Guilty Or Not Guilty pt.2
1414 Words
A few days later, the courthouse in Shagamu was filled earlier than usual. Word had spread across the neighborhood about the case of a young boy accused of murder. Some people came out of curiosity, others came out of sympathy. Many simply wanted to know the truth.
Inside the courtroom, the air felt heavy.
Wooden benches were filled with people whispering quietly among themselves. Some recognized the boy’s name. Some knew his mother. Others had only heard rumors. At the front of the courtroom stood the judge’s high bench, polished but worn with years of use. On the right side sat two lawyers representing the government. On the left sat the lawyers defending the accused. Two armed police officers stood near the entrance, silent and watchful.
Everyone was waiting.
Outside, the distant sound of a siren slowly grew louder. Heads began to turn. The Nigerian Correctional Service transport bus rolled into the courthouse compound. Its brakes hissed as it came to a stop.
For a moment, everything went quiet.
Four armed officers jumped down from the vehicle, their boots striking the ground heavily. One of them walked toward the back of the bus and unlocked the metal door. Inside the small barred window of the vehicle, a young face could be seen.
It was Akin.
His face looked calm as always, but his eyes carried worry and confusion. The past few days had felt like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.
The door opened.
“Come down,” one officer ordered.
Akin stepped out slowly.
Metal handcuffs hung around his wrists, clinking softly as he moved. He looked thinner than before, like someone who hadn’t slept well in days.
The officers guided him toward the courthouse entrance.
Inside the courtroom, murmurs began to rise.
“That’s him.”
“The boy they said killed someone.”
“He looks too young…”
Among the crowd sat Akin’s mother, clutching a worn handkerchief. Her eyes were swollen from days of crying. The moment she saw her son enter the room in handcuffs, her body trembled.
“My son…” she whispered.
Not far from her sat Madam Kofi, the woman who had called the police that night. Her face looked tense and uneasy. She kept her eyes lowered.
The officers escorted Akin to the front and placed him in the defendant’s stand. Then the court clerk stood up.
Her voice echoed clearly through the room. “All rise.”
Everyone stood as the judge entered.
A tall man wearing black judicial robes walked slowly to the bench. His expression was serious and composed.
He sat down and adjusted the files in front of him.
“You may be seated.”
Chairs creaked as everyone sat again.
The clerk spoke once more.
“The next case before this honorable court is the criminal offense alleged against Mr. Abiola Akinloluwa, accused of committing murder.”
A quiet wave of whispers passed through the courtroom.
The judge lifted his gaze.
“My name is Barrister Olagoke Emmanuel, presiding judge of this court,” he said calmly.
He turned slightly toward the right side.
“Counsel for the government, please introduce yourselves.”
One of the lawyers stood up confidently.
“My Lord, I am Barrister Ayegbeni Lawal, representing the government.”
He gestured beside him.
“And this is my colleague, Barrister Babatunde Moses.”
Both nodded respectfully.
The judge then looked to the left side.
“Defense counsel?”
Two lawyers stood.“My Lord, I am Barrister Yusuf Hammed, representing the defendant.”
He motioned toward his partner.
“And my colleague is Barrister Chinoso Stephen.”
The judge nodded.
“Very well.”
He looked toward the police officers. “Who is the witness to the incident?”
For a moment there was silence.
Then, from the back of the courtroom, a woman slowly stood. “I am, sir.” It was Madam Kofi.
Her voice shook slightly as she stepped forward.
She walked carefully to the witness stand, feeling dozens of eyes watching her. The court clerk handed her a Bible.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
Madam Kofi placed her right hand on the Bible.
“I swear.”
Her testimony began. She described the night of the incident, the chase, the fall, the sudden silence afterward. Her words were careful and nervous, but the courtroom listened closely. When she finished, the government’s senior lawyer rose slowly.
His face burned with determination.
“My Lord,” he began loudly, “this case represents a growing problem in our society.”
He walked slowly across the floor.
“Nowadays, many young men refuse education. They refuse honest work. Instead, they choose violence, drugs, and crime.”
Some people in the courtroom nodded quietly.
“These behaviors are destroying our communities,” the lawyer continued.
He pointed toward Akin. “And today, we are seeing the result.”
He closed his file with a sharp motion. “My Lord, the evidence is clear.”
“I rest my case.”
The defense lawyer immediately stood.
“Objection, My Lord.”
His voice was calm but firm.
“My client here is not a criminal.”
He turned toward the courtroom.
“Mr. Abiola Akinloluwa is known in his neighborhood as a quiet and respectful young man. People admire him for his kindness.”
He then addressed the judge.
“My Lord, the evidence shows the victim attempted to rob my client that night.”
He paused.
“My client simply tried to retrieve his stolen property.”
“The victim unfortunately fell and struck his head on an iron rod.”
He spread his hands.
“That was an accident.”
“Self-defense, not murder.”
The courtroom grew quiet.
Then the lawyer asked a final question.
“If that thief had successfully robbed my client and escaped, would we even be here today?”
No one answered.
“My Lord,” he said softly, “I ask the court to temper justice with mercy.”
He sat down.
The judge leaned back slightly.
He took a few seconds, reviewing the documents before him.
Then he looked up.
“I thank both counsels for their arguments,” he said.
“And I thank the witness for her testimony.”
He turned toward the defendant.
“Now, we must hear from the accused himself.”
All eyes shifted toward Akin.
The young boy stood quietly.
His heart pounded.
The judge spoke clearly.
“Mr. Abiola Akinloluwa…”
“After hearing the evidence presented before this court…”
He paused.
“Are you guilty of this crime… or not guilty?”
Akin froze.
The word guilty sounded unfamiliar to him.
He didn’t understand what it meant.
Suddenly, a memory flashed through his mind.
One day in the neighborhood, people had laughed at him because he answered a question wrongly.
A girl had corrected him.
“If someone asks you ‘Are you?’ you should say ‘Yes, I am.’”
Standing in the courtroom, confused and frightened, Akin believed the judge had asked a similar question.
So he answered quickly.
“Yes… I am.”
The courtroom went silent.
Complete silence.
His lawyer turned in shock.
Akin’s mother gasped.
From the back of the room, the same girl who once corrected him jumped up.
“Wait! Your Honor!”
But it was too late.
The judge raised his gavel.
“Let the record show that the defendant has admitted guilt.”
The gavel struck the desk.
“Based on this admission…”
The judge’s voice became final.
“This court hereby sentences Mr. Abiola Akinloluwa to 30 years imprisonment.”
The sound echoed across the room. Akin’s mother collapsed into tears.
The girl began crying.
Whispers filled the courtroom. And Akin stood there, confused and broken, still not fully understanding what had just happened.
Question for the reader:
Is Akin truly guilty… or not guilty?
Stay tuned to find out what happens next.
The judge has spoken, and Akin has been sentenced to 30 years in prison. But is that truly the end of his story? Did the court make the right decision, or was there a misunderstanding that changed everything?
Will Akin really spend the next 30 years behind bars, or will something happen that could change his fate?
The truth has not fully revealed itself yet.
Stay tuned and see what happens next.
- Writer
