"5102, you have a visitor"

He stands in front of the metal door and has both hands out. The warden fastens the cuffs on his wrists after starting a casual conversation. He leads him out of the cell. Walking through the hallway, they speak like very good friends, mostly about the warden’s kids and his job. Nothing about him. Even when his cellmates try to get him to talk about his life, he’s quick to change the topic or go mute.

“Hin don better now sef”, one cellmate, Femi, told a new cellmate.

“Before, he no dey even look us for eye”.

Stopping at the front of a blue metallic door, he stretches his hands out and the warden quickly takes the cuff off him.

“I wonder what bad news Monica has for me today”, he chuckles. "Did she say what?" he says rubbing his wrists. His notice of appeal has been denied four times already yet somehow he tries to keep the dwindling fire of hope alive whenever they meet.

The warden doesn’t answer. Instead, his hand has the door knob in a tight grip. He gently pushes the knob in a downward motion and the door opens.

“Yemi. Who is in there?”, he asks a bit sterner this time but it’s the same from the warden’s side. Silence. Warden Yemi gives a soft smile, almost missable, and gestures for him to go inside. This can only mean one thing.

He didn’t do it and he could have sworn the members of the public also believed in his innocence. He longed for someone, anyone to believe him and so for most part of his trial, he searched the faces of everyone in the courtroom, the jury and the judge included. Something about the way they were all fixed on their seats, looking at him with what he loathed most in his life but somehow, at that point, was his only saving grace. Pity. 'The evidence is incriminating enough', the news broadcasted, after all the bloodied knife was found in his hands, his prints matched and there was even an eye-witness. Nevertheless, he was counting on their emotions. On their pity.

“Listen to me please”, she rises up from her seat at the other side of the bulletproof glass immediately he walks in.

"Please Wande. Just this once”, she pleads, leaning towards the glass. He has refused to see her since the day he walked into this facility. "I won't come again. I promise". Her voice is soothing and somewhat unfamiliar. He locks his eyes with hers as he advances towards the seat in front of the glass. His usual woody scent doesn’t fill up her nostrils and her stomach is not as big and rounded as he remembers but the wedding band is still in place. He tries to walk casually but his uneven gait is like a baby bump, it can’t be hidden. He settles on the seat and she does too. He pauses for a while before reaching for the telephone with his scrawny hand. She takes her time to look at him, to see how well he has been managing in the last eight months. His suit looks two sizes bigger. His face, awfully paler than it was during the trial, is infested by a community of lump-like swellings. Uneven black strands of hair occupy his chin, the one she called him ‘Barbie’ for even with the knowledge that he regularly shaved them off, and stopped right before the scar hanging behind his ears. His eight-months old scar.  

“Wande. The appeal has been granted. We have a chance”. 

Photo Credits✨✨: https://pin.it/3sClXhLkl