Durban jail house rocked - PICS

Published Jun 2, 2015

Share

Inmates can be strikingly creative when it comes to hiding contraband, Nosipho Mngoma discovers during a prison raid.

Durban - Being sentenced to a prison term at Westville means spending up to 23 hours a day locked inside a narrow, classroom-sized cell with more than 60 people.

Here, the only private space is a soiled sponge mattress on a triple bunker.

It’s Friday morning after breakfast. About 800 offenders at the Westville Correctional Facility’s B and C block, are settling in their 24 cells for the day after being counted. Many were looking forward to visits from friends and family for the weekend.

But the rumbling of heavy boots hitting the concrete floor sends a vibration through the wide corridors of the prison, muffling the eerie echo of the worship songs of a Nazareth church (Shembe) service.

More than 120 members of the Emergency Support Team (EST) split as they run into medium security blocks B and C, then seamlessly split again into two wings in each block.

The EST officers are employees of the Department of Correctional Services, but their work includes escorting high profile offenders, transferring those with long sentences, those who have previously escaped or are extremely dangerous.

They also conduct raids, a task that sometimes sparks tension between them and warders stationed at the prisons. “We don’t have day-to-day interaction with the same prisoners every day. We don’t go soft or get tempted,” said one officer, alluding to the suspicion that warders assist offenders to obtain contraband.

On this occasion, they haul the offenders out of the cells they are crammed in for most of the day, guarded by just three warders per wing per shift.

The offenders are ordered to sit on the floor with their hands on their heads. Police bring in two narcotics sniffer dogs – Border collies. A rock of what is thought to be crystal meth is discovered.

The handlers of two other dogs – rottweilers – have to wrap the leashes tightly around their arms to control the ferocious canines which they say weigh about 40kg. Even EST members are warned to keep away from them, as they lunge forward at anyone passing them in the courtyard.

This space is where offenders enjoy “free time”. For 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the afternoon offenders kick a ball around, make calls on the public phones, jog, pace or just stand around enjoying the little sunshine trickling in through a narrow gap between the roofs of the blocks.

As aggressive as the rottweilers are, they do not bark, but the officers do. “Do you have anything to declare? If you have something you know you should not have, tell us now. If we find it ourselves you will be in deep trouble, no mercy.”

Huddled together, none of the offenders initially even make eye contact.

Those with medication are escorted back into the cell to collect it before falling back into the clump of orange-clad offenders. Some have modified the regulation issue clothes using makeshift needles from telephone wire, says an officer.

After some probing, some offenders own up to having cellphones, razors, irons, money and other unauthorised items. A knife, fashioned from a metal rod found inside the sole of a shoe, is discovered and its owner “booked”.

His punishment will likely be being deprived of privileges, such as visitations.

The women officers stand in the corridor between the wings as the offenders are strip searched.

The process is similar for men and women, they say. “We line them up against the wall and pat them down, checking the seams of their clothes carefully. The clothes come off then we run our fingers through the hair, for those who have hair. We check ears, nose and mouth.”

Offenders know to make the Zulu Q click, which ensures there is nothing under the tongue. Throughout the search, the offenders’ legs need to be wide apart before a bend over for a cavity search.

Once the offenders have dressed and are back sitting with their hands on their heads, the officers ransack the cells.

At the entrance of the cells is a metal toilet with walls only on the sides. The walls are so low, a man sitting on it is in full view from the shoulders up. In some cells, old sheets are hung across the doorway of the toilets to afford some privacy. Next to the toilet is a urinal, two sinks and a shower with no door.

An odour of mould and cigarette smoke reeks inside one cell.

About five officers start the laborious task of searching every nook and cranny, some wear gloves and masks.

Most of the mattresses are slit to conceal illicit items.

There are six rows of bunk beds down the length of the room, on each wall and down the middle leaving a small passage for movement.

The officers flip aside an old sheet fashioned into a curtain to reveal nine boxes of cigarettes, two radios and designer shoes on a bed. “He’s obviously selling,” says an officer.

Another takes a knife to a pillow which has already been sown up many times. He spills the pieces of sponge filling it on the floor.

Another officers rips open a green bar of soap with his hands. “Offenders are very creative, they have all the time to think up places to hide things,” he says.

Feeling under the metal frame of the bunk bed, an officer discovers money stuck to a magnet. This is confiscated as are wires found in some of the fruit cardboard boxes and buckets neatly packed under the beds which serve as cupboards for offender’s personal items.

Spotting bottles of baby oil strewn on the floor after the search, one officer who walked in to enquire how far the checking of the cell was proceeding, makes a comment about the “number” which describes the type of offenders living in that cell.

“Twenty-sixes, twenty-sevens, twenty-eights; there is a hierarchy here. You come from the outside where you were the boss of your gang, a feared criminal, to be a wife.” They laugh.

Offenders are so desperate for companionship and contact with, the outside world, they will smuggle in cellphones even though they know – if found – will deprive them of “privileges”.

They can at least keep up with the day’s news on an unclear television mounted at the end of the cell. They can also watch their favourite soccer teams, and, judging from the pictures cut out of newspapers stuck on many of the walls, Kaizer Chiefs is a favourite. There are also drawings. “There are some very talented people who can draw (Nelson) Mandela (and make it seem) as if (you’re looking) at a photo,” gushes an officer.

The officers take turns sharing stories about outstandingly smart, talented, respectful or good natured offenders they had come across.

“One would not think they would commit the crimes they are in (jail) for. It makes you wonder. Is the same man in this prison with a Bible and rosary on his bed, the same man who killed someone, robbed a bank, raped a child? It really makes you wonder what went wrong.”

Daily News

Related Topics: