Truth and Confusion

I was thinking about my appeal and how I can turn around this big Fuck-up I created… The law firm that represented me already made a huge amount of money out of me and my family. They  came with a suggestion to try an appeal against my sentence. Well that is definitely not what I wanted to do. I wanted to appealing my conviction. Anyway, I was still considering all my options and kind of held the thought in the back of my mind. Decisions, decisions… man, only once you’re in prison does it dawn on you how important every decision you make in life is. There is a saying “take away a mans freedom and you take away his reason to live…” that my friend is why it is so important to maintain hope. You know, that in the secluded world called prison, one has to always keep a firm grip on reality. There are so many idiots in here that become totally disillusioned, it is almost as if they re-invent their past into something they want it to be instead of what it actually was… like Adrian, Bob, Fats and Toney, a bunch of hypocritical fakes.

So I was contemplating personal issues when two things happened. One, I got notice that my name was on a transfer list to Zonderwater Correctional Centre. Where? Its quite unnerving when you almost live in a comfort zone and someone starts shaking it a little… secondly; Craig that lives in my section gets poisoned… Now this bloke is a qualified engineer and generally is a nice guy. Apparently he ate something his visitors brought him and is currently having his stomach pumped after collapsing in the section, foaming at the mouth and battling to breathe. Once again radio-bandiet is broadcasting at full volume… rumours, rumours and more rumours…

Days go by that nothing interesting happens. The typical routine is unlock, breakfast, go to gym, lunch, lock-up… Boredom after lock-up is a major problem for any inmate. Time is usually passed by reading novels, radio’s played or studies made. Believe me there are only so much one can do in a 2.5m x2m cell… Masturbating two or three times a night is only fun for the first week, there after even primitive pleasures tend to get boring… Hey people, we’re all human aren’t we?

News about Craig is that he got visit from his brother and ex-wife. She was a co-accused in his fraud trail and got acquitted through it. Now Craig is serving a 56- year sentence and is 43 years old… his opinion after receiving the doctors opinion that he was poisoned, is that it had to be his ex’s attempt to collect on life insurance… it does make sense, but is it true? I don’t know…

What the truth is, was or anything related to this incident, is to this day still unknown to me. Reason being – I am being moved to a new prison, whether I like it or not… rest assured I will keep you updated… whatever it is like over there, I would let you know soon.

Well, allow me to end this week’s update with some words of advice:

Quote of the week: “Never look back, because all you’ll see is envy…”

A Little Insight

All hell just broke loose… There is shouting, screaming, a lot of loud noise. I just woke up and the air smells of burnt plastic or rubber… my door in the cell is still locked and I have no idea what the hell is going on. It’s around 7am and I’m rather confused, but also kinda pissed-off for not knowing what’s up…. I tried to look out through my only window and catch a glimpse of what looks like the riot squad running to some cells … Man this shit is weird. Roughly an hour after this scene my cell was unlocked and I could move towards the breakfast area. Everyone was talking about what the cause of the commotion was, yet no one knew for sure. Just for interest sake, when an inmate hears unfounded rumours or stories it is called “radio bandiet”. One thing about prison and that is that there is always rumours going around, because a lot of guys don’t have much else to do but spread stories…

During breakfast I hear two Gatta’s talking about what I gather was the cause commotion. From what I can understood that there was a gang related fight that took place in one of the communal cells. Apparently someone lit the bed of another inmate and from there it was chaos! You can imagine how sick the society in a prison can be… when the authorities joke about scenes and scenarios like this by jokingly singing the midnight oil song: ”how can we sleep while our beds are burning…”

So, that was the main event and excitement for the day and the rest of the day consisted of gym training, walking up and down a long passage in the Khulukhuts section and talking nonsense with the rest of the inhabitants… I can’t for lock-up time so I can use my cellphone… In the confines of Sun City Prison, the only  network operator worth using is Vodacom, for some reason MTN and Cell-C drop calls all the time, (its probably the same story outside these walls, isn’t it?)

Hiding a cell phone in prison is actually very simple once you learn to think like a criminal… I will divulge two ways: first up, well if you have a Nokia 8310 or similar sized phone, you could place the phone in a plastic bag and fit it into your water bottle and then fill it with water or cold drink, that way any time a search arrises you could simply stand around sipping water from your water bottle, whilst conveniently hiding your phone… just make sure its not a see-through water bottle as doing so will certainly win you the dumb-ass of the week award… a second method is to use a 5 socket multi-plug and removing some of the copper plates inside to fit the phone, whilst leaving one or two working … pretty  damn easy and the possibilities are endless if you use a little imagination…

Most days in prison are actually boring and this routine becomes monotonous. Yes, make no mistake you must be wide awake all the time! Sometimes days go by with nothing in particular happening and you tend to blend into the surroundings…

Lying on my bed at night I realize that my back hurts from the unsupported low-density mattresses issued to us. I guess that is were the bright idea originated to smuggle a Li-lo for myself, one of those blow-up pool matrasses to sleep on. This takes a couple of days to organize but at least I would be sleeping comfortably.

