Prisoners of Lust

Eleven

Jummai looked around at the others in the small sweaty room, sprawled across the floor on raffia mats, with their wrappers around their chest. The ventilation was poor and the entire building reeked of body odor, sweat, and sadness.  Sleeping across from Jummai was a woman who poisoned her husband.  She found out that he was going to marry her young cousin, and she flipped off her senses.  The lady next to her was not able to make rent, and the landlord dealt with the situation the best way cold-hearted individuals knew.

The mother of the sleeping child was incarcerated while pregnant because she poured boiling water over her abusive husband.  He confessed to frustrating her and told his family that he forgave her, but the father insisted that his daughter-in-law pay for disfiguring his son.  Another of the sleeping ladies stabbed her mother-in-law for reasons best known to her, and six years later, she is still waiting for her day in court.

Jummai looked at her corner and remembered the last time her mother came to see her and how she assured her that she was doing everything in her power to end their ordeal.  She told her daughter that she visited a few affluent distant relatives, hoping they would intervene.  Jummai wondered who would take a struggling single mother seriously.  After all, her mother insisted on keeping her.  They might think that mother and daughter deserved it.

Among criminals and innocents alike, Jummai curled up in her musty corner.  Feeling blank and numb of emotions, she struggled to hold on to hope, she fought for her sanity, and she battled with her conscience.  She looked around, recalling the painful stories of each detainee.  Many of the atrocities committed were worthy of crime thrillers, yet none of the women were rehabilitated.  They just existed, left crowded and ignored.

Jummai knew if she ran away from the the women's prison, the police could accuse her of a heinous crime and her picture would grace every newspaper in the country. She prayed to God to keep Hamisu safe so that he would one day take her away from the nightmare that haunts her soul.  She did not want a heart void of life.  She wanted to live.  She would not volunteer to sneak out again and make money for the wicked guards over false promises of early dismissal on "good behavior".

Jummai used a sachet of water she kept in a bundled scarf and purified her self.  She washed her hands, rinsed her mouth, cleared her nostrils, and then cleaned her elbows.  She wiped her head, ears, and washed her feet.  She stood in prayer, bowed out of humility, and prostrated, streaming tears and supplications.  Just before dawn broke, she rested her throbbing head on the hard floor, with a hand on an aching heart, she whispered prayers as she drifted off to sleep, hoping to dream of love, peace, and joy.

Jummai wished that in this lifetime, happiness would be hers to cherish, hoping that in the afterlife, she would be free from anguish, liberated from punishment, and she would flourish in pure bliss.