₦airaland Forum

InvestSmart:
Wow! What a story? Sorry about all you went through. I have some questions and advice for you.

1. After you were released from the prison, did you eventually find out about the man that gave you the work to carry the gate for him. Did he do it deliberately to implicate you (I doubt though, because you mentioned that he's your customer? How did he disappear? Did you try to go get it all settled with the market authority naming the man?

2. That man, the Judge is a very good person (an Angel) that took special interest in your case...
Based on experience, he could sense your innocence from your narration of the entire events in the court room. NEVER EVER FORGET HIM AND HIS FAMILY IN YOUR LIFE.
(a)He took his time out of his very busy schedule as a judge to visit you in prison
(b) He advised you on what you can do to be free on time despite not having a lawyer, else you could have wasted in jail for10, 15, 30, or 40 years without concluding your case just as many innocent people have experienced in Nigerian prisons
(c) He gave you the first opportunity to discover a hidden talent in you... He encouraged you to try it even when you never ever thought it was possible for you, because you had hitherto never touched a PC
(d) He still gave you stipends daily for doing the tasks, no matter how small
(e) And at the end of the 30 days community service you did, he packaged a special gift (₦30,000 for you in an envelope
(f) He didn't stop at the bulk money he gave you, he gave you direction like a mentor will do guiding you on how to run the adverts for the Winter jackets using the writing skills you've just learnt within those 30 days that has made you the SalesLourd brand that you are today
(g) Lastly, I want to believe that he must have also prayed for you (though you didn't mention that part) for you to have been recording mega sales and revenue/profit since the very next day and consistently up till date

3. Don't forget your other cell mates that you met in the prison (especially those that you are convinced are innocent of their accusations, and those who are now truly repentant). Find a way to reach out to them and if it's possible to set up a foundation or NGO getting supports of legal advisers and influential people to push for their legal/proper release or work out technicalities to free them on time (just as the judge advised in your case) instead of them continuing to rot in jail, to save their talent from waste so they can use those talents (as you've attested to after seeing for yourself in the prison) for the betterment of the society and for their own personal gains too,

4. This may not be compulsory, but if you feel it's a calling from God to start a ministry to liberate more people from both physical prison and spiritual prison, you can use that to serve your God Almighty that brought you out of this difficult situation.

Thanks so much @InvestSmart for your care and advice.

I didn’t look for the man who gave me the work I’ve forgiven him and moved on. The Judge is a true blessing and I stay in touch with him privately. I’m supporting my old cell mates in ways I’m keeping quiet for now, taking it slow and only doing what I can follow through on. No big promises, just real help where it counts.

Thanks again

CodeTemplar:
Help me carry this old one away I’ll follow you I said yes he’d never let me down before.

The gate was heavy iron real work to carry. I was sweating, focused on not dropping it, when someone tapped me from behind. I turned, annoyed and the next thing I heard was ‘YOU’RE TAKING THIS WHERE?!’ I spun around to point at the man who hired me but he was GONE. Vanished into thin air.
The man should be at the front leading you. If he is the one directing you from the back, his voice should be so clear n audible that you shoulsnt have lost track of him.

He was in front. My job was assist him get to the bus stop like most times

iwaeda:
Thank God it was just 20 days, I know people awaiting trials for more than 5 years for an offense they didn't commit. Forgive everyone.

So true 🙂

But then It my interest you to know that some inmate don't want to leave 🙂

Yes...


Some got in poor became rich
So are safer in prison than out of it


One reason was even funny

He was enjoying the attention and care from family 😅

Elzazzi:
Thank goodness you were vindicated and helped. Many were not fortunate as you. But again the whole story look somehow made up. Are you trying to advertise your clothes ? What’s are you social media handles ?

Lol I laugh when I get this kind of response but then again I understand.

The story I just shared is my personal experience I've been ashamed to share for years now.

This is not my first front page post 🙂

Yes it tells about my business but then that's what gave this experience a happy after.

Saleslourd:
Lol I laugh when I get this kind of response but then again I understand.

The story I just shared is my personal experience I've been ashamed to share for years now.

This is not my first front page post 😌

Yes it tells about my business but then that's what gave this experience a happy after.

Anyway thank God for your life. Others weren’t that lucky.

