At 19, Beaten and Thrown into Ikoyi Prison Over a Gate I Never Stole

People picture the Black Maria and imagine pure horror. But my journey inside Ikoyi Prison was more. Good days. Bad days. Funny moments. Heavy moments. Let me tell you about life on that van journey to court. It starts before sunrise. The compound wakes. Zobo sellers call their wares. Inmates line up, waiting for their names. Every morning felt like the longest day. In Lagos, each inmate goes to a different court. They split us by court division. I was on community service. I rode every day, Monday to Friday. I saw new faces and ghosts of men who never came back. A single cough from the warder was all we needed to move. Chains linked pairs of wrists. Some warders were harsh to new inmates. Others treated us like family. One guard even made me his “in-law.” Small acts like that changed everything. Before the van, we stood in the tonneau by the Fresco Gate. They searched and counted us there. I watched chains of men and wondered who would walk out free. Who would return to those walls. I stood there not knowing if I would be the same man on the other side.

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