Another one wanted to know what the book was about. He said he was Nigerian. I explained that it was bits and pieces, essays on my life as a journalist, my interviews with important personalities and tributes to musicians, friends, family members and colleagues. I told them it was also a travelogue. All this was in October last year when Mrs. Mary Kent (not real names) friend, sister and fellow country woman had arranged for me to read my book, In the Blink of an Eye, in a prison as part of activities to mark Black History Month in the UK. She taught at the educational institution accredited to the prison.
My name was on the notice board. "Nigerian Author, Eugenia Abu reads from her book 'In the Blink of an Eye' at 2p.m," announced the notice. I had earlier met Chris and David who were directly in charge of the Project and they asked what would make me comfortable. I told them I had read in a few other places in England including Cambridge and usually I would be reading excerpts from the seven essays in the book. They asked me to pick up inspirational pieces as they were all working towards reforming the inmates so that they would be more useful to themselves and to the society and they would not return to the prison. Mrs. Kent then proceeded to introduce me as a Nigerian author who was invited to read from my book to them. About 25 inmates and five staff members were in attendance. It was a nervous author that started the reading of In the Blink of an Eye, which at this time had already enjoyed several readings in Abuja and in other parts of Nigeria. This was my first reading in London and it was uncanny that it should be at a medium security prison for men. I had handed in my phone at the entrance, perfumes and other such items that maybe dangerous in a prison facility and I had been given a visitor's tag. The clanging doors were nerve-wracking, the thought that I was in the company of different sorts of persons who had committed one crime or the other that put them in jail was a different kettle of fish entirely. Mrs. Kent, an excellent person both socially and morally and a wonderful social worker and educationist talked me through the prison corridors and I began to calm down. She introduced me to persons and structures as we walked through.
Now sitting in front of 25 inmates I became nervous again. Eye contact, a quick smile and then to business. I swept the room, everyone looked excited and my nerves took flight. "Because It's Nigerian" which celebrates my love for country and countrymen heightened interest in the book. Most of the inmates were taken in by the portion that describes the mouth-watering dishes of Nigeria and how generous a portion is offered to friends, family and total strangers. During the comments and question time after the reading, a West Indian inmate told me how it was not Nigerian to offer food in large portions to total strangers. An argument ensued, I told him it was totally Nigerian and if he was uneducated about this, I could tell him authoritatively that it is so or he should visit at the end of his term. He looked at me cockily, ran his hands through his long brownish dreads held my eyes and said in a low patois drawl "It is nat Nigerian, it is black". Everyone in the room laughed heartily. Indeed it is black. And talking about Black and symbolism, I was truly devastated when I made a headcount of the prisoners in the room on that day. Three quarters black, the other quarter white, of the white populace, over half were Hispanic. A socio-cultural truism. In the United States more than six in 10 persons in local jails were racial or ethnic minorities, statistics unchanged since 1996 where an estimated 40 per cent were Black and 19 per cent were Hispanics (Statistics from a 2002 study). Most Blacks in Britain are offended by racial slurs and so they ought to be,quick to anger and some of them have immigration issues. Economic migration has meant a lot of Africans and people of African descent are doing everything possible to make it to European countries and in the process some have fallen foul of the law and then the racial undertones, you are more likely to be pulled over driving a luxury car if you are Black. Lindford Christie experienced it. A British National icon, well-known and successful he still got pulled over by the police authorities in Britain. Most Blacks are angry when this happens sometimes to boiling point.
Back to the Wormwood Scrubs Prison, it was heartbreaking to see a young Nigerian man talk about his late father after I read the piece on my late sister from my book. His voice broken, he told me how he got news that his father was dead and how sad he had been when it happened. "As you can see," he said, "I could not make it to his burial and he has been gone two weeks, I really have not been sleeping well".
"It's the lack of closure," I told him. The fact that he could not be there makes it almost surreal and the fact that he felt that he could have killed his father emotionally by being in jail long before his physical death. "Now you are in denial" I told him "it's like he's still alive because you were not at his dust to dust". He looked down at nothing in particular. Then he raised his head slowly and looked at me "What can I do?" he said, "How can writing help me?
"You can write a letter to your father to tell him how sorry you are that you disappointed him and what prison life is like, that should help or you could write a short story about your dad, what he was like and the sacrifices he made for you". He nodded, a slow nod. He wore a distant look on his face, a longing for his now dead father, regrets, sadness. And behind that look was a notepad in his head. He had started writing already. It was a good sign.
After that I read about one of Nigeria's greatest musical exports, Fela in a piece titled "Fela as an Iconoclast". At the end of the reading everyone was talking at the same time Fela as a subject matter always attracted attention, love him or hate him. The musicians among them most of them Black talked about how he had inspired them. They also intimated me of musicians from their countries who had been influenced by Fela. Jamaican, Ghanaian, Zimbabwean, and West Indian musicians. The Nigerians among them glowed. First this writer was Nigerian, then the subject matter Fela. They sat tall among their peers, smiles playing on the corner of their lips, their eyes fire flies of pride.
