Westville Medium Security Prison

As you will know, I don't really do written blogs and try and stick to photos. However, today I make an exception. I hope you will grant this indulgence. It is a long post to be sure, but I think the subject matter warrants it. More photo’s will follow in a couple of days, I have been busy with graduations all week.

Today, I went to Westville Medium Security Prison in Kwa Zulu Natal, South Africa. I was invited to by Vusi Kweyama (see previous post) who was doing a keynote presentation to the prisoners at an AGM for a prison mental health support group.

Having never been near a prison in my life, I wasn't sure what to expect. I was feeling good about it, until we neared the complex when the little voice of reason in my head started planting some security concerns. I thought of the poster below! But I figured that as we were guests we would have top security, possible even be separated from prisoners. I thought wrong...

What does ‘Medium Secuirty’ mean anyway I began to wonder. Should I be worried that the security is medium? Something I took to mean about half what it should be. Or should I be reassured by the fact that these guys only needed medium security, and as such are roughly half as likely to stab me in the face with a shank then their maximum security brothers.

It was at this point that I was glad I had never watched an episode of OZ in my life, though I also regretted the brief the adverts were enough to facilitate my concern.

Our convoy (we were tailing some workers from life line who had invited Vusi to give the speech) pulled up to the boom gate, complete with tyre spikes and a handful of guards armed with a clipboard which I had to sign. They checked the boot and we proceeded into the prison.

Men in bright orange prison uniform were maintaining the grounds (mowing etc). They were literally meters away from the boom gate, through which the outside world was easily viewed. No one was guarding them, besides the guys with the clipboards I just mentioned. I figured the temptation to leg it through that gate would be pretty high but Vusi explained that inmates on such duties are normally at the end of their sentences’. To try and leg it now would be rather counter productive to their pending release.

We parked outside Section C and were joined by a guard and we headed for the door (gate). The women went in while the men were required to sign in. Vusi wasn’t talkative, clearly returning to a place he had spent years of his life as a prisoner was not an entirely fun experience...

We were led up a flight of stairs, then through a metal detector (which was turned off) and to another gate/turnstile. We passed this check and proceeded down another passage to yet another guarded gate which was an intersection of multiple passages. We took the passage on our right hand side and began ascending a ramp which coiled on it’s self like a corkscrew. The ramp was caged on all sides, if looked down the centre of the cork screw ramp there was a prisoner weight room at the bottom. It looked just like you would expect from a prison weight room, a handful of scary looking inmates working out on minimal equipment consisting of a couple of benches, weight bars and large dumbbells.

They stared up and I looked back, unsure whether to look away, make eye contact, not make eye contact or wave. The only course of action I immediately ruled out was to stare them down. While my confidence was heightened by the copious quantities of steel insulating my meagre frame from the crushing might of their biceps, I was still disinclined to piss them off.

The more the ramp curled around and the higher we got, the more prisoners were loitering on the ramp. What reason or authority they had to be there was lost on me, but it seemed rather disorganised. Finally we got to the top, though somehow I had became separated from our group. The prospect of finding my way though these corridors alone was an interesting one, but some prisoners simply pointed me down the next hallway and out a door. Hoping this wasn't the way to the shower complex, I followed their advice ad was relieved to see the rest of our group, in a courtyard, not a shower. How and why it was possible and safe for me to get separated from the group i’ll never know. It was also strange that we (a group of 10) were with one guard, and he wasn’t armed so I was hopeful that the couple of hundred prisoners we had just passed were having a good day. If they weren't I wasn't sure how much use a night stick would be to him anyway.

No one else seemed to be watching, there were no towers or walkways with guards sporting large rifles. If the many inmates we were surrounded by did something, it felt as though it would take people a couple of hours to work out anything was wrong. This seemed like some sort of strange share house where everyone was for lack of somewhere better to be then a prison.

We entered the hall and were directed to seats at the front of the hall, a long table for the "distinguished" guests facing a crowd of about 100 inmates sitting on bench seats.

