KIRIKIRI MAXIMUM PRISON, LAGOS, NIGERIA.
The Man woke up for the second time, disoriented. This was a different place from the last, a place that he had been waking up for the past decade.
As usual, he woke up with his mind and body dishevelled. He could feel the rough and hard prison floor beneath his skin as he laid on his back.
Now this was where he knew all too well that he should wake up, but had never been able to get used to, regardless of the fact that he'd spent a decade in that correctional center.
As usual, he'd just woken up from another series of nightmares again, and each one was becoming worse than the previous.
Could there be no end to a man's suffering? Was there no end to his suffering? How long? How long could he take before he called it quit?
He had already made up his mind to spend eternity in hell to pay for his sins. So, why then, could the devil not wait for him to die first before tormenting him with the fires and brimstone of hell?
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No, the devil was also a sinner like him. Not just any sinner, but a condemned one whose fate was permanently sealed.
So he was sure that his problem was not with the devil. His problem was with God.
God must be so furious at him that he couldn't even wait for him to die first before tormenting him.
So far, he had been doing the right thing. At least what he believed was the right thing by accepting the guilty verdict on him.
He had not even begged nor had he protested. Like a sheep taken to the slaughter, he had willingly accepted his fate or what he thought was his faith.
Why did God hate him to such an extent that he couldn't even bear to see him with his holy eyes on this green earth?
The man began mumbling and asking God to give him time. Just a little more time.
He would soon die and God could be free to do whatever he wanted to do. But please, a little moment of peace was all he was asking for.
He looked around him and noticed that no one was close to him at the moment. He was grateful that no one could see his struggle.
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He looked a little bit farther and noticed that the usually crowded cell was half emptied of human beings.
The handful of people who were milling around didn't even notice him. If they did, they didn't act like it.
Where was everyone?
He did a quick memory check. Today was Sunday. Then he remembered that the reason most of the prisoners were not around was because they had gone to church.
Once again he was grateful for that as well. If anyone was seeing his current disheveled state, he knew the outcome would be unpleasant throughout the new week and weeks to come.
His actions would be perceived as weakness, and he didn't want to become a topic of discussion, nor did he want to become the reason his fellow prisoners would jest.
The man got up from his sleeping position and went out into the bright morning. The sun was just beginning to rise.
People passed by him but no one stopped to greet or for a little conversation and he was okay with that. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anybody and he didn't want anyone talking to him either.
He moved to his favorite spot which was beneath a mango tree and sat down.
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He must have imagined how horrible he smelt right now for he was yet to bathe, wash his face or brush his teeth. But at the moment, he didn't care about any of those things.
He heard the familiar baritone voice of the prison chaplain resonating from the church speakers, and he knew that the sermon had begun.
As always, the man would hear but he would not care to listen. All those religious mumbo jumbo weren't helping him.
"I'm telling you not to let the lies of the devil overcome and defeat you."
The chaplain was preaching to his congregation but the man felt as though the preacher was replying to his last thoughts.
"I want you to know that no matter what you have done, Jesus loves you. Jesus will always love you."
The chaplain’s voice kept resonating through the speakers and firing their way into the man's heart. But he simply did not believe it. He would not believe it.
"I'm telling you today that Jesus loves you. Can somebody shout Hallelujah?"
"Hallelujah!" the congregation shouted excitedly.
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The good chaplain continued.
"It doesn't matter how long you have stayed in this prison or the guilty verdict that brought you here, I just want to let you know that Jesus loves you."
"I want you to repeat after me. I want you to say, ``Jesus loves me."
"Jesus loves me!" the prisoners reverberated those words with a loud and deafening roar.
"I want you to shout it louder so that the heavens, the earth, the devil and his demons will hear you."
"Jesus loves me!"
"I can't hear you. I said you should repeat these words after me. I want you to say Jesus loves me."
"Jesus loves me."
"Louder."
"Jesus loves me!"
"Louder."
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"Jesus loves me!"
"I want you to say it louder."
"Jesus loves me!"
As the crescendo from the congregation died down, the chaplain continued.
For a while, The Man actually wanted to believe what the chaplain was saying. But how could it be that Jesus truly loved him?
How could Jesus love him? How could Jesus love a piece of rotten garbage like him?
Maybe God loved some human beings. That was a reasonable way of putting it. But how could he be part of them?
No, Jesus certainly didn't love him. At least, if he wasn't sure of it, the situation around him was enough fact.
"It doesn't matter what you have done, it doesn't matter if you are the worst sinner that ever lived. Jesus still loves you and there is hope for you."
Unable to take it anymore, The Man stood up and walked off.
The prison chaplain went on to give some Bible references about sinners God saved, but The Man was no longer within an earshot.
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