Moving up

“Here I am, this is me.” Ha-ha, it kind of sounds like one of those Brain Adams songs. Rather lame I’d say. So anyhow, I move into my own cell in the Khulukhuts of C-section. What a mess it was, it looked as if a 28-orgy took place in there and they all shat for hours afterwards. The cell was filthy and to top it all, the toilet didn’t work. I just looked at this scene and thought “what now”, all my stuff was outside the door and I really couldn’t move in there without cleaning the place up first. Two of my fellow Bandiete came strolling up to me and offered to clean the place – for a fee of course… Ye, nothing in prison is free!

Around two hours later the cell was actually cleaned and I thought this cleaning services money was money well spent.

 Alls well that ends well, except for the fact that the toilet was still blocked. Sanza and Chupping, the two fellows that cleaned up my cell so nicely, said that for an extra something they could solve my plumbing dilemma. In my life I never imagined what I am about to describe to you now. Sanza was a very short and very fat guy with Chupping the opposite being 6’7”and 120kg. Sanza literally dropped his pants and sat on the toilet bouncing up and down, by lifting his arse an inch up and down hard on the rim of the bowl. There are no fancy toilet seats in prison, just a bowl. So by lifting up and down with his arse sealing around the rim, he created a vacuum periodically and forced air into the bowl. I was laughing hysterically at this sight. A very short and obese little man sitting naked on my toilet, bouncing up and down- it sounded like this:  shooooop, bloempf…… shoooooop, bloempf and carrying on like this for the better part of 30 minutes when all of a sudden my occupied throne started to gurgle and grunt… Voila! The toilet was unblocked! I was actually impressed.

So impressed I was that I also made Sanza my official laundry guy. He would wash and iron my close twice a week for one twenty per month. To say the Khulukhuts is a rainbow society doesn’t even begin to describe the various characters there. Obviously you’ve met |Sanza and Chupping doing time for robbery on a golf course, both being ex-caddies now. Then we have Solly (ex-lawyer), Craig (engineer), Martin (professional con-man), Adrian (self-proclaimed billionaire) and George  (ex-fruit & veg shop owner) in time they became regulars in my life and each made some contribution to my memory who you’ll read about soon enough…

Making telephone calls in prison can become a big issue, especially when some hot-head decides to jump the cue. Tempers flare up, noise levels increase and in general it becomes almost impossible to have a conversation with anyone on the telephone… Mix all that with the fact that your calls may not exceed 10 minutes and you are only allowed 3 calls per month, you should understand the frustration amongst inmates with regards to telephone calls. I don’t know who the idiot was in Correctional Services who came up with that rule. If one has a wife, kids, parents, brother, sister and a lawyer to call, you have to leave someone out… yet DCS claim a good support structure for inmates is of utmost importance to them? Bullshit, they are talking nothing but rubbish in an attempt to portray themselves as hardworking and effective individuals – Kak! They’re a bunch of hypocrites!

You see, I read once that the South African black male is rated by AC Nielsen as the laziest male in the world. I do not know if that is really true, but it is pretty much what I see in the actions around here… Every morning we are unlocked for breakfast and left to our own devices until two in the afternoon, at which we are locked in our cells for the night. During the day, all the Gatta’s are either sitting drinking tea in the central office or sleeping in a chair in an adjacent office. They do no patrol the section or test any window frames and the only time you as an inmate can get something done by them is with a bribe… yes Tata Tana: you as the head of this prison are now openly named and shamed, but you’ll probably get a promotion for being named as useless… Typical new South African style… there is no pride amongst the Correctional Service members and it shows. I guess their only prerequisite is that they can use a Donkiepiel to beat inmates into submission A.K.A Berrent Nchabileng.

Be as that may be, given the frustrations regarding making telephone calls, I decided to invest in my own cell phone. At least I’m able to have regular contact with my loved ones. The only thing keeping me sane in this dump. The phone isn’t something special, just a Nokia 8310. Basic but it gets the job done. Hiding it away in a 2,5m x 2m solid brick cell is another story. But hey, I’m moving up in life… prison life that is…

Quote of the week: “Lets put all the politicians in their place… Landfills”