People, I’m getting very frustrated, irritated and just plain fed up with Correctional Services. These people are always boasting about change, second chances or rehabilitation to the public, but in reality there is no such thing. All these government wankers care about is collecting a salary and doing as little as possible and oppressing inmates gives them a kick… Sometimes I wonder how the “fat-cats” in charge got their positions such as the Head of security in this prison, Pappa “R”. This idiot doesn’t have any logic! He actually accused me that I was going to make a parachute with my Li-lo…But this idiot is so stubborn he actually confiscated it, despite my protests and explanations. The Bastard!!!

By now the dust has settled around my case, and combined with my current frustrations I’m starting to think about appealing my case… it’s a tiny light in a very big dark tunnel, or could it be an oncoming train?

Quote of the week: Confucius once said: “He who stands on toilet is high on pot…”

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”

Getting Settled

I’m back people! So you thought I couldn’t manage keeping the dirt coming? Just goes to show, I mean business. As I mentioned earlier, Errol and I became good acquaintances but the poor fella was a sad case as I realized in time. He was in prison far possession of cocaine and was caught in JHB international (O.R.Thambo- or something- if they haven’t changed the name again…) and sentenced to serve 15years. Unfortunately for him being an addict with minimal supply, he did have tendencies to selfdestruct and also by renting and selling bedspace he had serious enemies… drugs in Sun City is plentiful but terribly expensive!

It was roughly two weeks after I landed with my arse in prison while sitting on my bed having a conversation with Errol and drinking coffee made with a bomb, when the shit hit the fan (just to clarify what a bomb is-it’s simply two wires with the ends separated by a metal cup or flattened coke can and the other end connected to a power source i.e. a light fitting These two wires are separated so they don’t touch with wooden pegs or a toothbrush and placed as is in a bucket of water… kettles are smuggled in and almost certainly confiscated when seen by un-bribed authorities.) Anyway, I was sitting with Errol when he was stabbed from behind in his back; with a metal rod similar to a bicycle spoke… it all happened so quickly I barely had time to register what was happening… There I was trying to help a stabbed man with other inmates just looking on or passing by without a care in the world. Eventually one of the Gatta’s came to assist me after noticing what I was doing. We got Errol to the medical wing of the prison where they stabilised him and transferred him to the Chris Hani Baragwaneth hospital. I later learned he was stabbed by members of the twenty six gang for apparently ripping them off in some shady deal… the Gatta who arrested me; Chris Lotter later informed me that Errol Botha passed away hours after being admitted to hospital. It is sad, but in prison the hard reality is that people come and go, they live and die… it’s a hard reality of probably prison that I learned very quickly. I faced each day with the knowledge of reminding myself never to get too comfortable!

I decided to join the gym and just workout. Not only is it a good pastime in prison, but also the more decent guys tend to be there, also to pass time… The gym in Sun City is extremely small. Basically it is and old storeroom emptied out with some dumbbells and barbells thrown in. No more than twelve people can train at any time, but it gets the job done…

With this new hobby I adopted I made a lot of new contacts, all of which were somehow connected to some illegal method of smuggling things in and out of prison.  There goes my theory of “more decent guys passing the time”. One has to realise that life in prison is truly is a life on its own. It is a closed community with all social rules and behaviour completely different to the outside world.  The simplest of tasks become a pain in the backside to do. I already told you about boiling water, another simple thing is making your own food. We cook on an iron turned upside-down with metal plates on top as our frying pan. Rice is made by pouring half a cup of rice into a flask and then adding water from the bomb in and leaving it for an hour and a half. Naturally speaking the shop we can use to purchase items from is only open every four to six months due to the corruption and mismanagement taking place there…

One of the guys I train with, a murderer named Theo actually suggested we sell steroids to the gym freaks… now I have no problem with that except for two things: one, I must provide the start up capital for our venture and two, I don’t trust the asshole who killed a 65year old man for no good reason and is also a certified multi-personality case… I think its called schizophrenia or something…  Hey, a dude has to make money even in prison to survive… Here in prison “money” comes in many different forms. Our main currency is phone-cards or a sealed packet of Stuyvesant filter valued at twenty rand, although it costs more to purchase with real money at the shop… yes, we have normal street cash, but carrying it is risky should the Boere find it on you, you’re sure to spend some time in the bom and even get a further charge. It’s also possible to convert your cigarettes to cash, naturally a t a price of course. So that what I did, I bought eight cartons of cigarettes and converted it into cash to the value of seven cartons and held my breath as I handed it to Theo for arranging our little product of gold…

