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Some 33 years ago, I had stepped off the plane from Nairobi, Kenya, that had just landed at Lagos International Airport and I approached the immigration official’s desk. He began thumbing through my British passport and then summoned another official to come over to talk to me. “Why are you here?” he snapped. “I’m a journalist and I have come to write a story about an orphanage here in Nigeria,” I replied. Not realizing that at that time you were supposed to offer a bribe to enter the country, he took me away and roughly shoved me into a cell. “Why are you doing this?” I protested as the door slammed shut. “I was born in this country!” He ignored my protests and I found myself in that small cell with four Africans who all looked bemused at a white man being locked up with them. I noticed that there were only four beds and there were five of us and, thankfully, one of the prisoners offered me his bed. Executing prisoners on the beach I had never been imprisoned before and I spent a terrible night, aware that the Nigerians were going through a period of executing prisoners by firing squad on a nearby beach and showing it live on television. I certainly didn’t want to be featured in that way on Prime Time TV in Nigeria. I prayed harder than I had ever done before and I told the other prisoners, who were all Muslims, that I was a Christian and we spent many hours sharing our beliefs with each other. The next morning, I was summoned before the chief immigration officer at Lagos Airport who told me that I was “not welcome” in Nigeria and that I would be deported back to Britain on the “first available flight.”
He stamped my passport with “Persona Non Grata” and within a couple of hours, I said goodbye to my new-found friends, and was taken, a rifle butt pushed in my back, and frog-marched to the waiting plane that would take me back to Gatwick Airport, just outside of London. I had only been locked up for one night, but I began to understand what it was like for my brothers and sisters around the world who were being imprisoned for their faith. I hadn’t been singled out because I was a Christian, but because I didn’t pay a bribe, but now, for the first time, I understood the horror of incarceration and what the writer to the Hebrews meant when he wrote in chapter 13, verse 3, “Remember those in prison as if you were their fellow prisoners, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering.” There hasn’t been a day since then that I haven’t remembered in prayer those in prison in around the world for their faith. However, there was a humorous conclusion to this story. A few weeks after my return to London, I discovered that the Nigerian delegation to the Commonwealth Conference where to hold a VIP reception in the British capital. So, I called their embassy and asked if I could attend. I didn’t expect to be told that I could as my case had been raised in the British House of Commons by Bill Molloy, the then MP for Ealing North, in which he condemned the Nigerian Government for the way I had been treated. But amazingly, they invited me and there I met all the leaders of the then Military Government of Nigeria. I was heralded into the room by someone, who, with a booming voice, announced my presence by saying, “Mr. Dan Wooding, journalist.” Within minutes I was surrounded by the leaders all in their full military uniforms and one of them asked me if I had ever visited his country. “Yes, I’ve just been there, but it was a very short visit,” I said with a slight smile. “You must stay longer next time,” he replied. I hadn’t the heart to tell him that I wasn’t so sure that I wanted a longer visit, if the circumstances were the same. After all, one night in a Nigerian cell was long enough for me. Note: Dan was born in Nigeria in December 1940 to Alf and Anne Wooding, British missionaries from Liverpool, England. He is still hoping that one day he can safely return to the land of his birth.
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