She had no inkling of what lay ahead of the prison walls, but her passion and fascination for the service endeared her. And for 26 years, Kenny Adekoya witnessed, first hand, life inside the prisons albeit as an official. In this interview with MUYIWA LUCAS, the Anglo-Nigerian recalls the gripping experience that changed her life forever, ventilating her frustrations and expression in her service year through her books. Excerpts:
What was your childhood like?
My parents sent my twin sister and I back to Nigeria in 1977 and we attended Methodist Girls High School, Yaba. After that we both sat for A-Levels. I proceeded to Lagos State College of Technology, while my twin sister stayed at Methodist Girls High School for her A-Levels. I failed my A-Levels and my twin sister went on to University of Ife. That extra year at home without my twin and being at home with my parents, was pure torture. This was later aggravated by the fact that my father insisted that I had to go to Ogun State University (OSU).
After crying blood over his decision, it actually turned out to be one of the best decisions my father could have made for me, as I found university very easy, compared to when I first came from abroad. The educational system was very different and I actually struggled at Methodist Girls High School and failed my A-Levels woefully twice. But my father had insisted that I take my JAMB, and that was how I got into OSU, which turned out to be one of the best four years of my life. I loved OSU. That was between 1984 and 1989. I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree in History.
Like most students in university, I played around for the first two years until one of my professors pulled me up and told me, ‘You don’t read and yet you pass. What do you think would happen if you actually read?’ He told me I had two years left to get a decent grade. He then said that his other students were studying around the clock, but just scrapping by in their grades. ‘I can see you’re not reading, but you’re still passing your examines.’
So that was when I decided to buckle up and get serious with my studies. I came out with a Second Class (Lower Division) then in 1990, I did my one year National Youth Service in Calabar and after that, I went back to the UK.
How did you find life in the UK?
Like everything else in the UK, you start with the menial jobs, because that is what they made you believe you were only good for. I got my first job at Pizza Hut, but they sacked me. They told me I was not good enough. I then went to work in McDonald’s, they sacked me there as well. I’ll never forget, it was on the 1st of October. So, I just decided that was it, I was going to stay in bed until January.
At this point, my cousins asked me to pack my bags and move down to the South East of London, so I did. The house share that I was living in comprised of people from other parts of Africa. One day, one of them asked me, ‘Don’t you want to work?’ I thought that maybe it was time. I got up and did something. They were doing these cleaning jobs in some colleges, so I joined them.
I remember what really stood out for me was the fact that the manager in charge of the cleaning crew, signed me up for a three-year contract, so when I told the guy that I was leaving, his first response was, but your contract is for three years. All I could think was ‘you think my father sent me to school to clean for three years.’ Needless to say, I left that job, as an old university roommate had told me about a Parking Company called APCOA, which incidentally had many Nigerians working there, and many of us were there for about four to five years.
How did you get the prison service job?
I think it suddenly dawned on a lot of us that it was time for us to get real jobs. So many of us went to the underground, Royal Mail, the National Health Service, Teaching, and a few of us chose the prison service. The first time I went to attend a JSAC, which is an Assessment Centre at HMP Wandsworth, where you had to do a number of role plays, both my colleague and I failed the JSAC. A few, weeks later, an advertisement came out in the Evening Standard seeking female applicants for the job of a Prison Officer at HMP Holloway. I used to have a morbid fascination with Holloway, especially the stories behind its history, so I applied for a job there.
What was your experience as a prison officer like?
The first thing I have to say about prison service is that it wasn’t the prisoners who were the problem, I mean you have a prisoner, you know, they are in prison because they have committed a crime. They have been sentenced and they are paying their debt back to the society. I used to get along with the prisoners, as long as you didn’t lie to them and you told them as it was, they didn’t have a problem. A lot of them used to talk to me. Even when I moved to the male estate at Brixton, the prisoners always talked to me, it was almost as if they needed to get things off their chest. That was when you realised that a lot of these prisoners had very sad, tragic lives, especially the women.
It was very hard with the women because you just think, this could be my younger sister and that’s when you wake up to how easy it is to end up in prison. The biggest problems for most of these girls were their friends and the people they associated with. It was tragic. I mean, when girls cut up and self-harmed, it was on another level. It was a very sad time in the prison service, especially in the female estates.
