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Two
nights in a Zimbabwean jail
Mike
Davies
November 18, 2003
Tuesday
11.00 am
We gather at the Crisis Coalition. We get a report of the arrests
of ZCTU leaders at a hotel in town. After recording some video footage
we drive into the city, through a roadblock.
12.00pm.
Civic leaders including Lovemore Madhuku (Chair National Constitutional
Assembly) Brain Raftopoulos (Chair, Crisis Coalition) John Makumbe
(Coordinator, Crisis) Janah Ncube (Chair Womens Coalition and Vice-chair,
Crisis) Andy Moyse (Media Monitoring Project Zimbabwe), myself and
others start to gather under the pedestrian bridge outside Town Hall
watched closely by a small group of police.
Reports come
in of riot police waiting near Kaguvi Street. We are apparently
a decoy group so we mill about waiting for the main ZCTU demo to
join us which they do at about 12.50 marching north along Julius
Nyerere.
We join in with
placards aloft, stopping the traffic. About 200 marchers I guess.
We proceed about 50 metres when riot police attack with batons.
Demonstrators scatter mostly over the railings in the central island;
the 'elderly' are not so nimble and a number of us are beaten and
chased along the road. I foolishly decide to sit down in front of
a policeman but before I can do so I am whacked four or five times
with a baton across my back and thighs. I decide against being a
martyr and escape to the other side of the intersection. We regroup.
Some want to
move to First Street and carry on but Janah and I decide that the
main goal is to attract as much publicity as possible and that this
will be achieved by ensuring that all the leaders are arrested.
We turn back and cross the street to Town Hall where we are loaded
into a Landrover Defender, joining our detained colleagues including
John Makumbe who had been given a 'helping hand' by police (so well
photographed and printed on the front page of Friday's Independent).
We get down
to texting the news out on our phones. We wait for more colleagues
to join us. The police radio crackles "bring the loot to Central"
and our driver heads off around the block - only to be sent back
to Town Hall where we wait for some time again before heading off.
1.30 pm
Central Police Station Harare
At Central we are made to sit down in the courtyard with many comrades
including those leaders of the ZCTU who had been grabbed earlier.
We are 45 men and 7 women. Spirits are high; the police are sullen
and aggressive. We must sit, stand, sit but we are not cowed and
much banter is exchanged, mocking our captors.
Makedenge from
CID Law & Order arrives and is greeted with much noise from all
who recognise him; he smiles bemusedly and retreats before the barrage.
Our lawyers are in sight and we are encouraged by the aimless meanderings
that occupy the riot police while they wait for instructions. We demand
to know what we are being charged with. "POSA" we are told. "That
is not a charge" we counter but are ignored. Our names, ID numbers
and addresses are written down.
After an age we are called up in groups of tens to get finger-printed;
I am in the last group by which time the police are tired or the ink/stationery
has run out so the last four or five of us are overlooked and we are
dispersed in our small groups to sundry points in the car park to
sit and wait. We wander unhindered from group to group watched by
a minimal police presence; our lawyers join us.
Eventually we are led off to the cells. The women are taken off first
to the third floor but the men file into the holding cell - barred
at each end and no more than 3 metres wide and maybe 8 metres long.
No toilet or water. There is a spreading pool of suspicious liquid
oozing from a small cubicle that smears across the central area. We
cannot all sit so we take turns to lie, sit and stand. We speculate
as to the purpose of the electrical sockets mounted into the roof
3 or 4 metres above our heads. Cell phones hum. Interviews with SABC,
BBC, SW Radio Africa take place. A policeman instructs us to turn
off our phones; we ignore him but most of us take care to keep them
on silent mode.
Wednesday
1am
Unfortunately the policeman returns and says we must hand over our
phones. We have still not been charged. We file into the property
room and hand over our phones and money but not our shoes, socks and
belts since they do not have enough kitbags to store our possessions.
We pass the
time reading the various notices on the wall; we are amused by the
instructions regarding cell maintenance, which have been ignored
since time began, judging by the condition of the place. A gaping
hole in the roof reminds me of the reports of a sewerage build-up
in the ceiling cavity that collapsed on top of the hapless police
a few weeks before during the detention of the NCA protestors. The
story raises chuckles with my colleagues.
The police working
in such conditions are barely better off than the prisoners; how they
put up with life-threateningly unhygienic conditions astounds us but
we put it down to the all-pervasive fear of complaining that we Zimbabweans
have learnt over many years.
Relieved of phones and cash, we are taken up to the fourth floor into
a large room about 12 x 14 metres and 3 m high. It is the day room;
a smooth unpolished cement floor, two small open drains next to the
concrete columns with shallow pools of water breeding mosquitoes and
pipes disgorging the occasional cockroach. The walls and concrete
ceiling are distempered; in one area of the ceiling the leaking water
has created stalactites about 6 cms long and budding stalagmites below.
Four low-wattage fluorescent lights give the appropriate lighting
for this minor hellhole. Other light fittings hang useless with dodgy
looking wiring or no components.
We are free to wander around the unit, which has five small cells
and a shower room. Each cell is about 5 x 2,5 wide with 3 cement bunks,
a toilet in the corner with no flush but a tap that splashes to one
side and spills onto the floor if it is turned on too high. Some suspicious
looking mats and blankets lie around the floor. We do not use these
since cell veterans warn of lice and bedbugs and fleas. A policeman
later informs us that the blankets also double up as mops to soak
up the spillage from the toilet bowls.
