Literature
?I saw them coming, I saw them through the tiny window of the cell; the hangman and a wardress, and I thought the hour had come. But as they opened the door and came in another wardress hurried in and shouted; ?that?s not her file!??
That was Mairo, a condemned prisoner in Kaduna prison, speaking in a press interview with me shortly after she was granted amnesty by the administration of Col. Ja?afaru Isa, former military administrator of Kaduna State, in 1995. I was then working with the defunct Hotline Publish ing Company, publishers of Hotline magazine as deputy editor. Mairo was not the only lucky prisoner covered by the gubernatorial amnesty. They were about ten or so (I can?t remember the exact number now). Hotline was particularly interested in her story because the magazine was partly responsible for her release, through an earlier special report in which a plea was made on her behalf. The appeal was based on the fact that having spent close to thirty years in prison waiting to be hanged in vain as a result of missing files, she deserved to be pardoned.
?They said my file is missing,? she continued, tears in her eyes. ?They came for me several times, but on each occasion they discovered they were carrying the wrong file. I was curious about why my file was missing; one day I asked a loving wardress who had taken a kind of liking to me. And her answer was simply that perhaps it was lost in transit, between the court and the prison. ?Prison officials could be careless at times, you know,? she concluded and advised me to keep on praying that the missing file would be my saving grace. But I was not convinced. The file was not lost, could not be lost. It was misplaced and might be found someday. It was a hopeless situation. However, I stuck to her advice about prayers. I prayed day and night for freedom, not freedom from the prison, because I had concluded that even if the file was not eventually found I would still spend the rest of my life in prison. I only prayed for freedom from my sins, repeatedly asking God to forgive my sins. I told God over and over again that I did not kill her intentionally; I was too young to know...?
She paused to wipe away her tears. And I felt tears welling in my eyes. The loving wardress she talked about, in whose house the interview was being conducted, was also in tears. I had to control my own emotions else the interview would not hold. She had spent a day in the wardress?s house, waiting for her people to come for her from Yan Daki in Katsina State. Her people might come at any moment and I might not see her again thereafter. So I reduced the interview to an informal conversation and pressed on:
?You said you were too young, how old were you??
?I was about fifteen years old... or less... In prison time is hazy.?
?Very young indeed.?
?Though young, I knew that being married out at that age was wrong. I protested, but my parents would not listen. They married me out to a man I barely knew.?
?That must have caused you to do what you did.?
?No, there was no need to kill anyone, as I eventually accepted my fate and learnt to love my husband. You know, in life, when you find yourself in a situation you cannot change, your best bet is to accept your fate and pray for the best. That was what I did. But no sooner had I settled down to my destiny than his first wife descended on me, constantly barking at me. At times she even beat me. It got worse when I became pregnant. She was barren. Maybe she was bitter about my pregnancy. She had the right to be jealous. But to make me an object of constant physical attack was unjustifiable. I didn?t cause her bareness. Whenever I reported to my husband about her aggression, he would tell me to be patient and respect her because she was older than I.
?How old is she??
?I don?t know exactly, but I think she was old enough to be my mother. And I used to respect her. I was never jealous of her, knowing that I was the intruder, as it were. They were more compatible as husband and wife in terms of age and they had been together for long before I was forced into the picture.?
?So, how did it happen?? I was eager to get to the heart of the chilling story.
?The incident that resulted in her death in my hands occurred while my husband was away. I had given birth to a baby boy not quite long. He was away for days. After the farming season he usually went to cities like Katsina, Kano and Jos to trade in kola nuts and other items. He usually stayed there for few months, then he would return just in time for the planting season. But this particularly sojourn in the city lasted for too long. And those days of his absence were hell for me. She would beat me, slap me, do all sorts of things to me as if I were her slave. Then on that fateful day she got me so cornered that I resorted to threatening her with a knife in order to break free. But before I knew it the devil took a hand in the matter... May Allah forgive me... May the soul of Jummai rest in peace...?
