Jailor

When a God dies.

“Some of you call him Chukwu or Allah. Inside here, you’ll call him Abbai. I’m the only God here. Welcome to Kirikiri Prison. Your new home.”
Sergeant Abbai was a young and brutal jailor. Twenty years ago that was how he introduced himself. I’ve lost three fingers and a toe. Abbai’s numerous wounds on my body are countless.
Today, everyone is loud and happy. Raucous banging on metallic bars and soulful chorus of solidarity escape from each cell.
“Na tunda kill am o” an inmate screams.
Abbai is dead. A God dies after all.
My sleep was peaceful.

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