The function began, it was an AGM (annual general meeting) for a prisoner mental health group which is doing wonders for these inmates. The thing went for about 4 hours, but featured more entertainment than any AGM I’d ever heard of with the Sec C jazz band, a couple of Sec C choirs and solo singers. There was some reports thrown in for good measure and of course the key note address by Vusi. He is a great public speaker, his speech punctuated by frequent applause from the prisoners who respected someone who had gone from their position (Vusi spent allot of time incarcerated at the same facility) to director of two organisations and a highly respected man in local and wider communities.

As the proceedings dragged on, I began to look around the room. I expected to find evil men who's faces were filled with anger. To my surprise I did not, I was met with the faces of normal men. Men indistinguishable from the man who serves me at the supermarket, from the dozens of men who I pass in the street every day, indistinguishable from my friends. Watching them, they were bored when I was bored, they laughed and clapped like me, they danced together and chatted when the music so required.

By now, I was starting to feel a little claustrophobic. I started talking to the prisoners, they were very polite. I felt pretty safe in the knowledge that any harm to me would probably result in a healthy increase to their sentences, a fact I was keeping on the tip of my tounge so I could remind them of it if the need arose. Luckily no event arose that required me to dispatch some healthy doses of kick-ass through the use of my razor sharp wit.

Talking to them was an interesting exercise. They were polite, well spoken and interested in our work. I started to get more confident and forward with my questions. I began being particularly forward with one man, Steve. I possibly felt more comfortable with him as he was white so our conversation was easier in English. I asked him if "this security was typical because it seemed.... well..." he interrupted me "non existent". Steve had finished my sentence for me rather accurately "well yeah" I conceded. He told me that there is about 1 warden for every 160 prisoners, and that the facility (Section C) was designed for 300-400 inmates, it currently housed about 1,200. He said that some facilities you don’t even get your own bed, just a couple of mats rolled out in the isles.

I inquired further about the safety, it looked near impossible to escape, but the lack of wardens made internal security feel lax. "When it turns it turns fast" he explained "but you can sense it coming if you keep your eye out". This didn't sound encouraging "What do you do then?" I asked. "You hope it's not you, and you make damn sure they’re scared of you" replied Steve. He told me that a couple of months ago they locked down Section B and eventually sent in the dogs. “This is the about the time for it” he warned “this time of year, the heat, everyone gets pissed off”. I thought if they lost their thick orange garb in favour of a pair of boardies and a bonds singlet (ironically referred to in Aus as a wife beater, though this maybe the problem in some cases) maybe they could all just get along, but I suppressed my impulse to offer this advice.

I asked him what you have to do to get into a medium security prison, I was trying to gauge what crimes were committed by the men that stood inches away from me. He said it was all sorts, he had "about 6 or 7 lifers for murder in his section, they shouldn't be here" referring to the fact that they should be in max security, he elaborated "take Garry for example, he has life for murder, if you piss him off he's going to kill you. He's got nothing to lose, but the max security joints are overcrowded too so he stays here." That was one extreme of the crimes committed by these prisoners, but it varied. He explained "There are guys here for 20 years, I was lucky, had a good lawyer, got 7 (*he didn't tell me his crime). Then there are kids who are here for petty theft, they put them in with these guys and they don't stand a chance."

The guard then called for us to leave and I said goodbye to a few of the inmates and headed for our gate. We followed the same maze of corridors, gates and proceeded down the long, corkscrew ramp we had ascended a few hours earlier. The weight room was empty now, with the benches and weights lined neatly along the wall.

Eventually we made our way out of the stairwell and came to the last gate, after a brief wait we exited into daylight. It was in interesting feeling, the sense of unease and claustrophobia that had built over the last 5 hours instantly disappeared. I can't quite explain the feeling, but it is a unlike anything I have ever felt, a strange mix of joy, relief and freedom. I can only begin to comprehend the feelings of a inmate upon release, but I had my brief taste of it and that will be the only sip I ever take from that cup.