The loving wardress handed her a hankie to wipe her tears even as she battled with her own tears. The sitting room became so charged with sorrow, it was like the spirits of all the dead were peeping in through the windows and the doors. There was a looming presence, so real you could touch it. I had to finish the interview quickly and get out, I thought, as the wardress consoled her.
?Then you ran away?? I asked.
?I couldn?t run away.? She said after a long sigh. ?I was so overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. I pulled the knife from her belly, gathered her in my arms, pleading with her not to die. Pleading...? She broke down in tears again.
The tears this time was so uncontrollable I had to take a long pause for her to recover.
?OK, let?s leave that part out,? I cut in, after she had wiped her tears. Even I could not stand the details. ?Let?s leave out the details. What was your people?s reaction after the deed was done; did they try to rescue you, did they get a lawyer for you??
?I wasn?t there to see their initial reaction; I was immediately whisked away by the police. I only saw them subsequently in court. They felt bad, especially my mother. She broke down when the judge passed the death sentence on me. They had no money to hire a lawyer for me. One lawyer, Barrister Gabriel by name, rendered me free legal service. But the case was too tight for him. The evidence was too glaring; the bloody knife, my confession...?
?And your husband... what was his reaction, did he try to save you??
?Like I told you; he was away when it happened. I was told that when he came back on hearing the bad news, he tried to see me in prison, but he was not allowed. But I don?t think his coming to prison had to do with a desire to sympathise with me. He testified against me in court even though he wasn?t there when it happened. May his soul rest in peace; I learnt he is dead now. He told the court I was troublesome.?
?He was happy to see sentenced to death then??
?I don?t think he was happy. No husband would be happy with what happened.?
?I mean it is like he didn?t care; he should have tried to save your since what had happened had happened and no one could change that.?
?He cared. He loved me. But remember, he also loved his first wife even though they never had a child. He lost his wife of many years through me. And I think that is too much for any man to bear. He died a few months after the incident.?
?How old was your son when the incident happened??
?A few days old... I can?t remember exactly... They say he was brought up by my mother. He is now in the university.?
?Did you learn all these while in prison??
?No, on the day I was released. One of my neighbours back in the village was among the crowd that welcomed us at the prison gate. I don?t know how he was able to recognise me after all these years; I couldn?t identify him. He told me everything about home.?
?Would you know your son now if you see him?? I asked.
?Maybe...? she said, and for the first time I saw a smile on her face.
?How would you sum up your prison experience??
?Terrible. Waiting for death is more agonising than death.?
- The Hollow Of The Three Hills Summary
THE HOLLOW OF THE THREE HILLSThe Hollow of the Three Hills is a story of dishonor, deceit, and death. The author, Nathaniel Hawthorne portrays the main character as a beautiful woman with a shameful and abominable past. She tries to run from her problems...
- My Experience In The 2011 Nlng Literature Prize Competition - Obi-obasie
Chinyere Obi-Obasie, a runner up in the 2011 Nigeria Liquified Natural Gas (NLNG) Literature Competition, narrates her experience Life throws things your way to make you stronger and to get you better equipped for the future. I arrived at this...
- Hoodlums (short Story)
Ben, the Kaduna Bureau Chief of the New Nation newspaper, sat down to write his report on the riot. But just as he picked up his pen, he heard a violent knock on the door. And before he turned, the door had caved in under the heavy bombardment of police...
- The Last Hiding Place (short Story)
Amelia drowsily adjusted her head on the pillow, she subconsciously reached out for her husband. But her hand landed on an empty space. And the cold message, sensed through hazy consciousness, jolted her out of her troubled sleep. Gradually, she opened...
- Seeing Red (short Story)
This story reflects a typical riot incident in a Nigerian city and the psychological effect on the innocent victims. Zabi ran to the other side of the market and abruptly turned left. He leaped over baskets of vegetables, over sacks of grains, heaps...
