The EXPERIENCE. Amudipe Opeyemi Marcus
The winds battled the trees outside violently and it seems their battle will never end
as the rain rattled its drops on my roof. It has been raining cat and rat for the past six
days, and today was the seventh day. We had prayed for rain, but not this, for it had
become a herculean task going to work, the ground of the market place had become
muddy, making it hard for buyers to visit our stalls. The numbers of buyers coming to
the market has drastically reduced as most of them now prefer to stay back in their
homes patronizing the street stalls and hawkers for the incessant rain would not
allow them come to the market. We were all eager to see the end of the rain, some
had argued that the rain would go on for 14 days without stopping but Mama Tope,
the herb seller, said it would only rain for 7 days.
Well, today is the seventh day, and we shall know who is right I support Mama Tope
thought, I did not really believe that the rain would continue for two weeks, it seems
totally impossible.
Walking down my verandah, passing through my kitchen, I noticed that one of the
pails I placed to collect water from my leaking roof was already filled up, it needed to
be emptied. There are numerous leaks on the old corrugated sheets which made up
my roof, they had turned brown over the years, Baba Adio, the Carpenter had on
numerous occasion advised me to have them changed, but what can I do with the
little proceeds that I make from selling foodstuffs at the market, my stall is a very
small one though I make good sales most of the times the proceeds were not enough
for me, the proceeds were not enough for a new sets of iron sheets to cover the
whole length my old roof.
As soon as I picked up the already filled up pail, the light went off so I decided to
groove my way out to empty the pail before going to pick up the lantern and fill it with
kerosene. While feeling my way to the backyard in the dark, I unknowingly stumbled
on a small wooden stool that I placed close to the entrance the day before sending
the water crashing down, drenching me. As if I was been mocked by some unseen
forces, the light came on, I simply left the broken pail on the spot without making any
move further to get a dry rag to wipe the spilled water on the floor.
On getting to my room, the light went off again, I was trying to change my dress,
unbothered by the incessant taking on and off of the light, I proceeded to climb my
bed without any clothes on, the day’s activities had drained me, and the events that
had happened in the past two days had almost succeeded in taking life out of me.
I feel like a walking dead, I longed for a family, a husband of my own, everything felt
empty, there is a vacuum in me that needs to be filled. If only I had a family of my
own, perhaps my troubles wouldn’t be so overwhelming
I had spent the last two days in the prison, along with 15 other market men and
women, others who were lucky to be bailed on time spent just a night, having no
family I had to wait an extra night in the cell, wearing the short prisoner’s clothes
which barely covered my body, the mosquitoes made a very nice meal out of my
body, they sucked uninvited, and it seems I had saved up my blood all these years
just for them to come feast upon. As if that was not enough, while I slept on the
rough floors of the cell, my inmates which I thought were very nice suddenly kicked
me, I woke up with a jolt, a slap from one of them brought me back to reality that
was when it dawned on me that I was still in a cell. That night I had dreamt about
the market, my stall with my wares, I was selling to a customer, a very handsome
man, who had come from Oke Padi to buy foodstuffs.
Tears freely found their way on my face, splitting in their channels, creating new
routes on my face as they found their way down my cheeks, I did nothing to rub them
off my face for it seems I have a large reservoir of waters pouring from the inside of
me through my eyes.
In the cell, the other women introduced themselves one after the other, from the
president, a woman in her mid-thirties with tribal marks crudely engraved on her
fluffy cheeks to the secretary, a young girl who called herself “moin-moin”. Her
choice of nickname actually intrigued me because she looked nothing like
“moin-moin” she was dark as darkness itself.
She paced around, like a small cat looking for some invisible rats too devour, she
made me lie down, and told me that they will ensure that I enjoy my stay with them,
which I later got to know was the opposite. I resigned to fate, as I was made to kill
the mosquitoes disturbing “Mama Peace”, I resorted to clapping my hands without
making a noise or waking up the inmates all through the night. I wished the earth
could just open up and swallow me, it all seemed unbearable for me.
The next morning after the wardens came to make the cell counts, breakfast came
as lunch. I was given a seat in the middle while “moin moin” made me tell my story,
the story about how I found myself in the prison.
“Mama Peace” had vacated her sit and in the next forty-five minutes I was regarded
as the most important of them all, I was the only one who had fresh information
about the outside world. Taking the president’s spot I recounted my tale tearfully.
Just as every other market day, I had come to the market with high hopes of making
good sales, I was very optimistic of these, for I had hit my right leg against a stone
while I was coming, and when I was a child my mother had told me that when this
happens, you are bound to get money that day. Market went on smoothly as usual as
I made good sales, until I heard shouts from somewhere nearby, it was my fellow
market people screaming “Thief! Thief!! Thief!!!
I rushed out of my stall, I saw some elderly men running after a young man, due to
the complicated terrain and murky situation of the market, he was easily caught, the
market women had claimed to have found a small revolver gun attached to his belt,
and they had easily taken him for a thief, who was looking for a stall to rob.