Two days later our parcel arrived via one of our Correctional couriers… a corrupt Gatta smuggling for inmates to earn extra money. And so we introduced and sold Decca, Winstrol, Sustanon and Anabol to our faithful training partners. This venture actually went on for a very long time, proved quite profitable and then like everything else in prison got screwed up by an inmate! First the fucking 26’s tried to get a piece of our business using tactics which failed… Theo and I persevered until those useless pieces of shits; the Big five’s got wind and tried to squeeze our delicate business. By now I did give a little trust to Theo and we decided to call our business to a close, effectively ending the roid supply in Sun City.

With regards to Theo, well we remained training partners for our duration in Sun City.

By now I have pretty much fully adjusted to prison life, made my own contacts to smuggle with and am living totally independent from other inmates. There was just one problem and that was that I was tiring of the overcrowded cells, the lack of space and privacy. It was time to make a decision do I move to the single-cell section or not? Well, I decided to move in to my own pozzi for a fee of course of two hundred rands paid to the single cell’s unit manager, Mr Bethuel Monareng.

People, from here onwards you may laugh at times, cry or just sit in amazement shaking your head. My time in the Sun City single cells was very interesting to say the least. I’ll tell you mare about it in my next update.

Quote of the week: “You only live once… If you live it right – once is enough!”

Welcome to Prison

Here it is ladies and gentlemen, everything you have been dying to know about life behind bars. Please take note that this isn’t science fiction, it is the truth and nothing but the truth.

This is life behind bars as told by an actual inmate, in fact these are extracts out of my diary which I will share with you every week. Due to logistics and other unmentionable reasons there will be an update only once a week. So spread the word, cause I’m sure this won’t disappoint…

My dear friends, for obvious reasons I will have to remain totally anonymous and will use the alias simply known as “iMate”… |Some of the other names, in such cases where it may affect the families of said person will be changed, but I vow never to change the names of any perverts or child molesters or any of the events that take place. My goal is to give you, the curios, the ill informed, the naïve or simply those of you who wish to follow my life in prison a truthful glimpse on a regular bases. I will also respond to any of your questions as soon as possible.

Attitude… check, Emotions… check, security… check,

                                                Here we go boys and girls – welcome to prison…

I still remember sitting on my arse during my very first day in prison after being sentenced to multiple Life sentences. Man, it was a fuckup of major proportions. By profession I’m actually not a criminal… I’m a damn good marketing executive in the IT industry…well I was anyway… all that seems so far away and long ago.     My first day was also my introduction into prison life – Hardcore! Sitting in the reception cell, feeling sorry for myself, I was on my own when this arrogant skinny looking bushy came up to me saying: ”hosh bru, what did mama pack for us? You do know you’re gonna have to pay rent to sleep tonight…” I just looked at this clown obviously confused and quite pissed off for this disrespect he was showing towards me. Hey, I may be new in prison, but let me tell you that no one throws a punch at me and gets away with it, I will retaliate…

To say that I lost it at that stage might be an understatement; I really did kick the living shit out of this guy, whom I later learned was known as Cash. He was a lieutenant for one of the local gangs in Diepkloof Correctional Centre, in Gauteng.

Of course I did not escape totally unharmed. I got the shit kicked out of me by the Gatta’s on duty who stopped my little exposé on Cash.

So there I was, my first day in Diepkloof prison, also known as Sun-city prison and found myself in insolation. It’s not a fairytale start to an incarceration period of a minimum of 20years behind bars… “Clang!” the door is slammed shut and I am left alone… all alone… my first day as a convicted prisoner…

The next couple of days went by pretty quickly as I was taken to see the medical staff to have a medical file opened. I also saw what is known as the CMC (Case Management Committee) and introduced to what is known as a Unit Manager. I learned later that this was one of the Gatta’s who kicked the shit out of me on my first day there… So much for a good first impression. To top it all off, he was known as “Jesus” Beukes…

People, before I continue to talk about my experiences I must tell you some of the basic and fundamental rules in South African prisons. There are four main contending groups of gangs. Upon arriving in prison I pretty damn well guarantee that you will get to know them within the first couple character is tested as a man…

First up is the “twenty sixes”. Any member of this band of idiots is recognized by tattoos of dollar signs “$” or “$26$” and other variations… These guys Looser’s are like a bunch of hyenas, always doing everything in groups of at least three or more. Their main “work” as it may, is to rob, steal and in some cases sell whatever they can. They are also mainly the guys that sell weed, rocks and other illegal items, and prices are controlled by them. My personal opinion is that they are just a bunch of pussies scared to stand on their own.

