Dear Morita,
I found this letter so hard to write but not impossible. Perhaps the last chance for me at the moment, to clear all surging doubts, to right those ubiquitous rumours, which trailed my journey to prison, my life in prison an share the uncertainty that becloud my days with the loved ones. A national daily once reported me dead. Another alleged I died of food poisoning. Deep inside me I had no intent to spite the sources of these dispatches. Their authors, the protagonist in the struggle to effect my unconditional release and my pin drop silence for years I believed, bore the reports.
Life in prison started in seconds. Seconds exploded to minutes. Minutes in a row stretched to hours. Hours prolonged to days. Days crawled into weeks. Weeks extended for months and months wore the garb of years. Today marks my fourth year in solitary confinement. Thanks to loneliness, my faithful friend.
I would like to weep like a tot scavenging for his mother when the Images of my wife and children lodged in my troubled mind. Tears, my companion were not so strong to neither affect my release nor atleast crush the conspiratorial gate of hell for my possible escape to other land.
And when I was lost in thought, my thoughts ran riot, almost conspired against me. My growing years of loneliness had set my stubborn hope ablaze. Life had been so hard, greedy, tough and heartless towards me. Who knows if this cup will pass over me?
This is an excerpt from the letter Taiwo Thompson wrote to her wife while in prison recounting the hardship he was going through.
Please stay in touch for the part 2 of his experience. I hope you learn from this true life story.
Thanks!
Please.....