Saleslourd:
Took them just now at the time of this post.

That's me

My humble self

I'm comparing the two photos. Could be same person. But why have an older guy on your profile? Don't you know this photo will bring you more sympathy and more luck? Do you think the judge would have helped you if you looked like that your profile photo?
BTW why are you reluctant to share the judge's name so people can commend him? Unless you sensed ulterior motive from him

Saleslourd:
So true 🙂

But then It my interest you to know that some inmate don't want to leave 🙂

Yes...


Some got in poor became rich
So are safer in prison than out of it


One reason was even funny

He was enjoying the attention and care from family 😅

Got into prison poor, became rich in prison. How?

Saleslourd:
Lol I laugh when I get this kind of response but then again I understand.

The story I just shared is my personal experience I've been ashamed to share for years now.

This is not my first front page post 🙂

Yes it tells about my business but then that's what gave this experience a happy after.

BTW whatabouts are the price range of your wnter clothes? Very strange selling winter clothes in HOT Nigeria. People really buy them? Why would anyone buy winter clothes in Nigeria??

QuinQ:
Got into prison poor, became rich in prison. How?

Just like the outside world

In prison buying and selling is allowed.

good and bad ....!

QuinQ:
BTW whatabouts are the price range of your wnter clothes? Very strange selling winter clothes in HOT Nigeria. People really buy them? Why would anyone buy winter clothes in Nigeria??

Haaaa 😅

I'm a writer with don't forget...!

Result speak for me

But again don't forget the rate of people japaing hasn't reduced....!

Saleslourd:
Just like the outside world

In prison buying and selling is allowed.

good and bad ....!

But it is usually people already wealthy outside - like drug kingpins. If u go in poor you may become a local champion in jail, but never really rich

Saleslourd:
Haaaa 😅

I'm a writer with don't forget...!

Result speak for me

But again don't forget the rate of people japaing hasn't reduced....!

To me I don't think it is a good business model - like trying to sell Nigerian clothes in Europe to Europeans planning to travel to Nigeria!
Unless you sell them very cheap

Saleslourd:
Haaaa 😅

I'm a writer with don't forget...!

Result speak for me

But again don't forget the rate of people japaing hasn't reduced....!

I could actually be relocating soon. Just want to know what kind of prices you have compared to there

Saleslourd:
Just like the outside world

In prison buying and selling is allowed.

good and bad ....!

What u think of this thread:
https://www.nairaland.com/8620319/lagos-16c-horror-experience/3#138511712

CodeTemplar:
Help me carry this old one away I’ll follow you I said yes he’d never let me down before.

The gate was heavy iron real work to carry. I was sweating, focused on not dropping it, when someone tapped me from behind. I turned, annoyed and the next thing I heard was ‘YOU’RE TAKING THIS WHERE?!’ I spun around to point at the man who hired me but he was GONE. Vanished into thin air.
The man should be at the front leading you. If he is the one directing you from the back, his voice should be so clear n audible that you shoulsnt have lost track of him.

It's just fiction.

Elzazzi:
Anyway thank God for your life. Others weren’t that lucky.

I would never take it for granted,. Never

InvestSmart:
Wow! What a story? Sorry about all you went through. I have some questions and advice for you.

1. After you were released from the prison, did you eventually find out about the man that gave you the work to carry the gate for him. Did he do it deliberately to implicate you (I doubt though, because you mentioned that he's your customer? How did he disappear? Did you try to go get it all settled with the market authority naming the man?

2. That man, the Judge is a very good person (an Angel) that took special interest in your case...
Based on experience, he could sense your innocence from your narration of the entire events in the court room. NEVER EVER FORGET HIM AND HIS FAMILY IN YOUR LIFE.
(a)He took his time out of his very busy schedule as a judge to visit you in prison
(b) He advised you on what you can do to be free on time despite not having a lawyer, else you could have wasted in jail for10, 15, 30, or 40 years without concluding your case just as many innocent people have experienced in Nigerian prisons
(c) He gave you the first opportunity to discover a hidden talent in you... He encouraged you to try it even when you never ever thought it was possible for you, because you had hitherto never touched a PC
(d) He still gave you stipends daily for doing the tasks, no matter how small
(e) And at the end of the 30 days community service you did, he packaged a special gift (₦30,000 for you in an envelope
(f) He didn't stop at the bulk money he gave you, he gave you direction like a mentor will do guiding you on how to run the adverts for the Winter jackets using the writing skills you've just learnt within those 30 days that has made you the SalesLourd brand that you are today
(g) Lastly, I want to believe that he must have also prayed for you (though you didn't mention that part) for you to have been recording mega sales and revenue/profit since the very next day and consistently up till date

