Last week three of us went to visit Linda Masarira at Chikurubi Remand Prison. We were taking her supplies and some positive spirit. On arrival at the gate we were greeted fairly cheerfully by a plain-clothes woman whose job it was to sign us in. The process was simple enough and as soon as we’d handed over our keys and IDs we were handed a slip of paper, which contained our information, and that the person we were going to see was Linda.
But we weren’t given directions or any indication of where exactly we must go. So we began our walk, which was un-signposted. The children of the prison officers called “murungu” as we walking through the grounds. After asking for directions twice we found ourselves at Remand where a female prison officer explained to us that Linda was at a court case and wouldn’t be back until much later. We weren’t able to leave any of the goods for her, as the rules are prisoners must be there to receive the supplies brought to them.
Heading back to our car we were accosted by a prison officer who told one of our party, who was ahead of the rest that she wasn’t allowed to loiter. He then proceeded to offer advice on how to get the groceries to Linda who was at court, telling us we should lie and say that we lived out of town and only had one day to see her. After his ‘advice’ he asked for a lift to town. We said we weren’t actually going that far but we could take him as far as Chisipite, to which he replied that he would then have no money for transport. We shrugged.
At the gate another guard spoke to him in Shona asking, ‘So, how are your white people?’ We responded that ‘his white people were fine.’ We were then followed to our car by the prison officer who had asked for a lift, saying he would like us to take him down the road to the support unit, and he was joined by another officer who said, ‘What about me?’ We offered them a seat in the car and as they got in they noticed the Zimbabwe flag over the backseat. This seemed to concern them and they seemed surprised when we said we were patriotic.
I was able to return a couple of days later with one of my black female friends. Knowing the system a little better, I showed my friend where to park. No sooner was she putting her steering lock on when an officer walked over and asked us where we were from. He was aggressive and pushy and wanted to know who we were here to see. When we told him he pointed a little further to our left and said we should park there. We did as he asked. He engaged aggression over courtesy. It took for someone to come to sign us in. He asked who we were there to see, and again asked us where we were from. ‘Harare,’ I said. ‘Where?’ ‘Harare City,’ I replied. ‘Where?’ So I responded with the name of the suburb. Then his friend shouted over to him that if we were there to see Linda only one of us could go in. I questioned this and was met with the answer, ‘Only one.’ I said to my friend that she should go in as she had really been wanting to speak with Linda, but the officer looked at her and then pointed at me and said, ‘No, you.’ He was on some kind of power trip. I asked if my friend could go in once I came back and he said no. He asked for phones and cameras, I said I had none. He looked irritated and asked again. I said I did not bring them with me. He looked at me suspiciously. My friend then questioned him in Shona and asked him, ‘Do you want to search her?’ And he replied, ‘We can search.’ He was looking for conflict.
Linda and I spoke about her spirit and her health and I asked what she needed, and what her kids might need. It was good to see her, but also difficult to see her sadness. Three female officers listened to our conversation. I was instructed to hand the supplies that I had brought through the fence, item by item. We had brought her some biltong and I was told to taste it before I handed it over. There were certain items Linda was not allowed such as soap, antiseptic, a few headache tablets and sanitizing wipes. I had a bag of ten apples but she was only allowed six. Everything was written down and recorded. The Drum magazine we had brought for her was taken by the female officer.
Linda had tears in her eyes as she spoke to me about not having seen her son in so long. She was also unaware that the number of visitors she was allowed had changed. We spoke for a while longer and then we said our goodbyes.
I walked back to the car. At the gate, the woman who had signed us in two days earlier was back. I asked why Linda was only allowed one visitor at a time. There was a discussion amongst the officers and I was told that all female prisoners were only allowed one visitor since yesterday. This was clearly a lie. She then said that my friend could now come in and see Linda.
I walked to the car where my friend had been waiting and we spoke for a while about the situation we’d both just experienced. We felt angry and intimidated.
Enough is enough.
– Jamie McLaren