The high red brick walls of “Sun City,” otherwise known as the Johannesburg Correctional Center, are about six or so meters high, obstructing the sun, so you only see it for a few hours. The roof and floor of the prison are concrete, so summer or winter, Sun City is always cold. I know all this because when I was arrested for the first time in 1996, I was housed in the remand center at Sun City. I was scared—the jail was notorious for gang violence during the apartheid years. It was also known for its harsh living conditions; the cells were just empty halls with far fewer bunk beds than there were detainees. Most of the detainees slept on the cold cement floor, me included.
There are seven prisons in Joburg. All of them were inherited from the apartheid days. In those times, the prisons were largely there to house and punish offenders who did not adhere to the apartheid laws. Black people were the main victims of these laws: pass laws, curfews, segregation, and homestead. Those who could not obey were imprisoned, punished and used for cheap labor in industries that needed workers, like farms and construction industries.
When the country became democratic in 1994, the spirit of freedom gave hope to the people of South Africa. As these changes were taking place both in the government and the private sector, the prison system also needed a makeover—restructuring to align its policies and day to day management to the new democratic order. Many said it was time to do away with punitive system that was practiced by the apartheid government and to introduce human rights to the correctional system.
However, it was not an easy task to rewrite history or to change the legacy of four decades created under the apartheid government. During Mandela’s tenure as the first democratic president, most of his cabinet members had experienced the prison system during apartheid. One would expect that since they went through it, they’d want to reform the nation’s prisons. But when I was held at Sun City, there was no sign of change. Going to the kitchen for breakfast was a nightmare. I had to walk in a two-by-two queue, enter the kitchen, sit on benches four-by-four. We’d walk in a single line, pick up a plate, as we passed the wardens who were holding dogs as we approached to put our plates for dish up. During that whole process, you must be vigilant: not too fast, not too slow, or wardens would unleash the dogs to bite you. You have to be fast, but don’t spill. If you spill, you will hear with a button stick from the warden. Again, find a space at the table, sit and eat the hot porridge quickly, while the wardens shouted “Fast, fast there are no bones in there. This is not your mama’s table.
Wardens would beat you for no apparent reason. They had their own unique language: wardens would say “squat,” a term they used to call for attention. When you hear that, you should squat down on your heels, hold a position and look down at the ground.
Fortunately, the first time, I only stayed in for a week before my case was dismissed. The saying goes, “once bitten, twice shy,” but that was not me. I tried, but unfortunately, prison would become my second home, one that I would visit almost every year after that first time.
When I visited Sun City again in 1999, it was for armed robbery, not fraud as before. The changes were slowly trickling in. Wardens were now called “officials;” prisoners, as we were called before, were now called “inmates” or “detainees.” And the bunk beds. This time, there were enough for the original number of people the cells were built to accommodate: 40 inmates for the communal cells. But overcrowding is one of the problems inherited from the old prison system. There were never enough beds for everyone, so they were claimed by the inmates who had power. Power in prison could come from having money to belonging to a gang or having a relationship with wardens or just being in for a violent crime. That would put you in a position where you could access certain favors in prison. This time, my court case would require a minimum of two months, up to six months before I would go to court at all. This gave me the power to negotiate for a bed, while those who were arrested for petty crime slept on the floor.
I spent many years in and out of the system but it did not teach me any lessons. I thought I was untouchable, and life was entertainment, until my then-girlfriend got pregnant with our son. It was a life-changing experience for me because now, whatever I was doing was for my unborn child. Although I was contemplating an exit plan from crime, it took me time. The law caught up with me in 2005, and I was gone until late 2014.
Almost a decade into democracy, DCS had undergone a lot of changes, having adopted a human rights approach. Instead of sentencing offenders to do hard labor in the farms and quarries, as was the policy in apartheid, they were now given a chance to go through a rehabilitation process. But incarcerated people still work for next to nothing in the workshops run by correctional facilities under the banner of “skills development.” When I was inside, the salary scale ranged from R30 ($1.87) up to R120 ($7.49) monthly, depending on the type of work. And what does rehabilitation look like in a correctional center? Programs like education, sports and social worker-run programs, which include anger management, substance abuse and life skills.
Over time, the changes I saw were that the hurrying up of detainees to eat quickly was gone, no more forced showering with cold water, no more harassment by officials for no reason, no more dogs. In the cells, the stealing and smuggling are things that prison will never eradicate, but they have decreased. Unfortunately, there was no change in overcrowding; instead, it was worse. There was at least some difference: they had put in more bunk beds. The beds were stacked up three stories instead of two. Overcrowding was counteracting any attempts to make real change. In February 2006, my cell, designed for 40 people, fluctuated from 102 to 106 inmates. People slept on the floor between the bunk beds, in the passage leading to the door and in a small space where there was a toilet, shower and sink.
In Sun City, the odor of thick, dirty air circulates in the cells and in the corridors. You can cut through it with a sharp sword. You can feel its heaviness no matter how much you clean. No matter how you try, it will only smell fresh for a few minutes.
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