As I said Mrs. Kent had urged me to choose carefully what I read. She had advised that I read inspirational pieces that will make them think and make them aspire to change, to greatness. She added that I should not read anything that will arouse their sexual interest or make them think that way as it was a facility for men only. Bemused I tried to explain that I had next to nothing on that theme in my book but she said even a simple love scene can be disturbing in such a facility. I agreed and she looked at me intently as she added that anything that might suggest rebellion or violence should be avoided as much as possible. So I chose an article about Brenda Fassie after we talked about Fela. Her music, her persona, her attitude. This was to ensure a good representation. Nigerian, South African etcetera. Most of the inmates were curious about Brenda and asked several questions about her. Half of the inmates had never heard of her and there was no South African in the audience.
Some inmates who wanted to be at the reading had classes clashing with the reading time and could not make it but engaged me afterwards on the subject matter of my book. I then read my last piece: Liberian. I was my interview with Liberian President Sirleaf Johnson "One on One with Madam President". First they asked me about the war in Liberia, if it was over. I said it was. Why it happened? We talked for a few minutes about the democracy of disagreement and the beauty of dialogue. Then an interesting question. Do I think Sirleaf Johnson gave me an extra 15 minutes for the interview because I was a woman, for woman solidarity? "I don't think so,",I replied." Time was of the essence for her and she had not had dinner. It was about 11:30p.m., 15 minutes after my allotted 15 minutes but she was not looking at the time." "I think", I said to the questioner, "she would have done the same for a man if he was as well prepared as I was". I told them I had thoroughly researched the President and she seemed to be enjoying the interview. "So why did you stop?" the interview when she had not stopped you?" another interesting question. "Well," I said "Decency. I had been offered 15 minutes, I grabbed 15 more in the Spirit of the moment, any further push would be abusing the privilege and I had been told she had not had dinner." "Do you think a female President will make the difference in Liberia, for peace I mean?"
A rather introspective inmate threw the question and fidgeted with his T-shirt as he sought the answer. "It is my belief", I said "that she would try to heal the wounds and as a mother and grandmother, she would bring her mothering instinct to bear. It is our collective hope".
Other issues came up after this, including the sad state of African countries, was it the leaders or the followers, are there infrastructural development; are the citizens happy?
At the end of the discourse on African leaders and President Johnson it was time to go. The inmates told me how pleasant their time with me had been and they wanted to know how they could buy personal copies of the Book. The Prison authorities explained to them that it will be available in the Library but personal copies would have to be requested for through a traditional prison process.
They looked disappointed. Then the round of applause. The personal greetings by individual inmates, then they file away. As they make for the door, I think about the comment my nephew had made. "Don't wear jeans Auntie" he said. "Sometimes there may be a sudden eruption at a prison, a lockdown, a jailbreak, anything and jeans would have you kept in because no one would be able to identify you seeing you are in casuals". So I wore a nice green sober suit, so you can see from miles that I did not belong there.
I search their faces again as they leave to see if I can tell their crime. Are there murderers amongst them, rapist? But once again they looked pretty ordinary in their sweatpants and T-shirts. They looked like young people on street corners anywhere in London. Then it occurred to me. The difference in a London prison is that these guys are clean and well kept. They looked healthy and seemed like they were not in jail.
The school ran by the British education authorities in the prison ensured that the bright ones could graduate. There was also genuine skills acquisition going on. Good prisoners could work in the school in the kitchen and actually contribute to some gift items by corporate bodies. Their pay was fair as I was made to believe.
My tour revealed that the only symbol of prison life as far as the eye could see apart from emotional challenges and the sheer lack of freedom were the clanging of doors after every short walk. Mrs. Kent had keys and the word "incarceration" took a new meaning whenever she unlocked a set of doors with her keys and then shut them with a loud chilling clang. Steel doors, cold, cold doors.
Back home, the prisons I visited were dour and sad. Incarceration yes, but dignity was a distant past and soaps were an issue. At some point, I bought soaps and handed them to prisoners myself though the steel grill. 150 of them most of them had not showered in two weeks. Their clothes ensured you had no doubt that they were in jail.
The hardest tale, that of those on the death row, meeting three at Makurdi prison made me sad for days. Young, forlorn. All they wanted was the Bible, any religious book.
As Black History month 2009 continues its journey this October celebrating achievements and events of Black icons let us tap into the energy of the youth, engage them, encourage them, motivate them, love them and advise them. The jail is not a place for anyone. Black anger must be discussed, analyzed and tempered. The population of Blacks in world jails should be on the front burner of National Policies and the systems that get them there re-addressed.
Happy Black History Month. Do your bit!
From her article published in ThisDay Newspaper
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