The aluta spirit has been beaten out of me by these women here. My hands are sore likewise my heart. I wonder how what I have written so far would look like. I have recorded these events on scraps of cigarette packs that I have been able to put together.
The first day, I woke up in a fit of frenzy. I found myself crouched tightly to one corner in a pool of my own urine. The terrible aches and pain I felt all over my joints and body made me worry less about any shame. The room was dark and it seems that the horrible stench of yesterday had tripled. I tried stretching my feet to ease the pain and ache but I recoiled in fear when my feet touched a mass of body. Beyond the bars of where I was, I could hear moans of pain and cries of worry. The gentle coarse crackle of a cock penetrated the pandemonium of sounds, heralding the coming of the sun. Through the little four-barred window high up the ceiling, glisters of mild sunlight poured into the room, forming swatches of light on the mass of bodies scattered across the room.
I closed my eyes tightly, shutting myself out from the misery around me. I could have been at aunt Ekene’s Igbankwu, her wine-carrying had been my anticipation for months. I would have been gaily dressed in our traditional maiden wear; a wrapper and a little piece of clothing tied around my chest. I imagined myself dancing to the tune of the ogene, the ekwe and the traditional drums; moving fiercely to the rhythm of our culture. The four-layered jigida around my waist and the ijele tied to my feet would have testified of my entanglements with the drums. Or Nkechi and I would sit with our fellow girls gossiping; boasting about who would be next to join the married clan, making fun of the wedding guests and stealing pieces of fried meat, dried fish and nzu from the women’s kitchen. I could see myself running down the narrow village paths with the grasses greeting my decorated bare feet.
A sharp pain on my head jolted me out of my reverie.
“You dey mad abi” a huge lady said raining punches on my head. I shielded my face with my hands hoping to secure it from injuries.
“What did I do?” I asked in horror.
“You dey craze? Your father yash! Na me you dey speak English for abi?” she hissed loudly and kicked in my ribs.
Not knowing what to say, I kept mute in pain.
“Cappo” a fellow huge lady called with hands raised high, “dis girl na only bone full her body, abeg take am easy so that dem no go charge you for murder on top the one wey you don commit already”
“See dis girl o, she piss for my body” she spat on me.
I braced myself for further punches, but none came. Afterwards, it was decided that I used the last piece of clothing on me to mop the urine, including some scraps of faeces on the floor. My share of the half-cooked beans was offered to Cappo as atonement for my sin. Later that night, I was appointed the wind- maker for Cappo. I was made to stand for hours fanning Cappo with a sheet of a tattered newspaper. When Cappo and the others had been drugged by sleep, snoring so loudly that I couldn’t hear my own thoughts, I reclined to an empty corner and silently cried until I was sure that my eye balls were bulging red.
I hadn’t had much sleep before the second day pounced on me like a hungry lion. About five persons had been added to our number before the break of dawn. I woke up to a syrupy dirty floor, perfumed with peppery odour and veiled in the grace of a dimming twilight. Even when the world out there was being tickled to admirable flashes of smiles and laughter, by the sun rising. I was afraid that I was being stifled by the world around me. Perhaps, I would die of starvation, pain or diseases.
I perceived a less dark corner in the outer cell. I received i-didn’t-bother-to-count number of slaps from the huge ladies in the cell before getting there. Strange bells began to ring in my ears; I covered them with both hands and wept bitterly.
It was my entire fault, all these. I shouldn’t have gone there at all, not to mention showing the police officers my identity card. Jide had asked me to wait for him in front of Ayotoz Hotel so that we could hang out together. After thirty minutes of waiting for him, some policemen swooped on me and some other young men sitting not too far from where I had been standing. As I made to leave, one of the policemen stood in my way.
“Sir, I am just a passer-by” I said trying to walk past him.
“We caught you standing here, with the way you are dressed, you look as if you are with these guys here” the tall pot bellied policeman said in his coarse voice.
“Ha.. No sir. In fact I am a 400 level student of the department of English and literary studies, Faculty of Arts, University of Ibadan”.
“If that is the case, then identify yourself”.
I quickly brought out my ID card with the hope that it would plead my case.
“Sergeant, come and check her particulars” the pot bellied policeman bellowed like a train.
“So for your mind you be student?” the one who took the ID card asked and started shivering with laughter. “Criminal” he barked. “You no even get the wisdom to take lie”.
“Let me take a look at it”, the pot bellied policeman declared in a rather fierce tone. He cleared his throat, swallowed the phlegm and asked, “I thought you said you were a 400 level student?”
“Yes sir” I replied with certainty.
“Oga na lie” the other policeman interrupted, “how a whole UI no go never renew their ID card and a whole semester don almost end? Oga check this girl well well, I sure say she be criminal. On top that sef, see how she dress. I even sure say she be olosho. That na double offence”.
“Sir, there is a mix up here” I swallowed hard and continued, “the school has not renewed our ID cards. I can assure you that I am a legit student”
“These days na everybody dey claim UI studentship, even that agbero for junction sef. If you know wetin good for you just quietly follow us dey go station now.”
I tried protesting but the deafening slap I received from the sergeant put an end to all my protests.
Now I have ended up here. Who would believe my story? The policeman is right, how can I defend an invalid ID card. It’s not as if I have not paid for the renewal, yet the semester is coming to an end without any validity of my studentship beyond the four walls of UI. See where displaying an invalid ID card has got me.
What is my offence? I have been arrested for being a UIte!