The young man had pleaded innocently, telling them that he was not a thief but a
police man, the angry mob never bothered to listen attentively to the young man’s
pleas, exerting their annoyance of recent troubles caused by thieves in the area, the
young man was beaten to coma. I watched from my market stall, I could not leave
my stall, since I was the only there, he was about been lynched to death, when
members of the police force came, dispersing the crowd, they easily identified him
as one of them.
Irked by this, the police men embarked on a mass raiding of anyone found near the
location of the incident, I was less bothered because I was not among those involved,
unknown to me the unfortunate turn of events that will soon fall on me. Those
involved had taken to their heels, the police questioned the market women about the
identities of those involved, many of them failed to be of help, for everyone seems to
know nothing about the whole incident.
The police did not take light of the whole issue, so they resorted to arresting the
market women, stating that if we fail to disclose the names of those involved, we
would take their places in jail. Thinking that was a joke until we were all swooped
into their vans en-masse and placed in different cell. Those with high influence were
bailed, they regained their freedom after a few brown envelopes had touched some
hands while we, the less fortunate were still there waiting for someone to come bail
us.
“So you been wan tell us say you no get malle wey fit bail you abi?” moin moin shot
back, I simply told her that I had no family around here, for I was without a husband.
Luckily, they took pity on me and they let me be for the next two hours, there I
prayed I find a way out of the mess I was in. Few minutes after we had our “lunch
breakfast” which funnily contained moin-moin that looked like garri soaked with
water inside, I couldn’t afford to have a taste, same applied to other inmates but
despite the bad state of the meal only one person gathered everyone’s meal,
humming to herself as she fed herself our own ration. That was when the reason she
was nicknamed moin-moin dawned on me.
Minutes later, I heard the footstep of the warden approaching, the sound from her
footsteps woke my already depressed spirit, and then I heard my name vibrating
through the walls…
I regained my freedom.
Later I was told the police had successfully fished out those responsible, the
policeman they was beaten was reported dead, he died from the injuries he
sustained during the incident, and those arrested were to be charged to court.
My legs carried me as far me as I could walk, I let the winds carry me, I protested
not when her current were too much, but when my legs grew tired of walking. I
walked, walked away from the dungeon that had been my home for the past 24hours.
I thought of if those culprits had not been found, we would have definitely rot away in
jail, I saw other men and women who were also arrested, they looked like a shadow
of themselves, the men looked like cursed stature, while the women looked
The winds battled the trees outside violently and it seems their battle will never end
as the rain rattled its drops on my roof. It has been raining cat and rat for the past six
days, and today was the seventh day. We had prayed for rain, but not this, for it had
become a herculean task going to work, the ground of the market place had become
muddy, making it hard for buyers to visit our stalls. The numbers of buyers coming to
the market has drastically reduced as most of them now prefer to stay back in their
homes patronizing the street stalls and hawkers for the incessant rain would not
allow them come to the market. We were all eager to see the end of the rain, some
had argued that the rain would go on for 14 days without stopping but Mama Tope,
the herb seller, said it would only rain for 7 days.
Well, today is the seventh day, and we shall know who is right I support Mama Tope
thought, I did not really believe that the rain would continue for two weeks, it seems
totally impossible.
Walking down my verandah, passing through my kitchen, I noticed that one of the
pails I placed to collect water from my leaking roof was already filled up, it needed to
be emptied. There are numerous leaks on the old corrugated sheets which made up
my roof, they had turned brown over the years, Baba Adio, the Carpenter had on
numerous occasion advised me to have them changed, but what can I do with the
little proceeds that I make from selling foodstuffs at the market, my stall is a very
small one though I make good sales most of the times the proceeds were not enough
for me, the proceeds were not enough for a new sets of iron sheets to cover the
whole length my old roof.
As soon as I picked up the already filled up pail, the light went off so I decided to
groove my way out to empty the pail before going to pick up the lantern and fill it with
kerosene. While feeling my way to the backyard in the dark, I unknowingly stumbled
on a small wooden stool that I placed close to the entrance the day before sending
the water crashing down, drenching me. As if I was been mocked by some unseen
forces, the light came on, I simply left the broken pail on the spot without making any
move further to get a dry rag to wipe the spilled water on the floor.
On getting to my room, the light went off again, I was trying to change my dress,
unbothered by the incessant taking on and off of the light, I proceeded to climb my
bed without any clothes on, the day’s activities had drained me, and the events that
had happened in the past two days had almost succeeded in taking life out of me.