The main and only problem in the prison service was the management. It still exists in a different century. It took us a while to realise that they actually did not reckon with us. As far as they were concerned, we were a means to an end. If you’re in a prison with majority of black prisoners, they noticed that we got on with them. We could talk to them. They would just come in and throw a spanner in the works and cause untold problems.
Because of the nature of our backgrounds, the prisoners would listen to what we said, apart from when the gang element came in. Our counterparts treated them appallingly and would talk down on them, and I would tell them, you are talking to a gangster and they would wonder why they were being beaten up.
When you say the problem is the management, what do you mean?
The problem was the management- the staff. I think you have to read my book to understand what Holloway represented, otherwise I might end up writing a booklet. Management operated like they were still in the colonial era- ‘People of Colour’ were simply beneath them. Unless you were prepared to bow down and kiss their feet, or you adopted the attitude of ‘yes sir, no sir, three bags full,’ you were not going anywhere in your career.
I got promoted to senior officer and that was where I stayed for the next 20 years because they realised that, with this one, there was no way they would ever get what they wanted from me. We Nigerians are very stubborn by nature. But they have a systematic way in which they slow your career down, they apply rules and regulations, which little by little starts to break you down. I suppose my breaking down took longer than most, as I was extremely stubborn and I hated injustice in all its ramifications. But frustrations and mental, physical and emotional wellbeing eventually set in and they eventually did break me down. They succeeded because it was not just one person I was fighting against but an institution. And it’s not just one person they sent after me; it was nine of them. Where one started, another would take over with the bullying, harassment and intimidation, and it was relentless until they eventually broke me. They viewed us as being stupid because we were black.
I fell into a very deep depression, whereby I could hardly get out of bed. I was engulfed in a thick cloud of misery that I couldn’t get out of. It took me a while to reach out to family and friends for help, but eventually I had no choice. I think what was even sadder was the fact that colleagues and so called friends I had known and worked with for many years, they just turned their backs on me. They said that we could never beat these people, so I was left to my own devices. They used to say to me that my English was very good and they asked if I went to a public school. I would simply tell them that I went to a school in Nigeria called Methodist Girls High School, where they taught me how to speak the Queen’s English.
What really baffled me was the fact that a white person could not speak proper English, not to talk of writing it. When we used to read the prisoners letters, I used to think, are they taking the mick, I mean they used to write as they spoke. When I used to write up documents, my colleagues and management would go into panic mode because I would be very explicit in what I wrote, everything had to have a beginning, middle and ending. They used to be very anxious and weary about the things I wrote, because all they did was cover things up, especially the truth. But I refused to be a party to any of that.
At one point, if I wrote something in a document that they deemed to be incriminating, that document would just simply disappear. In the days when we had to write reports on a prisoner’s behaviour, which was supposed to have been handed to the Judge, the prisoners would bribe the officers to destroy their documents so the Judge would have no idea about what the prisoner’s behaviour was like in the prison. The prison service eventually came up with a system where they set up a computer system that was literally fool proof and could not be tampered with. Then a few years later a second system was set up, which was connected to the police, the judges and probation. So, if you wrote something on a prisoner’s case notes, nothing and no one could change it. The only one who could amend the case notes was the person who had imputed the information on the case notes in the first place. But the original information would still remain. So you would have to justify your reasons for amending the case notes.
It was a truly nasty, horrendous experience working for the prison service. And after 26 years, I finally retired last year, April. I simply had nothing left to give. However, it was in writing my stories that I was able to heal and move on with my life, and I found my purpose in writing.
My first book, ‘The Story That Had To Be Told,’ tells of the trauma I experienced, specifically at HMP Brixton, because it was the worst. In my second book, ‘What really happens in a 21st century British jail,’ it covers my entire 26 year experience as a ‘Person of Colour’ working in the prison service. And my third book is a departure from the first two, as I talk about the different kinds of abuse and exploitation, and I interviewed the brave women who had survived domestic violence.
