Chapter 1: Prison Gate Lottery

I dey always drive my car go the gate of the women's prison, dey wait for women wey just collect their freedom.

Sometimes, the sun never even rise finish, harmattan dey bite my skin, my lips don crack, but I go still dey there. My old Corolla, paint don fade, engine dey cough like old man wey chop too much kpokpo garri, but e still dey move. As I park, I dey watch the prison gate, where black-uniform warders dey gossip under mango tree, like say na my own lotto I dey wait to win.

Those women—no family, no friend come meet them, and dem fine join—na dem be my target.

For Lagos, if woman waka from prison alone, people go just look am like say she carry curse. The ones wey get luck, dem people go come wait, hug dem, cry for joy. But the ones wey no get anybody—those na the real lost souls. I dey watch dem, dey calculate which one soft, which one go gree follow me without wahala.

Just small kindness, dem go hold me like say na me be their last hope, dey rush enter my arms as if dem dey drown.

I sabi the look—eye red, face pale, hope small like candle for breeze. Once I smile, open door, dem dey rush me like say na God send me come. Na that desperation dey sweet me pass. E dey make me feel like king, even if na for one day.

One woman stand for prison gate.

Her skin fair, face fine well well.

Even as she wear ordinary cloth, her body shape still dey show. Men for bus stop go turn look if dem see am.

I dey inside my car dey look am, my eyes no fit comot from her body.

As harmattan breeze dey blow, dust dey fly for air, but I no even feel am. The way she fold hand, her back bend, e be like fowl wey cold catch. I dey imagine the wahala wey she don see, but na her beauty dey hook my eye. Lagos sun fit burn, but her skin still dey glow like say she dey use better cream.

Harmattan breeze blow. The woman fold herself, bend like chicken wey dey fear.

She dey shiver small, her slippers almost cut. I see as she rub her arm, try use scarf wey don old cover her neck. I just dey observe, dey plan my move. Na so Lagos dey—if you no sharp, you go miss your chance.

As I see am, my body begin hot. I no waste time—I start the car, park near am.

My heart dey beat like talking drum. I adjust my shirt, check my face for mirror, make sure say no oil dey my nose. I clear throat, arrange my fake smile, then wind down.

I wind down, put on my usual fake smile.

"Hello, I be volunteer wey dey help people wey just comot for prison fit come back to society."

I talk am with that my soft voice, the one wey dey make people trust me. I even add small accent, like say I go school for abroad.

"Anything wey I fit help you with?"

I give her one business card, my name dey inside red heart: Ifedike, Social Welfare Volunteer.

I dey watch her hand as she collect the card—her finger slim, nail clean, no paint but still fine. The card sef na pure lie, but e dey work. I see her eye dey shine small, the fear dey melt like sugar for hot tea.

She collect the card. The fear for her eyes small small comot.

She look me, look the card again, then look back the prison gate. E be like she dey check if anybody go come for am. When she see say nobody dey, her shoulder drop small. I fit see say she wan believe person, even if na just for today.

After she reason small, she open the door enter.

She enter with small wahala, like person wey dey fear trap. Her bag na small nylon, nothing dey inside. As she sit, she no talk, just dey look front. Na so all of dem dey behave at first.

She scan the car quick, touch the seat with her finger, then peep the window like person wey dey check if e safe. Her hand dey shake small, but she try hide am. I see say her eyes dey waka up and down, dey try understand where she land.

One kind scent—like Lux soap mix with her body—full the car, make my body dey restless.

The smell hit me—clean like fresh soap, but still get that prison wahala underneath. I swallow spit, try hide the way my hand dey shake. For Lagos, na only few women still dey smell like that—fresh, untouched by wahala.

Na so fish chop the bait.

I smile inside, thank my village people. This one go easy. I just dey hope say she go soft pass the last one.