I feel like a walking dead, I longed for a family, a husband of my own, everything felt
empty, there is a vacuum in me that needs to be filled. If only I had a family of my
own, perhaps my troubles wouldn’t be so overwhelming
I had spent the last two days in the prison, along with 15 other market men and
women, others who were lucky to be bailed on time spent just a night, having no
family I had to wait an extra night in the cell, wearing the short prisoner’s clothes
which barely covered my body, the mosquitoes made a very nice meal out of my
body, they sucked uninvited, and it seems I had saved up my blood all these years
just for them to come feast upon. As if that was not enough, while I slept on the
rough floors of the cell, my inmates which I thought were very nice suddenly kicked
me, I woke up with a jolt, a slap from one of them brought me back to reality that
was when it dawned on me that I was still in a cell. That night I had dreamt about
the market, my stall with my wares, I was selling to a customer, a very handsome
man, who had come from Oke Padi to buy foodstuffs.
Tears freely found their way on my face, splitting in their channels, creating new
routes on my face as they found their way down my cheeks, I did nothing to rub them
off my face for it seems I have a large reservoir of waters pouring from the inside of
me through my eyes.
In the cell, the other women introduced themselves one after the other, from the
president, a woman in her mid-thirties with tribal marks crudely engraved on her
fluffy cheeks to the secretary, a young girl who called herself “moin-moin”. Her
choice of nickname actually intrigued me because she looked nothing like
“moin-moin” she was dark as darkness itself.
She paced around, like a small cat looking for some invisible rats too devour, she
made me lie down, and told me that they will ensure that I enjoy my stay with them,
which I later got to know was the opposite. I resigned to fate, as I was made to kill
the mosquitoes disturbing “Mama Peace”, I resorted to clapping my hands without
making a noise or waking up the inmates all through the night. I wished the earth
could just open up and swallow me, it all seemed unbearable for me.
The next morning after the wardens came to make the cell counts, breakfast came
as lunch. I was given a seat in the middle while “moin moin” made me tell my story,
the story about how I found myself in the prison.
“Mama Peace” had vacated her sit and in the next forty-five minutes I was regarded
as the most important of them all, I was the only one who had fresh information
about the outside world. Taking the president’s spot I recounted my tale tearfully.
Just as every other market day, I had come to the market with high hopes of making
good sales, I was very optimistic of these, for I had hit my right leg against a stone
while I was coming, and when I was a child my mother had told me that when this
happens, you are bound to get money that day. Market went on smoothly as usual as
I made good sales, until I heard shouts from somewhere nearby, it was my fellow
market people screaming “Thief! Thief!! Thief!!!
I rushed out of my stall, I saw some elderly men running after a young man, due to
the complicated terrain and murky situation of the market, he was easily caught, the
market women had claimed to have found a small revolver gun attached to his belt,
and they had easily taken him for a thief, who was looking for a stall to rob.
The young man had pleaded innocently, telling them that he was not a thief but a
police man, the angry mob never bothered to listen attentively to the young man’s
pleas, exerting their annoyance of recent troubles caused by thieves in the area, the
young man was beaten to coma. I watched from my market stall, I could not leave
my stall, since I was the only there, he was about been lynched to death, when
members of the police force came, dispersing the crowd, they easily identified him
as one of them.
Irked by this, the police men embarked on a mass raiding of anyone found near the
location of the incident, I was less bothered because I was not among those involved,
unknown to me the unfortunate turn of events that will soon fall on me. Those
involved had taken to their heels, the police questioned the market women about the
identities of those involved, many of them failed to be of help, for everyone seems to
know nothing about the whole incident.
The police did not take light of the whole issue, so they resorted to arresting the
market women, stating that if we fail to disclose the names of those involved, we
would take their places in jail. Thinking that was a joke until we were all swooped
into their vans en-masse and placed in different cell. Those with high influence were
bailed, they regained their freedom after a few brown envelopes had touched some
hands while we, the less fortunate were still there waiting for someone to come bail
us.
“So you been wan tell us say you no get malle wey fit bail you abi?” moin moin shot
back, I simply told her that I had no family around here, for I was without a husband.
Luckily, they took pity on me and they let me be for the next two hours, there I
prayed I find a way out of the mess I was in. Few minutes after we had our “lunch
breakfast” which funnily contained moin-moin that looked like garri soaked with
water inside, I couldn’t afford to have a taste, same applied to other inmates but
despite the bad state of the meal only one person gathered everyone’s meal,
humming to herself as she fed herself our own ration. That was when the reason she
was nicknamed moin-moin dawned on me.
Minutes later, I heard the footstep of the warden approaching, the sound from her
footsteps woke my already depressed spirit, and then I heard my name vibrating
through the walls…
I regained my freedom.
Later I was told the police had successfully fished out those responsible, the
policeman they was beaten was reported dead, he died from the injuries he
sustained during the incident, and those arrested were to be charged to court.
My legs carried me as far me as I could walk, I let the winds carry me, I protested
not when her current were too much, but when my legs grew tired of walking. I
walked, walked away from the dungeon that had been my home for the past 24hours.
I thought of if those culprits had not been found, we would have definitely rot away in
jail, I saw other men and women who were also arrested, they looked like a shadow
of themselves, the men looked like cursed stature, while the women looked
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