Because of the colour of our skin and those staff who came under the umbrella of Protected Characteristics, we suffered unimaginable abuse and trauma through racism, direct and indirect discrimination, bullying, harassment and intimidation, as these traits were embedded in the very fabric of the British jails. They tried to pretend that it was not there, but by their actions and the way in which they treated us, it was there, simmering beneath the surfaces.
Over the last few years, the prison service did try to make some changes, mainly because they were losing too many staff. So, as usual, they put all these new policies in place to try and combat a lot of the disparity going on between our white colleagues and the staff from black Asian minority ethnic backgrounds. Some of the policies worked, but a lot did not, mainly because the root cause of the problem was never addressed: the managers.
So what next after your 26 years in the prison service?
Now my plan is to come back home and write stories about Nigeria, about our vast history, culture and identity, as well as touching on those raw hard-hitting topics which are not particularly nice but need to be told.
Was it a case of necessity that made you join the prison service?
It was a passion, I was simply mesmerised with all of it. I found it absolutely riveting, particularly with Holloway, the mystery of what could be lurking behind those walls. It was not even the case- it was a necessity to get on in a country where it was very difficult for black people. No, I did not even think along those lines. Until you entered the prison service, everything after that was an eye opener.
I remembered growing up in London and there was a TV Series called ‘Within These Walls.’ It was about woman’s experiences in a female jail, and I believe that was what led to my captivation with Holloway. When I saw the advert in the ‘Evening Standard’, I thought, oh my God! I just jumped at it. Most jobs in those days were advertised in the ‘Evening Standard’. So on a cold rainy day in April 1998, I joined Her Majesty’s Prison Service.
What were the things you enjoyed while in prison service and what were the low points?
I think I have put all the low points in my book. The system itself, they really did keep us down and made sure we stayed down. A credit to the prison service is that they do train you very well. They give you life skills that will take you anywhere in the world. I have got to give them that. Along the way, I met a lot of decent people and I learnt to never judge a book by its cover, meaning that you should get to know a person before you pass judgement on them. I also learnt how easy it was to end up in jail, and believe me when I say not everyone serving a prison sentence is actually guilty of a crime.
Did you at any point get assault or something inside or outside the walls of the prison?
On the inside, the prisoners would always rain down abuse on you, especially if you told them no. And I did receive a few threats over the years. But in many ways, I was very fortunate that the prisoners never really targeted me. I only got badly injured once, but that was because I intervened when two prisoners were fighting and one of their punches hit me. They were not aiming at me, but as I was standing at the top of the stairs, I fell backwards, down the stairs. I remember I hit my head and it bled and bled. I was in so much pain. It felt like I had been hit with a sledgehammer. It was only afterwards when they tried to give me some painkillers that I realised my right hand was very swollen and I later found out that I had broken four of my metacarpal bones in my right hand. It was whilst I was in hospital that I found out that I had a concussion and a concussion really does mess you up. I had memory blanks, I had to change my glasses.
My sleep pattern totally changed. Whereas before, whenever I felt tired, I might dose or get up and go straight to bed, after my injury, I would not even dose. I would be out like a light, with no warning. It changed so many things in my life. At that time, I was off work for about nine and a half weeks.
What would you have done differently from hindsight?
Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and I have now learnt to pick my battles. I would like to think I am wiser now. At that time, I was very arrogant and full of myself, and I had a very strong aversion to bullies, I just hated bullies. Even as a kid in primary school, my twin sister would go to school nice, neat and proper and return home in that same state, whereas I would come back home with my clothes torn and my hair all over the place, and my dad would beat the living daylights out of me, only for me to do the same thing the next day.
I always fought for the underdogs. If you bullied someone on my watch, I was there to defend them. I just could not stand bullies. And that’s where the problem stemmed from. I always stood up for people who had no one else to stand up for them.
However, looking back, one has to ask the question, was it even worth it? I got into so much trouble at home and the people I even stuck my neck out for did not even appreciate what I had done. So the question, would you do things differently now? I would reply: most definitely, and maybe walk away from a few of the things I did, because in a prison setting, my stubbornness and sense of injustice bordered on stupidity, because I was not fighting a group of people but an institution, and I could never beat them.
I suppose to my credit, I did finally win my battle against the prison service. But it was at a great cost to me and at a great detriment to my mental, physical and emotional health. The fight literally drained me to the point where I was left an empty shell of my former self.