3. Don't forget your other cell mates that you met in the prison (especially those that you are convinced are innocent of their accusations, and those who are now truly repentant). Find a way to reach out to them and if it's possible to set up a foundation or NGO getting supports of legal advisers and influential people to push for their legal/proper release or work out technicalities to free them on time (just as the judge advised in your case) instead of them continuing to rot in jail, to save their talent from waste so they can use those talents (as you've attested to after seeing for yourself in the prison) for the betterment of the society and for their own personal gains too,

4. This may not be compulsory, but if you feel it's a calling from God to start a ministry to liberate more people from both physical prison and spiritual prison, you can use that to serve your God Almighty that brought you out of this difficult situation.

In prison you get food you get water 💦 but most wear rags 😥
I did I was like that

See I've finally decided to dedicate myself to change that.

I'm taking my time to write down my whole jonny in a book 📚

With the sales I would provide prisoners with clothes to wear

QuinQ:
Got into prison poor, became rich in prison. How?

Many ways



Men bring in cash for sale


Then people are selling things.

All you can think of necessary but basics. Chin chin , zobo , igbo, cigarettes,even colors

Pure water
Even bons

👥

Saleslourd:
Many ways



Men bring in cash for sale


Then people are selling things.

All you can think of necessary but basics. Chin chin , zobo , igbo, cigarettes,even colors

Pure water
Even bons

👥

Oh ok, you mean have a little extra cash, not actually become rich

This story wow

Your detailing is on another level kudo's.


Most never talk about this side of life really admire your courage keep going we got you 💝

Many of you followed this thread from the beginning. The story didn't end here.

I started a deeper thread documenting everything that actually happens inside those walls. These are the chapters still to come.

If you haven't been following now is the time to start.


Cell activities
Opportunities available → How to access them
Adjournment days
How to get help
How prisoners make money inside / Black Maria
Too many people in prison and why
Cell pastor & Imam
Homosexuality in that facility
A bad influence waiting to damage you inside informing of destroying helping opportunity
Notes: Corruption inside that space

CHAPTER: A Day In The Cell

People outside imagine prison as one long empty silence. Waiting. Nothing happening.

That is not Ikoyi.

Inside that cell life runs from before sunrise to the last sweep of the night. And if you are Jankara broke, new, and nobody that life starts the worst possible way.

A beating.

Not because you did anything wrong. Because you were still sleeping.

Every morning any Jankara still on the floor when the day begins gets beaten awake. No alarm. No warning. Just hands and feet until you move. That is how the day starts.

Morning Prayers

Once everyone is up we all shift to one side of the cell. The Muslim brothers need space to pray. And they get it. Every morning without fail. Inside that same crowded cell that smells of 300 bodies — a clean space is made. After prayers the Alfa gives his sermon. Then we shift to the other side.

Now it is the Christian brothers' turn.

This is not a quiet little devotion. This is full church. Musical instruments inside a prison cell. Singing. Clapping. The kind of praise and worship that would fill any Lagos church on a Sunday morning.

I led praise and worship sometimes.

I never knew I could sing until Ikoyi Prison told me.

After the sermon the cell pastor delivers his word. Then everyone returns to their position.

One important thing — in that cell everyone has a position. A specific spot that belongs to you. You do not move from it without permission. Enter another inmate's space without reason and it is treated as trespassing. The punishment comes fast.

The Food

After morning duties the food arrives.

Beans.

Watery. No oil. No onion. No seasoning. Just pale liquid with beans floating in it like they were embarrassed to be there.

Before prison I never liked beans. Inside that cell I counted the minutes until it arrived. Me and every other Jankara pressed against the wall waiting for our portion like it was the finest meal in Lagos.

But here is where the corruption enters quietly.