We are counted regularly. We must stand up against the wall, no sitting
down. They count us twice each time since there are so many.
Food from Nandos courtesy of the ZCTU. Personal supplies from family
and friends help tremendously. A carton of fortified fruit juice is
especially well received. We eat well - better than the police and
certainly better than the non-political detainees, some of whom haven't
eaten for 6 days, they claim. The Mayor sends in sadza and relish,
thermoses of tea and coffee. I share my Imodium supply with Andy -
we are determined not to use the toilets. I am successful and do not
have to 'go' for nearly 60 hours! Urinating is bad enough as the stench
is overpowering. Thankfully we are never made to sleep in these serious
health hazards in spite of rumours that Law & Order have told
the wardens to put us in. The evident friction between the two sections
manifests itself in many ways.
The women are not so lucky - having been reduced to two articles of
clothing each (no socks, no bras no belts) they are kept in a cell
on the third floor together with another 5 assorted shoplifters, fraudsters
and other common criminals. They tell us that pigeons are nesting
in the sinks in their shower room.
The night passes slowly - my soft middle class body is not used to
the hard cement floor and, in spite of the valium I managed to bring
with me, I become aware of parts of my anatomy I had forgotten about!
The swellings from the police baton make moving about a delicate procedure.
My smelly trainers pass for a pillow. I have the luxury of a few sheets
of the Herald; I am comforted by the knowledge that I am sleeping
on the front-page photo of mugabe and Obasanjo. Our action will hopefully
ensure that the tyrant is not invited to the Commonwealth meeting
in Abuja in December.
Wednesday dawn
Light infuses the grey room and creates a surreal tableau. I usually
only see the dawn as the tail end of a misspent night!
We sit around the walls on the bare floors. The women join us for
meals. The day passes slowly. We talk. We sleep. We eat. I do the
crossword - the only worthwhile part of the state's propaganda rag.
Raymond Majongwe declaims some of his stirring poetry. We sing. We
dance. The more energetic play 3-a-side soccer using water bottles
for goal posts and plastic bags compressed into a ball. The ref's
whistling can be heard on the street we later learn.
Our leaders return from Law & Order Section - 48 of us can pay
admission of guilt fines for Miscellaneous Offences " conduct likely
to lead to a breach of the peace" or perhaps even contravening the
Road Traffic Act for "blocking traffic"; the Attorney-General's office
has declined to prosecute us under POSA (The Public Order & Security
Act). If we do so, we will be released but 4 ZCTU leaders will remain
and will be charged under POSA. We decline to leave our colleagues
behind and accept that we will spend a second night in prison. The
solidarity lifts our spirits. We have a historic gathering of civil
society leaders that reminds some of us of the early NCA days. The
police are anxious to know more about this new united front.
Time passes slowly. We have had no real word of the outside reactions
- 300 arrests in Mutare, 500 in Bulawayo, COSATU is closing the border,
there is a general strike - but we know our colleagues will be spreading
the news around the world. Thursday arrives.
Thursday
We spend a few
hours crammed into an office at Law & Order where the police attempt
to write "profiles' detailing our personal histories, political affiliations
and other information. I refuse and will only give my name, occupation,
ID number, and address. If they want to know where I went to school,
they can damn well charge me and take me to court. Others refuse also
to facilitate the work of the police and eventually we go back to
our cell.
The day we know will be decisive but as the day drags on we are apprehensive.
We know that we have to appear before a magistrate within 48 hours
but the deadline passes. Eventually we are led down to the property
office where we sign for our phones and money. Are we to be released
or charged? We go out to the courtyard. Lunch from Chicken Inn (oh
for some vegetables! A salad!) and then we are convoyed to the magistrates'
court. People stare at us from the pavements, slyly giving us the
open hand sign or just thumbs up. A few motorists blow their horns.
3.30pm - Magistrates Court
Our friends are gathered on the steps and the sight of our loved ones
brings emotions to the surface. Solidarity is strength. We greet and
brief each other. Our lawyers debate upstairs with the prosecution.
The State cannot decide the charges. 51 hours after our arrest, the
four leaders are charged under POSA. After some haggling they are
bailed at $20 000. We learn that we are to be charged with the same
offence. Free bail the Magistrate says and we erupt in cheers. The
police are glum, the magistrate smiles discretely. We are to return
in the morning at 11.
We erupt out of the court building into the open air. A joyful celebration
of freedom. A convoy of open-backed pick-ups laden with activists
hoots and sings its way through town. People look puzzled. Harare
CBD doesn't see this except after some soccer victory. A few smile
and wave. Past Harvest House, the people shout and wave more enthusiastically,
up along Nelson Mandela Ave past Parliament, the street relatively
quiet. We have achieved the original destination of Tuesday's march
but we don't stop to confront the police since we all want to get
to our families.
Then it's home, dump the clothes outside the house and the heaven
of hot water and soap. The bed is too soft and I contemplate moving
to the bathroom floor as sleep envelops me.
Friday
11.00 am
Back to the courts. We are confident. The delay lengthens. Eventually
we are before the magistrate. The prosecutor rises. The State withdraws
all charges for "lack of evidence" and we are free.
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