Second up is the “Twenty eights”. Man these guys are totally fucked-up! This is the faggot squad… All of those poor souls are, or become very in touch with their feminine side and most join up for protection. Basically if you’re a 28 you can be fucked by another 28, or pimped out to other interested parties. Dude this is totally sick and I cannot understand how a man can get a hard-on looking at another man’s ass. It’s just gross! That’s pretty much all the 28’s are about and their members are recognized by the number “28” tattooed on their hands or arms.

Thirdly there are the “Air-forces”. No, no, no it has nothing to do with the glamour of flying fighter jets. These oke’s are purely set on escape. That is what they live and die for. Their sole purpose is to look for opportunities to escape from custody. These tweedy birds are known by the letters “RAF” or “RAF4” or “RAF3” and even numbers like “23”, “24” tattooed on ankles end underarms. Strictly speaking these ass-wipes aren’t even allowed to own anything according to the Air force code, this is because they can be told by their General at anytime to try and escape, and shouldn’t have anything holding them back. Ag shame…

The last big gang group (and most despised inmates) are the” Big Fives”. This group of grannies are nothing but a bunch of snitches and squealers known as “pimps” in prison lingo. Everything they see gets passed on to the “Boere” and obviously is loved by the authorities. Once these guy’s know something about your business, you can bet that it’s known all over the place. These assholes are known by a hidden swastika tattooed on their arms, chest or back or the number “25” somewhere on their body…

So, what if you don’t give a shit about the gang-life and their ridiculous codes of conduct, I hear you ask… well, if like me you decide to stand on your own two feet, fight for what is yours and basically live outside the gangsterism, and then you’re known to the gangsters as a “Fraans”. Being outside of the gangs doesn’t mean you’re not involved at times. It simply means you’re on you’re own if shit hits the proverbial fan… In all honesty though, most of the prison fights take place amongst the various gangs. Most… but not all. As mentioned earlier when I introduced myself to Cash, sometimes things get real tough and if you don’t want to be trampled on for the rest of your straf, you got to stand up for yourself… ye choices are made, lines drawn, boundaries set and characters made or broken, I’m just thankful that he was alone and no blades got pulled…

In prisons that literally vibrate with their own vibe, gangsterism is rife. I.e. Sun City prison is grossly overcrowded were the total of inmates in a cell can range from 70 to 110, were they were originally intended for35 inmates, tempers flare quite often and the place becomes a breeding ground for lice and other serious illnesses. People are forced to sleep in the showers or toilets and passages… in this regard I was quite fortunate being a Gamla that one of the landlords (guys owning more than one bed and rents it out…) approached me and that I was able to pay for a bed that should be constitutionally issued to me. Normally I would tell such a guy to piss-off, but given the fact that I’m new in prison and didn’t feel like another trip to isolation, I bought the bed from him for 4 packs of Peter Stuyvesant…. It turned out to be a good decision and Errol and I became good friends, I mean acquittances… so at least I have some company now, which is unaffiliated to any gang. But for how long I wonder?

Quote of the week: “Worrying is good, think of it as meditation for realists”

Glossary of Terms

The following words and phrases are commonly used in South African Prisons and over time they become part of the everyday vocabulary… You will need this glossary, to explain the meaning of each word in the following posts:

Air force:              prison gang who’s members are set on trying to escape from custody

Allchange:           all inmates must go to their cells immediately.

Awe:                      a greeting.

Bandiet:               convicted inmate.

Bandietskap:     sentence.

BB:                         (Best Blend) the most common brand of tobacco smoked and traded in prison.

Big five:                prison gang of squealers, pimps and cowards who at all times run to tell stories to  the authorities with inmate secrets…

Blom:                    to sit around waiting…patiently waiting…

Bloubaaitjie:      a prisoner serving a long term sentence of more than 25years. Also refers to repeat offenders spending the majority of their lives in prison.

Bol:                        about 15 to twenty “box’s”.

Bom:                     the isolation cells in all prisons used for punishment.

Bomb:                   illegal device built in prison to make hot water…

Bone:                    mirror polishing ones shoes.

Bovalights:         prison issue black shoes.