The food marshals the inmates in charge of sharing would skim from the Jankara portions before distribution. Set aside a small amount. Then sell that same food back to us for ₦200.

Food that was already ours. Already counted for us. Taken. Then sold back.

We complained once. Only once.

The next day the executives got bigger portions. The marshals gave the Cell President his cut. And we got less than before.

We never complained again.

Afternoon could bring rice. Or eba with something they called egusi soup. Night was garri and half a tin of milk.

Do not let the names deceive you. Nothing inside that cell looked or tasted like what I just described. But we ate. Because hunger does not care about quality.

There was a rumour that circulated quietly among inmates.

That something was added to the beans.

A substance to make us weak. Slow. Too tired to organise. Too heavy to riot.

Nobody could prove it. Nobody could disprove it either.

But I will tell you what I know from my own body.

Every morning after that meal almost every inmate would sleep off. The cell that had been loud and alive would go quiet. Bodies dropping back to the floor.

I felt it too. That heaviness. That sudden weight behind the eyes.

And when I finally left that place it took months before my strength came back properly. Months before my body felt like mine again.

Whether it was the food quality. The stress. The conditions.

Or something added to the beans.

I cannot tell you with certainty.

What I can tell you is that inside that cell a tired inmate is a controlled inmate.

And someone understood that very well.

The Day

After the morning meal the cell settles into its rhythm.

Conversations. Arguments. Sometimes fights which almost always end with beatings for the Jankara involved regardless of who started it.

By around 10am the yard master opens the cell. First inmates with court cases. Adjournment day. Their chance to face the system that put them there.

After that the Cell President and selected inmates get compound access.

Then the sellers.

Then if you have money to tip the guard you can go out too.

The rest of us wait.

By right we should be outside by noon. Back inside by 4 or 5pm.

But rights do not exist in that cell.

We went out when the guard felt like it. Could be 1pm. Could be 2pm. Could be later. We waited on the mercy of whoever held the key that day.

Evening

When everyone returns the sweepers go to work. Then the cell shifts for evening service.

If morning service was church evening service is revival.

Longer sermon. More energy. More music. And the pastor had a special gift.

Prophecy.

He would call out an inmate. Point in their direction. Speak directly into their situation. Family problems. Court cases. Hidden fears.

The cell would erupt. Hailing. Believing.

I watched this happen many times. And I noticed something nobody else seemed to.

The pastor was a very careful listener.

The things he prophesied about — I had heard those same things discussed quietly between inmates earlier that same day. A man complaining his mother stopped picking his calls. A man worried about his case. The pastor filed it away. Then delivered it back as revelation.

He never prophesied about me.

Because I never complained to anyone. Never shared my problems with the cell. Kept my frequency to myself.

He had nothing to work with.

After the Muslim brothers finished their evening worship everyone settled back into position.

Night

Then came the one who made everything different.

In our cell there was a Yahoo boy. Well known outside. I will not mention his name. But on certain evenings he would make an announcement.

Cigarettes and hard drugs. Going round the cell. On him.

The cell would come alive. Smoke filling the air. Cheering.

For those of us who did not use nothing. Not even food. Just the smoke drifting past.

Because he was cashing out. Even inside Ikoyi Prison his online fraud was still running. Money still coming in. And when it came he spent it like a chairman inside those walls.

That told me something important about that place.

The gates do not stop everything. Not the drugs. Not the phones. Not the money.

Nothing enters that prison without someone inside allowing it.

I will explain exactly how that system works in the next chapter.

Wednesday nights had something special too. New inmates were made to stand and tell their story what brought them inside. Then the existing inmates performed. Rap. Music. The cell becoming a stage while smoke drifted to the ceiling and everyone cheered.

Then the final sweep.

Then the executives arranged us Jankara pressed side by side, head to toe, packed into our positions on the floor.

And that was a day in the cell.

Every single day.

Until your case moved or your time was done.

@Evergreen4 @CJStarz @duduade @Bluebolt @RoadMozart @Willy2025 @Kalulu44 @thrillionaire @bestman09

Next chapter coming soon

Saleslourd:
CHAPTER: A Day In The Cell

People outside imagine prison as one long empty silence. Waiting. Nothing happening.

That is not Ikoyi.

Inside that cell life runs from before sunrise to the last sweep of the night. And if you are Jankara broke, new, and nobody that life starts the worst possible way.

