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Arrest
and detention in Zimbabwe - Diary of the events from February 23
- April 12, 2002
Hans Christen
Friday 1st March 2002
After "fall in" we
languished in our cells till about 10am when we lined up in squatting
rows of 5 prisoners for breakfast. Bread and sweet tea again. However
bread is not given every day, perhaps ZPS finances are stretched
to the limit! Then it was time for the morning’s ablutions. The
300 plus remand prisoners share 4 cold water showers of which 2
are in working order. The 4 latrines are filthy and are flushed
only at intervals. There is an old bathtub which can be pulled under
the shower, and this is where the inmates wash their blankets.
Owen and Peter offered to wash my blankets,
so I gave them a bar of Lifebuoy, which they turned into shavings.
These were placed into an empty plastic cool drink container. The
container was filled with water and shaken till the soap dissolved.
My blankets were thrown into the tub alongside theirs and the tub
was filled with cold water. They then stomped around in the tub,
removing the coarsest dirt with their feet, and tipped out the water.
The tub was refilled with water and this time the soap shavings
were added, the blankets were washed and rinsed and laid out on
the dusty ground in the sun to dry. Owen also washed my khaki shirt
for me (and lent me his while mine was drying).
I was then called by the guards as I
had visitors. Jenny and a friend, Marty Perreira, together with
several relatives of my co-accused had arrived with 9 sturdy plastic
bags of requisites, which Jan Perreira had purchased the previous
afternoon. The items included sandals, soap, peanut butter, biscuits,
sandwiches, cigarettes, toilet paper, magazines, Vaseline, toothbrushes
and paste, nappies (to be used as towels), combs and cool drinks
in plastic bottles. The guards inspected everything closely, even
opening the jars of Vaseline and peanut butter and prodding around
with a stick to detect any hidden weapons. Similarly the sandals
were bent in half to ensure that no weapons were concealed therein.
The biscuit wrappers were removed and the contents checked and the
sandwiches were opened to reveal the fillings. The cool drinks and
all food had to be tasted by Jenny first to assure the authorities
that they had not been deliberately poisoned. Then the items were
passed to us, one by one, through the barbed wire fence.
There are restrictions on what kind of
food may be brought into prison, for fear of a cholera outbreak.
When we were led back to the remand enclosure we had to squat again
at the gate and wait for it to be unlocked. Then our "goodies"
were once again inspected and we were allowed to rejoin the other
squatting and sitting remand prisoners. After a time, at about noon
we were once again herded into squatting lines to receive our sadza
and half-cooked beans, served from a dustbin. We walked back to
where we had been squatting minutes before in the dusty enclosure
and ate our meal with our fingers – no cutlery is available, presumably
this could be fashioned into weapons and concealed on one’s person.
After lunch it was time to return to
our cells till supper which is usually served at about 2pm. Prisoners
are allowed to spend the interval between lunch and supper in any
one of the 3 remand cells, so one generally spends the afternoon
with friends, not necessarily in one’s own cell. I was introduced
to a remand prisoner who had been arrested near Hwedza. He had already
apparently been handcuffed when he was shot through the left leg
by a police officer. He had been granted bail of $500, but had no
access to the required money.
Suppertime duly arrived and we were faced
with sadza and beans again. It is prudent to get into the supper
queue as quickly as possible, and then entrust your plastic bag
of "possessions" and you plate of food to a friend while
you quickly shower. If one waits too long the showers become congested
with 4 or 5 people trying to get under the jet of water at any one
time. In addition to the people lining up to lather themselves there
is a constant stream of inmates trying to wash their hands or fill
their empty supper plates with water to drink. Plastic cool drink
bottles are a precious rarity and are periodically confiscated by
the guards.
Once in cells for the overnight period,
the only water that most inmates have access to is that contained
in a 20l plastic cooking oil container placed in each cell. The
showers are so congested that some inmates choose to stuff a strip
of blanket into the latrine and flush repeatedly till the bowl is
full. This enables them to wash themselves and their clothes in
a more leisurely manner.
After supper, Jenny visited again, bringing
more food, but was told that in future she should restrict her visits
to once a day. I was able to speak to her for 15 minutes – prisoners
are permitted to talk to relatives once a week, although food can
be brought every weekday. Her name, address and ID number were duly
recorded in the visitor’s book.
Once back in the cells, I was called
to the window where an inmate, dressed in the trademark white shorts
and shirt of the convicted was waiting to talk to me. It was Martin
Chataza whom I did not recognise, but who told me that he had done
some casual work for me about 4 years ago - I had gone to the Department
of Labour to recruit temporary employees to sand down the wooden
floors of our new house. He asked me how I was coping and tried
his best to lift my spirits. He passed me a couple of tatty, well-thumbed
magazines through a narrow gap in the window’s weld mesh. Over the
next days, he also secured a gleaming tin mug for me – my very own
personal mug! I no longer had to use one of the dirty, bent and
buckled and often leaking mugs that were handed out at breakfast!
The communal mugs were also in short supply and those at the end
of the breakfast queue could only be served tea once the kitchen
staff had collected the mugs from those prisoners who had already
finished their morning tea.
Martin came back daily, bringing me more
magazines, and on one occasion, an old thin foam mattress. I was
now on cloud nine! Martin also offered to wash my blankets in hot
water to try to rid them of lice and their eggs. I presume that
convicts have access to hot water to do their laundry. I readily
accepted. Martin’s kindness was a reflection of how I was treated
by many of the prisoners during my time at the prison. For some
reason, I was somewhat of a celebrity. It was rare, I was told,
to see a white man in prison. Peter Tapera told me that in his 17
months in the remand cells he had only seen six whites, who all
came and went again very quickly. None had stayed in jail for more
than a few days, he said. One of the whites, he said, had been locked
in the Penal Block, an imposing brick building with a concrete roof
and tiny windows set high in the wall.
When not in their cells, the Penal Block
prisoners sit in a small high-walled courtyard with a weld-mesh
cover. The Penal Block prisoners are never seen, but the whole issue
is spoken of in tones of awe and trepidation. When I finished talking
to Martin, I noticed a prisoner lying on his blankets two places
down from where I slept. He looked dreadful. He had just been discharged
from hospital and brought back to the cell, but it was patently
obvious that he was in no fit state to be back in prison. I never
found out his name but I gave him the Coke that Jenny had brought
me in the morning, and tried with what limited means I had to make
his life more comfortable. He sipped the coke, aided by a friend
who helped him hold the mug. His hands were shaking so much he could
not have placed the mug to his lips without assistance. I also gave
him some of the cheese and tomato from the salad that Jenny had
brought me. He was too weak to speak but clasped my hand feebly
in a gesture of thanks. He motioned to me that he wanted a cigarette,
but I felt it would do him no good and I refused. Later two inmates
carried him to the latrine so that he could relieve himself. I woke
up repeatedly during the night to hear him retching into a plastic
bag which his neighbour was holding.
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