Literature
How Mairo escaped the hangman?s noose (True life story)
?I saw them coming, I saw them through the tiny window of the cell; the hangman and a wardress, and I thought the hour had come. But as they opened the door and came in another wardress hurried in and shouted; ?that?s not her file!??
That was Mairo, a condemned prisoner in Kaduna prison, speaking in a press interview with me shortly after she was granted amnesty by the administration of Col. Ja?afaru Isa, former military administrator of Kaduna State, in 1995. I was then working with the defunct Hotline Publish ing Company, publishers of Hotline magazine as deputy editor. Mairo was not the only lucky prisoner covered by the gubernatorial amnesty. They were about ten or so (I can?t remember the exact number now). Hotline was particularly interested in her story because the magazine was partly responsible for her release, through an earlier special report in which a plea was made on her behalf. The appeal was based on the fact that having spent close to thirty years in prison waiting to be hanged in vain as a result of missing files, she deserved to be pardoned.
?They said my file is missing,? she continued, tears in her eyes. ?They came for me several times, but on each occasion they discovered they were carrying the wrong file. I was curious about why my file was missing; one day I asked a loving wardress who had taken a kind of liking to me. And her answer was simply that perhaps it was lost in transit, between the court and the prison. ?Prison officials could be careless at times, you know,? she concluded and advised me to keep on praying that the missing file would be my saving grace. But I was not convinced. The file was not lost, could not be lost. It was misplaced and might be found someday. It was a hopeless situation. However, I stuck to her advice about prayers. I prayed day and night for freedom, not freedom from the prison, because I had concluded that even if the file was not eventually found I would still spend the rest of my life in prison. I only prayed for freedom from my sins, repeatedly asking God to forgive my sins. I told God over and over again that I did not kill her intentionally; I was too young to know...?
She paused to wipe away her tears. And I felt tears welling in my eyes. The loving wardress she talked about, in whose house the interview was being conducted, was also in tears. I had to control my own emotions else the interview would not hold. She had spent a day in the wardress?s house, waiting for her people to come for her from Yan Daki in Katsina State. Her people might come at any moment and I might not see her again thereafter. So I reduced the interview to an informal conversation and pressed on:
?You said you were too young, how old were you??
?I was about fifteen years old... or less... In prison time is hazy.?
?Very young indeed.?
?Though young, I knew that being married out at that age was wrong. I protested, but my parents would not listen. They married me out to a man I barely knew.?
?That must have caused you to do what you did.?
?No, there was no need to kill anyone, as I eventually accepted my fate and learnt to love my husband. You know, in life, when you find yourself in a situation you cannot change, your best bet is to accept your fate and pray for the best. That was what I did. But no sooner had I settled down to my destiny than his first wife descended on me, constantly barking at me. At times she even beat me. It got worse when I became pregnant. She was barren. Maybe she was bitter about my pregnancy. She had the right to be jealous. But to make me an object of constant physical attack was unjustifiable. I didn?t cause her bareness. Whenever I reported to my husband about her aggression, he would tell me to be patient and respect her because she was older than I.
?How old is she??
?I don?t know exactly, but I think she was old enough to be my mother. And I used to respect her. I was never jealous of her, knowing that I was the intruder, as it were. They were more compatible as husband and wife in terms of age and they had been together for long before I was forced into the picture.?
?So, how did it happen?? I was eager to get to the heart of the chilling story.
?The incident that resulted in her death in my hands occurred while my husband was away. I had given birth to a baby boy not quite long. He was away for days. After the farming season he usually went to cities like Katsina, Kano and Jos to trade in kola nuts and other items. He usually stayed there for few months, then he would return just in time for the planting season. But this particularly sojourn in the city lasted for too long. And those days of his absence were hell for me. She would beat me, slap me, do all sorts of things to me as if I were her slave. Then on that fateful day she got me so cornered that I resorted to threatening her with a knife in order to break free. But before I knew it the devil took a hand in the matter... May Allah forgive me... May the soul of Jummai rest in peace...?
