09/11/2026
Ummmmm DIARY OF A PRISONER
SEASON 1 EPISODE 1
Diary of a Prisoner
Part 1: My Wife
Permit me to still refer to her as “My Wife,” because we haven’t divorced yet.
On December 31, 2024, we officially got married — after three years of dating. It was a deeply private ceremony: just five people, exactly as we both wanted. No crowd, no media, no fanfare, no noise, no grand celebration. Even our wedding picture was never posted on social media. It was ours alone.
Fast forward eleven months, to November 22, 2025, at 10 a.m. My wife served me breakfast, and afterward we sat and played cards together, laughing like any other morning. Then she told me she was taking the kids to a doctor’s appointment in Yassa, Douala. I had no idea that she was actually on her way to the airport.
For over ten hours, I called and texted, over and over, with no response. Terrified that something terrible had happened to her and my children, I made my way to file a police report. On the way, around midnight, I received a call telling me my wife was on a flight to Canada 🇨🇦.
I was stunned. And yet, beneath the shock, there was a strange flicker of relief — at least nothing had happened to them.
I rushed home and searched everywhere. The wall drop was empty. I checked the drawer — the passports, the documents, all gone. How did she manage this? How did I miss every sign? I later learned she had been planning it for months. Her clothes were already packed and waiting at her aunt’s place in Bali, Douala.
Confused and heartbroken, I sent her message after message. Not one reply came. Not one, to this day. After many attempts, I finally stopped writing — not because I stopped caring, but because I couldn’t bear the silence anymore.
Five months later, in April 2026, I saw her crying on social media. I was shocked. I won’t go into the details of what followed — most of you already know.
Now, here is why I’m telling this story. Since the day I was arrested, I haven’t heard a single word from my wife. Not even a hello. And the strange thing is, every time I got the chance to speak to my kids through my wife’s little sister’s phone, I could tell my wife was right there — listening, present — and still, she said nothing.
But here is the part that broke me completely. My lawyers needed our marriage certificate and our children’s birth certificates. Since she had left with every document, I reached out to her directly — it felt disrespectful to ask through her little sister instead. I wrote to her myself. She read my message. And still, no reply. Instead, she quietly forwarded the documents to my little sister, who then passed them on to me.
That silence broke something in me. Not even a simple “I heard you were arrested — are you okay?” I understand that people fall apart, that love can crumble, that marriages end. But does it really have to sink this low? Yes, we argued. Yes, there were nights we disagreed, moments clouded by suspicion and accusations of infidelity. But what about the good years? What happened to the memories we built over four years together? What happened to basic human compassion, to empathy, to caring for someone even after love has faded? Is it truly possible for a person to grow this cold?
My wife leaving with our children, without my knowledge or consent, wounded me deeply. But it was her silence — her refusal to show even a shred of compassion for what I’m enduring in prison — that shattered me. It left me frightened. Broken.
That day was one of the most emotional of my life. And through it, I learned something painful: perhaps we can never truly know another human being — not completely, not even the ones we’ve loved the one who's loved the most