To give credit where credit is due, they did eventually remove some of the narcissistic managers. I mean, they literally walked them out of the establishment and replaced them with new people. The prison service has a major problem recruiting and retaining staff, especially now that the prisons are so violent. About eight years ago, they had to almost double the wages of staff, just so that staff would stay. But staff would still leave and say I’m not doing this job for no amount of money. And the reality was the prison service is not the kind of job you can do for money.
You talked about gangsters in prison. How did they thrive? Did officers experience any form of compromise?
Oh yes. You had the young new female officers who had been conditioned and compromised with the prisoners and they ended up smuggling contraband into the prison for the prisoners, like mobile phones, sim cards and drugs. As one of the senior officers on the Residential Wings, I made it a point in my briefings to tell the staff that if they felt that they were being conditioned and compromised, they should come and report it. I explained to staff that once they gave in to a prisoner’s demands for sexual favours, that prisoner owned them and he would then pass them around to the other prisoners. I could not think of anything worse than being owned by a prisoner.
The gang leaders were proficient in the art of manipulation, as they managed to entice the young boys into their gangs, some as young as 10 years. The gangs were simply cults, and they did whatever the gang leaders told them to do. If I asked 100 boys or teenagers or adults how they got into a gang, they all gave me the same answer: ‘peer pressure’. These guys would tell me: ‘Miss, they sold us a dream’. And they would lavish them with everything, trainers, money, clothes, you name it. But at one point, that dream would come to an end and reality would set in: it is give and take, after all. The gang leaders would tell these young guys I have been giving you this and that, now it’s time for you to pay it back.
His instructions would be ‘go to that door, and whoever opens the door, shoot them.’ Unfortunately, in a particular instance, they went to the wrong door and ended up killing the wrong man; a family man, who had his sisters, mother and grandmother in the house. I started to go to the courts with the high risk prisoners, and I remember there was one of them who got guilty verdict, and as part of my duty of care, I asked him how he was feeling. His response surprised me as he said, ‘Miss, I’m going to tell you the truth: I either get a life sentence or I get dead.’
And that was the reality of their lives. They either get a life sentence or they got out and were killed by rival gangs. He further stated that his friend had gotten off a murder charge, but he was dead today. The Judges have no answer to this onslaught of murders, so the best solution they could come up with was to lock them up and throw away the key, because at least that got them off the streets and they were rarely released after they have served their minimum term.
Any advice to Nigerians who still wish to japa?
The grass is not greener on the other side. And if you are willing to be frustrated and spoken down to in a derogatory manner by an unskilled, half qualified superior, then you would be fine.
When I wrote my first book, I had friends and family who called me. They worked in all sectors of society: the National Health Service, the Underground, teachers, you name it. And they said, ‘Oh my God! This is exactly what happens in our workplaces.
My advice to anyone who wants to travel abroad would be to try and get your first degree here in Nigeria or even better obtain your masters’ degree, because there are so many distractions abroad. They have all those highly qualified skilled programmes – that would be a great opportunity. And if you are determined to relocate abroad, just be ready to be frustrated. You have to be hardworking and ready to persevere more than anything else.
Can you mention some of the books you have written?
The first one, which is already out on Amazon, came out last year. It is called, ‘THE STORY THAT HAD TO BE TOLD.’ It was based purely on my experiences in one jail. I wrote it because I was in such a deep, depressive state. But in writing that book, it became my outlet for all the pain and anguish I was going through. I was in such a bad state that there were times when I could not even get out of bed, so I just started to write all that I had been through, my experiences, my torment and what they had done to me. And then I thought, you know what, I want my story out there.
In fact, before I started on this journey, I had no intention of even talking to anybody about it. I wanted my books to do the talking for me and I would probably only do this in Nigeria because of my literary agent, Deji Onafowokan, but on a very small scale, as I have no desire whatsoever to keep talking about one of the most painful periods in my life.
My second book, ‘WHAT REALLY HAPPENS IN A 21ST CENTURY BRITISH JAIL’ concludes the healing process and should be out on Amazon anytime now. My third book, ‘ALL MANNER OF EVIL.’ is now me being a writer.
