Encounter with Inmate in Cell Number 4.

 On that first day of my resumption, I was in the company of a correctional officer while conducting a security check. In doing this, we had to walk and stand before each cell to look at the inmate to make sure he was alright before moving on to the next cell. Midway into this task, we got to a cell where the occupant, a horribly looking African American man, wanted to test the strength of my character.

Upon the exchange of some pleasantries between the inmate and me, I wanted to move on to the next cell when he called out to me. Usually, some other person would ignore the inmate by walking away. But in the job of corrections, it would not be advisable to do that as the inmate might be calling out legitimately.

“Hey sergeant…” he barked as we were about turning away. “Your accent sounds like that of an African…”
   “Yes…” I turned back to face him. “I’m originally, an African.”
“No shit…” he yelled menacingly at me. “You motherfucker came all the way from Africa to boss around American citizens.”
“For your information, inmate in cell number four,” I responded firmly. “I’m also an American citizen.”
   Suddenly, the other inmates in the building applauded me as some of them yelled.      
   “That’s right…” they chorused. “…the man says he is American as we all here.”
   On hearing the noises being made in my favor, the inmate was silent.
   “Well mister…” I stared hard at him. “Any more question before I move on.”
   “Fuck you…” he yelled. “…and by the way, go back to Africa, you motherfucker.”
“What the hell is this jerk talking about.” an inmate next door asked. “The sergeant is an American like us. How can he go back to Africa, you ignorant negro?”
   “Hey listen…” I pleaded with the other inmates. “I’ll answer the idiot…”
“What answer do you have?” the inmate in cell number 4 stated in a bid to have the last word.
   “Listen, inmate in cell number four” I continued to say. “I’ll go back to Africa”. 
   “Great…” he was beginning to smile. “…go back to the Motherland, motherfucker.”
“Sure…” I nodded. “I’ll go back to Africa. But first, don’t forget you’re a black man like me. So, when next you talk to your sorry-assed family on phone, tell them to go back to Africa. And if you are ever released from jail, pack your load, and go back to Africa.”
   There was an eruption of cheering noises from the other offenders as I turned around to continue my security check. In the meantime, the inmate in cell number four was now speechless. 

- Being an excerpt from Life Behind Bars, A Retired DOC Lieutenant's Story by Femi Olawole.