A beating.

Not because you did anything wrong. Because you were still sleeping.

Every morning any Jankara still on the floor when the day begins gets beaten awake. No alarm. No warning. Just hands and feet until you move. That is how the day starts.

Morning Prayers

Once everyone is up we all shift to one side of the cell. The Muslim brothers need space to pray. And they get it. Every morning without fail. Inside that same crowded cell that smells of 300 bodies — a clean space is made. After prayers the Alfa gives his sermon. Then we shift to the other side.

Now it is the Christian brothers' turn.

This is not a quiet little devotion. This is full church. Musical instruments inside a prison cell. Singing. Clapping. The kind of praise and worship that would fill any Lagos church on a Sunday morning.

I led praise and worship sometimes.

I never knew I could sing until Ikoyi Prison told me.

After the sermon the cell pastor delivers his word. Then everyone returns to their position.

One important thing — in that cell everyone has a position. A specific spot that belongs to you. You do not move from it without permission. Enter another inmate's space without reason and it is treated as trespassing. The punishment comes fast.

The Food

After morning duties the food arrives.

Beans.

Watery. No oil. No onion. No seasoning. Just pale liquid with beans floating in it like they were embarrassed to be there.

Before prison I never liked beans. Inside that cell I counted the minutes until it arrived. Me and every other Jankara pressed against the wall waiting for our portion like it was the finest meal in Lagos.

But here is where the corruption enters quietly.

The food marshals the inmates in charge of sharing would skim from the Jankara portions before distribution. Set aside a small amount. Then sell that same food back to us for ₦200.

Food that was already ours. Already counted for us. Taken. Then sold back.

We complained once. Only once.

The next day the executives got bigger portions. The marshals gave the Cell President his cut. And we got less than before.

We never complained again.

Afternoon could bring rice. Or eba with something they called egusi soup. Night was garri and half a tin of milk.

Do not let the names deceive you. Nothing inside that cell looked or tasted like what I just described. But we ate. Because hunger does not care about quality.

There was a rumour that circulated quietly among inmates.

That something was added to the beans.

A substance to make us weak. Slow. Too tired to organise. Too heavy to riot.

Nobody could prove it. Nobody could disprove it either.

But I will tell you what I know from my own body.

Every morning after that meal almost every inmate would sleep off. The cell that had been loud and alive would go quiet. Bodies dropping back to the floor.

I felt it too. That heaviness. That sudden weight behind the eyes.

And when I finally left that place it took months before my strength came back properly. Months before my body felt like mine again.

Whether it was the food quality. The stress. The conditions.

Or something added to the beans.

I cannot tell you with certainty.

What I can tell you is that inside that cell a tired inmate is a controlled inmate.

And someone understood that very well.

The Day

After the morning meal the cell settles into its rhythm.

Conversations. Arguments. Sometimes fights which almost always end with beatings for the Jankara involved regardless of who started it.

By around 10am the yard master opens the cell. First inmates with court cases. Adjournment day. Their chance to face the system that put them there.

After that the Cell President and selected inmates get compound access.

Then the sellers.

Then if you have money to tip the guard you can go out too.

The rest of us wait.

By right we should be outside by noon. Back inside by 4 or 5pm.

But rights do not exist in that cell.

We went out when the guard felt like it. Could be 1pm. Could be 2pm. Could be later. We waited on the mercy of whoever held the key that day.

Evening

When everyone returns the sweepers go to work. Then the cell shifts for evening service.

If morning service was church evening service is revival.

Longer sermon. More energy. More music. And the pastor had a special gift.

Prophecy.

He would call out an inmate. Point in their direction. Speak directly into their situation. Family problems. Court cases. Hidden fears.

The cell would erupt. Hailing. Believing.

I watched this happen many times. And I noticed something nobody else seemed to.

The pastor was a very careful listener.

The things he prophesied about — I had heard those same things discussed quietly between inmates earlier that same day. A man complaining his mother stopped picking his calls. A man worried about his case. The pastor filed it away. Then delivered it back as revelation.

He never prophesied about me.

Because I never complained to anyone. Never shared my problems with the cell. Kept my frequency to myself.

He had nothing to work with.