The loving wardress handed her a hankie to wipe her tears even as she battled with her own tears. The sitting room became so charged with sorrow, it was like the spirits of all the dead were peeping in through the windows and the doors. There was a looming presence, so real you could touch it. I had to finish the interview quickly and get out, I thought, as the wardress consoled her.
?Then you ran away?? I asked.
?I couldn?t run away.? She said after a long sigh. ?I was so overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. I pulled the knife from her belly, gathered her in my arms, pleading with her not to die. Pleading...? She broke down in tears again.
The tears this time was so uncontrollable I had to take a long pause for her to recover.
?OK, let?s leave that part out,? I cut in, after she had wiped her tears. Even I could not stand the details. ?Let?s leave out the details. What was your people?s reaction after the deed was done; did they try to rescue you, did they get a lawyer for you??
?I wasn?t there to see their initial reaction; I was immediately whisked away by the police. I only saw them subsequently in court. They felt bad, especially my mother. She broke down when the judge passed the death sentence on me. They had no money to hire a lawyer for me. One lawyer, Barrister Gabriel by name, rendered me free legal service. But the case was too tight for him. The evidence was too glaring; the bloody knife, my confession...?
?And your husband... what was his reaction, did he try to save you??
?Like I told you; he was away when it happened. I was told that when he came back on hearing the bad news, he tried to see me in prison, but he was not allowed. But I don?t think his coming to prison had to do with a desire to sympathise with me. He testified against me in court even though he wasn?t there when it happened. May his soul rest in peace; I learnt he is dead now. He told the court I was troublesome.?
?He was happy to see sentenced to death then??
?I don?t think he was happy. No husband would be happy with what happened.?
?I mean it is like he didn?t care; he should have tried to save your since what had happened had happened and no one could change that.?
?He cared. He loved me. But remember, he also loved his first wife even though they never had a child. He lost his wife of many years through me. And I think that is too much for any man to bear. He died a few months after the incident.?
?How old was your son when the incident happened??
?A few days old... I can?t remember exactly... They say he was brought up by my mother. He is now in the university.?
?Did you learn all these while in prison??
?No, on the day I was released. One of my neighbours back in the village was among the crowd that welcomed us at the prison gate. I don?t know how he was able to recognise me after all these years; I couldn?t identify him. He told me everything about home.?
?Would you know your son now if you see him?? I asked.
?Maybe...? she said, and for the first time I saw a smile on her face.
?How would you sum up your prison experience??
?Terrible. Waiting for death is more agonising than death.?
- The Hollow Of The Three Hills Summary
THE HOLLOW OF THE THREE HILLSThe Hollow of the Three Hills is a story of dishonor, deceit, and death. The author, Nathaniel Hawthorne portrays the main character as a beautiful woman with a shameful and abominable past. She tries to run from her problems...
- My Experience In The 2011 Nlng Literature Prize Competition - Obi-obasie
Chinyere Obi-Obasie, a runner up in the 2011 Nigeria Liquified Natural Gas (NLNG) Literature Competition, narrates her experience Life throws things your way to make you stronger and to get you better equipped for the future. I arrived at this...
- Hoodlums (short Story)
Ben, the Kaduna Bureau Chief of the New Nation newspaper, sat down to write his report on the riot. But just as he picked up his pen, he heard a violent knock on the door. And before he turned, the door had caved in under the heavy bombardment of police...
- The Last Hiding Place (short Story)
Amelia drowsily adjusted her head on the pillow, she subconsciously reached out for her husband. But her hand landed on an empty space. And the cold message, sensed through hazy consciousness, jolted her out of her troubled sleep. Gradually, she opened...
- Seeing Red (short Story)
This story reflects a typical riot incident in a Nigerian city and the psychological effect on the innocent victims. Zabi ran to the other side of the market and abruptly turned left. He leaped over baskets of vegetables, over sacks of grains, heaps...