Box:                       a varying amount of “weed” neatly wrapped in paper. In some prisons it equals a matchbox quantity or a cold drink cap.

Brah:                     friend or brother.

Bushy:                  a coloured person.

Check:                   the newspaper used to roll cigarettes and zol.

Cheesekop:         shaving ones head.

Cooker:                an inmate working in the kitchen.

DCS:                       Department correctional services

Darkie:                  a black person.

Donkiepiel:          the batten carried by guards for volatile situation and for pointing…

Fishtank:             a visiting room with glass dividing the inmate from his visitors.

Folla:                     the lining up in pairs at the beginning and end of each day by inmates for counting.

Fraans:                 non gang members

Gamla:                 a person perceived to be rich. Also refers to people receiving regular visits and support from their people or family…

Garra-garra:       see “mbamba”

Gas:                       electricity.

Gatta:                   name used in reference to guards (members, boer)

Gila:                       the made up package of valuables. See “up”

Gita:                      gentleman (pronounced djita)

Gomba:               the truck or van used to transport inmates.

Gunlight:             a normal cigarette lighter.

Hola:                     it means “hi” or “hallo”

Isinyonga:           illegal power wires i.e. for connecting ones radio. Usually isolated with plastic from bread bags…

Isolation:             see “bom”

Kak:                       Afrikaans word meaning “shit”

Khomba:             slang for accusing someone or pointing ones finger at someone.

Khulukhuts:        single cells.

Latla:                     to make a mistake.

Macarenas:        see “Bovalights”.

Mallala-pipes:   a poor individual who lived off the streets and never owned much…(a bum)

Mbamba:            a type of beer brewed by inmates using either potatoes, apples or peaches and bread to derive the heist necessary for fermentation.

Mbungulu:         bed lice

Mix:                       usually cigarette tobacco used to “mix” with ”weed”

Mkukhu:              the hanging of sheets. To close off ones bottom bunk bed with a sheet hanging from the top bed, for some privacy…

Mlunghu:            a white person.

Ntwala:                lice

Outie:                    someone who might help one out. Also friend.

Paptrok:              someone who will do anything for “pap”

Phagga:               the process of dishing up food.

Pagga:                 see phagga

Phaggaline:        standing in line for food.

Pimp:                    a person telling stories to the authorities. Usually a member of the “big five” gang.

Poke:                     to stab someone. Also refers to the sharpened object used to stab someone.

Prisoner:              see “bandiet”.

Pypskag:             area between sections in prison where pipes usually run

Safe:                      refers to the stomach or up the rectum… see “up”

Scallo:                   a complaint or problem.

Scooter:               see “shigisha”

Scully:                   where the food is dished up from.

Selftight:              plastic used and stretched for wrapping items used in gilas.

Sharp:                   meaning “I am fine” or “o.k.”

Shigisha:              a rag or piece if blanket used to shuffle along the floor to polish it.

Shortsteps:         chains around an inmates ankles to prevent him from running away and giving normal steps.

Skaftin:                the container used to have your food dished up in. usually an 2liter ice-cream container used as a plate.

Skelm:                   the trick referred to when trying to fool someone into believing a story.

Skepper:              inmates dishing up food. Also used when receiving a smaller than usual portion of food.

Skholo:                 the hard crusty layer left in a porridge pot.

Skumba:              meeting of gang members.

Skutt:                    a random search by Gatta’s for illegal items…

Slope:                    a small amount of tobacco neatly wrapped in paper. It is used to trade with and its equivalent to about 3 “ten’s”

Smokkel:              smuggling.

Spin:                      (pronounced spien) going around prison asking or begging for something in need of i.e. a “slope”, “waste”, coffee, bread exc.

Spottie:                a prison issued hat worn by some inmates. Similar to duck hunting caps.

Squat:                   inmates usually line up in rows in a squatted position during counting

Straf:                     sentence.

Stupa:                   making a fingerprint of ones thumb on official documents.

Ten:                       a small amount of tobacco used in rolling a check cigarette.

Ticket:                   the prison ticket identifying an inmate with all his personal details i.e. sentence term, charge, thumb print exc.

Twenty:                a sealed packet of cigarettes, usually Peter Stuyvesant.

Twenty eight:    prison gang of homosexuals

Twenty six:         prison gang of thieves and robbers

Up:                         a tricky process of hiding items of importance i.e. drugs or money wrapped in cling wrap… it is deposited in the safest place in prison – the owners ass…

Werk:                    “to werk someone” (to con someone)

Waste:                  a roll of toilet paper.

Weed:                   cannabis.

Wetslaan:           practicing gangsterism.

Zol:                         dagga or weed.