After the Muslim brothers finished their evening worship everyone settled back into position.

Night

Then came the one who made everything different.

In our cell there was a Yahoo boy. Well known outside. I will not mention his name. But on certain evenings he would make an announcement.

Cigarettes and hard drugs. Going round the cell. On him.

The cell would come alive. Smoke filling the air. Cheering.

For those of us who did not use nothing. Not even food. Just the smoke drifting past.

Because he was cashing out. Even inside Ikoyi Prison his online fraud was still running. Money still coming in. And when it came he spent it like a chairman inside those walls.

That told me something important about that place.

The gates do not stop everything. Not the drugs. Not the phones. Not the money.

Nothing enters that prison without someone inside allowing it.

I will explain exactly how that system works in the next chapter.

Wednesday nights had something special too. New inmates were made to stand and tell their story what brought them inside. Then the existing inmates performed. Rap. Music. The cell becoming a stage while smoke drifted to the ceiling and everyone cheered.

Then the final sweep.

Then the executives arranged us Jankara pressed side by side, head to toe, packed into our positions on the floor.

And that was a day in the cell.

Every single day.

Until your case moved or your time was done.

@Evergreen4 @CJStarz @duduade @Bluebolt @RoadMozart @Willy2025 @Kalulu44 @thrillionaire @bestman09

Next chapter coming soon

Wow, interesting read. And you write so well. Good job.

thrillionaire:
Wow, interesting read. And you write so well. Good job.

finally getting feed back

Thanks

iwaeda:
Thank God it was just 20 days, I know people awaiting trials for more than 5 years for an offense they didn't commit. Forgive everyone.

I forgiven them way back

thrillionaire:
Wow, interesting read. And you write so well. Good job.

How come you guys can make comments on his post and I can't even though he always mentioned my moniker

McLizbae:
Hmmm... All I can say is: thank you for sharing the experience.

I appreciate the kind words

But am not done

I go be dropping some kind info no one will ever.....

Saleslourd:
CHAPTER: A Day In The Cell

People outside imagine prison as one long empty silence. Waiting. Nothing happening.

That is not Ikoyi.

Inside that cell life runs from before sunrise to the last sweep of the night. And if you are Jankara broke, new, and nobody that life starts the worst possible way.

A beating.

Not because you did anything wrong. Because you were still sleeping.

Every morning any Jankara still on the floor when the day begins gets beaten awake. No alarm. No warning. Just hands and feet until you move. That is how the day starts.

Morning Prayers

Once everyone is up we all shift to one side of the cell. The Muslim brothers need space to pray. And they get it. Every morning without fail. Inside that same crowded cell that smells of 300 bodies — a clean space is made. After prayers the Alfa gives his sermon. Then we shift to the other side.

Now it is the Christian brothers' turn.

This is not a quiet little devotion. This is full church. Musical instruments inside a prison cell. Singing. Clapping. The kind of praise and worship that would fill any Lagos church on a Sunday morning.

I led praise and worship sometimes.

I never knew I could sing until Ikoyi Prison told me.

After the sermon the cell pastor delivers his word. Then everyone returns to their position.

One important thing — in that cell everyone has a position. A specific spot that belongs to you. You do not move from it without permission. Enter another inmate's space without reason and it is treated as trespassing. The punishment comes fast.

The Food

After morning duties the food arrives.

Beans.

Watery. No oil. No onion. No seasoning. Just pale liquid with beans floating in it like they were embarrassed to be there.

Before prison I never liked beans. Inside that cell I counted the minutes until it arrived. Me and every other Jankara pressed against the wall waiting for our portion like it was the finest meal in Lagos.

But here is where the corruption enters quietly.

The food marshals the inmates in charge of sharing would skim from the Jankara portions before distribution. Set aside a small amount. Then sell that same food back to us for ₦200.

Food that was already ours. Already counted for us. Taken. Then sold back.

We complained once. Only once.

The next day the executives got bigger portions. The marshals gave the Cell President his cut. And we got less than before.

We never complained again.

Afternoon could bring rice. Or eba with something they called egusi soup. Night was garri and half a tin of milk.

Do not let the names deceive you. Nothing inside that cell looked or tasted like what I just described. But we ate. Because hunger does not care about quality.

