Free at last - The Story of Philip Ofodile (Part I)

Philip Ofodile, Contributor

It's Christmas Eve of 2010 at the Horizon Adult Remand Centre. As I lay on my six-inch concrete bed gazing into the solid concrete roof for the first time in almost one month since my arrival, I'm weighed down with grief and loneliness.

As it is for many people, Christmas is a very special season for my family; we all looked forward to the 24th of December. Most of the Christmas meals are part prepared today; usually a very busy day and we all hardly sleep. At about 9 p.m. we would suspend everything and get ready for midnight service.

I haven't physically been part of this for the past couple of years since I have been in Jamaica but I always call. I always want to be the first to share the Christmas greetings with my family, so I would call around 12 midnight just as they are leaving church, but this year is really Christmas 'unusual'.

Here I am, alone and lonely without the slightest clue of when and how I would leave this place. Since I came here, I haven't contacted my family, no one knows what has happened to me but now at least my mum would be sure that something terrible has happened to her son. I can picture her counting down to the seconds for my call.

Now, at 12 midnight in Jamaica and 6 a.m. in Nigeria, and yet, no call, I know that gloom and confusion will grip my home this Christmas morning. They would have got sick of the repeated voice message on my phone.

From my cell I can hear the kitchen staff from the outside, obviously in high spirits, judging from the noise and cataclysmic clatter of dominoes on the board. Another sound was my favourite Christmas carol, Silent Night, coming from a TV on the far end on the hallway on my block, our only 'eye' to the world outside.

Perhaps nothing would describe my present condition better than the song I can hear from somewhere in the distance; I Octane's 'My life no easy like 1 2 3, no easy like do-re-me'. In despair I turned to God and asked again and again, 'Why, why am I here?' I have asked this question many times within, today I got a response. 'Be still, I am God'.

BEGINNING OF THE JOURNEY

My journey to incarceration began on a warm, bright morning on the November 30, 2011. The campus of Jamaica Theological Seminary on 14 West Avenue, Constant Spring, was quiet and almost deserted as students prepared for the semester examination due in another week.

It's the first day of the revision week and the campus was already in exam mode. While other students were getting ready for their exams, I was going through mild depression and anxiety. I could not concentrate on my studies because of an unresolved issue with immigration.

I have lived and worked in Jamaica legally for over seven years. At the time of my last employment, I was on work permit exemption. The circumstances of my exemption changed and the organisation I was working for at the time said they could not apply for my work permit. I decided to go back to school so I applied and obtained admission to the Jamaica Theological Seminary in September 2010. Subsequently I applied for a student's visa, but was denied. Immigration insisted that I go back and apply from my country, a trip that I could not afford. I appealed to the chief of immigrations who promised to look into the matter.

The deafening silence from the chief of immigration and the constant threat of arrest from the officer in charge of my case was literally driving me crazy.

I was faced with devil's alternatives:

Stay in school and crash through my exams in my present state of restlessness, anxiety and fear.

Leave school, go somewhere, lie low, raise money and buy my ticket to go home.

On Monday, November 29, 2010, I decided to confront this situation head on, having exhausted all the avenues I could think of including involving the school management, it was time to 'leap in the dark'. When I left the school that morning, I knew I may not be coming back anytime soon but my mind was made up. I would rather go to jail than be a fugitive.

I got to the immigration office at around 11 a.m.; within one hour of my arrival, my faith was settled. I would be detained for deportation. There was a moment in a session with one of the senior officers when I was overcome by emotional grief and I broke down and wept. Afterwards, I could feel a sense of peace and calm that had deluded me for months.

I didn't leave the immigration office until around 5 p.m. Within this time that seemed like forever, I reflected on the events that had led up to this point. I was gainfully employed and making good money until I went into full-time ministry where I earned less than $20,000 monthly.

LIVING SACRIFICE

I gave up everything to serve God and minister to broken men at the expense of my comfort and that of my family. If God doesn't come to my aid I will be content to rot away in jail.

There was a football match between Real Madrid and Barcelona; I made myself comfortable watching the match in the investigation room while the officers were plotting how they would make my life miserable.

The officer who had ordered my detention was astonished when she saw me so relaxed in the office, 'Watcha, look how comfortable and relaxed this man is,' she said. What did she expect? What is there to fear when you have given up the things you fear? She ordered lunch for me.

Finally the hour came. At about 5 p.m. I was led away in handcuffs by two officers. None of this made any sense to me; the guns, the handcuffs and all the tactics involved in this transportation. Why do you need to handcuff a harmless man who voluntarily came into your office and lead him into the street with armed policemen? Well, that is even picnic when we consider my destination - Gun Court.