the bumper of a saloon car that had had a misunderstanding with a tanker.
“I will have your yam” he said. I didn’t waste time. I quickly handed over the yam to him. He devoured it like a hyena and fixed his gaze on another cellmate’s plate.

That night felt like hell, like I was surrounded by monsters. Mosquitoes were hovering over me like I had taken something of theirs, and beneath me, bugs were boring holes into my skin. Once or twice a rat bumped into the room and crawled over the inmates. Hunger gnawed at the walls of my stomach like a screw being driven into wood. An inmate let out a fart that smelled like a septic tank to complete my misery. Brother, those hours were the worst hours of my life.

In the morning of the next day, I looked forward to breakfast. Around 11 A.M. we were served bread and tea. I quickly began to eat. The scar faced man stood up like he had done before and walked towards me. It occurred to me that if I didn’t find a way to rescue myself from Mr. Scarface, I would die of starvation. So I started stuffing the bread into my mouth.
He hurried towards me and kicked me. The bread flew from my mouth and fell on a puddle of urine. Seven or more inmates rushed for it. Scar face wasn’t done with me yet.

He pulled me up by the collar and stretched his arms to hit me. “You are dead” he muttered under his breath.

READ THE PREVIOUS STORY HERE

Prologue
When I started the Madman's series, I didn't anticipate I would receive so much applause and support. All I wanted to do was to make people laugh while also critiquing the foibles of the Nigerian society. But the story seems to have resonated well with many readers. Since the last episode was released, readers have been calling and commenting for me to release more sequels. Encouraged by these comments and the rejuvenation Divepen1 and other mods have brought to the literature section, I have tried my best to find time between my grueling 9 - 5 to squeeze in a word or two here and there. For those who are just reading the series for the first time, it is important to read the prequels to this one so as to develop a connection with the hilarious story line and ridiculous characters. You can follow this thread for subsequent updates. I hope you learn and laugh from this story, but remember, If the story of the madman doesn't make you laugh, send me your address; I will send you a pack of Pizza! Let's do this!

Episode 7: DOUBLECROSS PLOTS TO KILL ME

Bro, you see crime, stay away from it. Stay away from crime! Run from anything that will make you spend a night in a Nigerian Prison. I know what I am talking about. Nigeria Prisons are neither meant for humans nor for rehabilitation of criminals.
You all know how I was arrested by the Police for trying to scam those who scammed me. I thought I was doing the right thing, but (as usual) the police thought otherwise. All the money I made was confiscated and labelled exhibit, including the fifty naira I had reserved for bus fare.

Subsequently, I was thrown into Kirikiri Maximum Prison, Apapa, pending my meeting the bail conditions.
My first night at Kirikiri was not a laughing matter. That night, a hefty warder held me like Satan and led me to hell. As the gates were thrown open, I walked in and the gate closed behind. It was dark. So dark I couldn’t see my hand stretched out in front of me. Apparently, there was no power supply. That was understandable because even law abiding citizens did not have power supply let alone hardened criminals. But the fact was that, not all who were in the prison were criminals, and not all who walked the street were law abiding. I am sure many honourable senators know what I am talking about.

As I walked into the cell, I felt as though I was stepping on Mouka foam. A smile spread across my face. The prison was more comfortable than I had thought. I hadn’t taken more than five steps when the foam stirred like a python; I lost balance and staggered on the “cushioned stirring floor.” The room came alive instantly, and from nowhere, I felt a draft of hot slap narrowly miss my cheek. But that was as far as my luck went.
Grappling with the thick darkness, I felt something that felt like a branch of thick bamboo hit my left thigh. I reeled forward like a drum rolling down a steep heel, then landed squarely into the arms of a macho man I would later know as Double Cross. By now, my eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness, and it occurred to me that what I had thought to be Mouka foam were actually prisoners lying on the bare floor.
Double Cross pushed me forward so that I was at arm’s length; then, he punched my cheek-bone with a slap that illuminated the whole prison. For an instant, I saw the prison for what it was.

Dazed, I staggered like a drunk and fell into the arms of another demon and felt a sizeable punch hit me below my heart. Another man caught me as I fell; I quickly tried to wriggle out, but he kicked me so hard that I felt for a moment that I was going to suffer a major paralysis.
The whole cell came alive as several inmates turned to the nearest person to vent their anger. I sat in a corner to regain full consciousness. Then when I was fairly stable, I grabbed a hard object I felt on the floor and stood up to strike a massive figure that stood like a shadow before me. The cell was dark, so no one would know who struck who. That was my plan, but as usual, my plans always backfired. For as I pushed my arm backward to strike the figure a death blow, the bulbs came on and the whole cell was illuminated like daylight. Double Cross stood before me grinning.

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