There was a rumour that circulated quietly among inmates.

That something was added to the beans.

A substance to make us weak. Slow. Too tired to organise. Too heavy to riot.

Nobody could prove it. Nobody could disprove it either.

But I will tell you what I know from my own body.

Every morning after that meal almost every inmate would sleep off. The cell that had been loud and alive would go quiet. Bodies dropping back to the floor.

I felt it too. That heaviness. That sudden weight behind the eyes.

And when I finally left that place it took months before my strength came back properly. Months before my body felt like mine again.

Whether it was the food quality. The stress. The conditions.

Or something added to the beans.

I cannot tell you with certainty.

What I can tell you is that inside that cell a tired inmate is a controlled inmate.

And someone understood that very well.

The Day

After the morning meal the cell settles into its rhythm.

Conversations. Arguments. Sometimes fights which almost always end with beatings for the Jankara involved regardless of who started it.

By around 10am the yard master opens the cell. First inmates with court cases. Adjournment day. Their chance to face the system that put them there.

After that the Cell President and selected inmates get compound access.

Then the sellers.

Then if you have money to tip the guard you can go out too.

The rest of us wait.

By right we should be outside by noon. Back inside by 4 or 5pm.

But rights do not exist in that cell.

We went out when the guard felt like it. Could be 1pm. Could be 2pm. Could be later. We waited on the mercy of whoever held the key that day.

Evening

When everyone returns the sweepers go to work. Then the cell shifts for evening service.

If morning service was church evening service is revival.

Longer sermon. More energy. More music. And the pastor had a special gift.

Prophecy.

He would call out an inmate. Point in their direction. Speak directly into their situation. Family problems. Court cases. Hidden fears.

The cell would erupt. Hailing. Believing.

I watched this happen many times. And I noticed something nobody else seemed to.

The pastor was a very careful listener.

The things he prophesied about — I had heard those same things discussed quietly between inmates earlier that same day. A man complaining his mother stopped picking his calls. A man worried about his case. The pastor filed it away. Then delivered it back as revelation.

He never prophesied about me.

Because I never complained to anyone. Never shared my problems with the cell. Kept my frequency to myself.

He had nothing to work with.

After the Muslim brothers finished their evening worship everyone settled back into position.

Night

Then came the one who made everything different.

In our cell there was a Yahoo boy. Well known outside. I will not mention his name. But on certain evenings he would make an announcement.

Cigarettes and hard drugs. Going round the cell. On him.

The cell would come alive. Smoke filling the air. Cheering.

For those of us who did not use nothing. Not even food. Just the smoke drifting past.

Because he was cashing out. Even inside Ikoyi Prison his online fraud was still running. Money still coming in. And when it came he spent it like a chairman inside those walls.

That told me something important about that place.

The gates do not stop everything. Not the drugs. Not the phones. Not the money.

Nothing enters that prison without someone inside allowing it.

I will explain exactly how that system works in the next chapter.

Wednesday nights had something special too. New inmates were made to stand and tell their story what brought them inside. Then the existing inmates performed. Rap. Music. The cell becoming a stage while smoke drifted to the ceiling and everyone cheered.

Then the final sweep.

Then the executives arranged us Jankara pressed side by side, head to toe, packed into our positions on the floor.

And that was a day in the cell.

Every single day.

Until your case moved or your time was done.

@Evergreen4 @CJStarz @duduade @Bluebolt @RoadMozart @Willy2025 @Kalulu44 @thrillionaire @bestman09

Next chapter coming soon

Wow! At last I can comment on this your very interesting sojourn. Thanks for always mentioning me, sorry about your ordeal when you were there. It's a life lesson and I pray your agitation for support to make the prison yard a better place comes to fruition.
I'm following you back to back

Kalulu44:
How come you guys can make comments on his post and I can't even though he always mentioned my moniker

This is my other thread I pray it's not muted like the other one.

Welcome

Kalulu44:
Wow! At last I can comment on this your very interesting sojourn. Thanks for always mentioning me, sorry about your ordeal when you were there. It's a life lesson and I pray your agitation for support to make the prison yard a better place comes to fruition.
I'm following you back to back

Am not stopping anytime soon



Them go feal it

I go run them....

Imagine the hell they made me go through

I went in fear, came out dark