Johannesburg Prison - A Correctional Services Experience

I went to a Johannesburg prison recently to visit someone. I walked through the scanners and had the back of my palm gently stamped with invisible infra-red ink. Then I was directed to a small room where I become intimately acquainted with a female officer. She ensured that I wasn’t trying to smuggle anything into the prison anywhere on my person. Anywhere.

Hot-faced and regretting my decision to wear a knee-length skirt and boots, I walked down a short path to the warm, stuffy waiting hall with a high ceiling. There I presented identification and the admin officer ensured that I was indeed listed to visit. Then I sat and waited.

The long wooden bench I sat on was sturdy.  I looked around at the other 60-odd visitors, doing that ‘I’m-friendly-but-let’s-not-chat’ smile one does in lifts and other public yet enclosed spaces. The gathering was about 95% black, 2% white, 2% coloured and 1% Indian.

Women Visit Men In Prison… Men, Not So Much

I felt as if I was at a church or public clinic. The place was dominated by women; mothers, sisters, grandmothers, wives, girlfriends, daughters and nieces mostly filled the space. Babies occasionally added their cries to the conversation as slightly older children played, squeezing through the benches where they could.

The odd man was dotted throughout the crowd; of interest to me were 3 tall young men in hoodies and All-Stars, a man in his 60s with ear-rings, a long black trench and black Bata Toughees who kept changing seats for no apparent reason, as well as a West African-looking man with a confident swagger and a striped beanie. There were other  men too, most looking not particularly well-to-do.

And The Offenders’ Names Are Called…

At random intervals a skinny male warder in khaki uniform and trench-coat would walk through the iron gate at the front of the small hall, clear his throat ceremoniously and wait for silence as he stared at the slips of well-thumbed paper in his hands.

Then he’d begin with a well-projected “Bazalwane…” before reading out the names of the offenders who had finally been located on the large property and were ready for their visitors.

As visitors heard the names of their people, they’d file over to stand by the iron gate.

After 58 minutes, the name of the man I was visiting was called out. I acted calm as my heart raced, and I waited three seconds before standing up to make my way composedly to the iron gate.  When everyone had gathered, the gate was opened and we stepped into a space with another scanner and a long passage leading away from it.

Increased Security Measures

We were instructed to remove from any plastic packets the food, toiletries or blankets we had for our offenders and carry them by hand. Some people expressed surprise, which is when an officer told us in a friendly tone that it was because some of us - pointing playfully - had managed to get in tablets and other illegal stuff by packing it cleverly in between two packets so these new measures had been put in place.

We then had to step into yet another small room… This time the female officer was shorter and, in my boots, I towered over her, staring at the wall as she went about her business. This time I was less disturbed at the thorough frisking, and didn’t hold my breath each time her hands reached for another part of my person.

Having made our way down the long passage, we walked out into a warm sunny courtyard with high brick walls and razor-wire on the ground where the floor met the walls. Small windows high on the left-hand wall showed some slight movement as I looked up at the blue winter sky, then I was momentarily blinded by the glare of the sun glinting off the long metal tables and benches as I walked through the benches looking for a face I knew.

Orange Over-alls - Just Like In The Movies

Offenders in their orange over-alls, some with jerseys on, sat on the metal benches along one side of the hot tables and their visitors on the other. The man I’d gone to see hadn’t yet arrived so I took a seat at the far end and waited. I did my best not to catch anyone’s eye as I ignored the whispered shouts of ‘Hayibo, dudlu!’ and ‘Baby! Up here!’ from the small windows above.

Correctional officers walked up and down in their khaki trench-coats, ensuring that contact between visitors and offenders was suitable for ‘Fam’ as my 8-year old puts it. As this group of offenders were allowed contact visits, people were holding hands and stroking faces everywhere I looked. And even as a bench 1.5 metres long sat 2 groups of visitors facing 2 offenders, talk seemed free and unself-conscious.

Those offenders whose visitors had brought them food ‘to be consumed during the visit’ went at their food with gusto while also trying to keep up the conversation with their visitors.

I noticed two visitor-less offenders eyeing me at one stage but I hesitated to look directly back at them. They seemed to exercise no restraint in their scrutiny and I caught myself pressing my knees firmly together as I fiddled with the toiletries I’d brought. The man I’d gone to see appeared after a few minutes and we sat and spoke.

I Wondered What Lands Such Normal-Looking Men In Jail…

All the offenders I saw looked in good health; they were neat and well turned-out. But the man I was visiting lowered his voice as he outlined some of the realities of prison life; he hesitated to go into detail but he did mention stabbings and gangs in recent days. Cash is strictly forbidden he told me, as it apparently encourages gangsterism. He also said the reason for the increased security was that one of the offenders’ mothers had recently agreed to bring him in a knife and that had resulted in some unrest.

Looking nonchalantly about, I wondered what some of the prisoners had done for the law to deem them unfit to live in society. Some of the men played with children in their laps and shared pieces of chicken and packets of crisps with them. I also got to thinking how many of those men were there through no fault of their own… But a policeman friend had once mentioned how highly unlikely it is for anyone to be wrongfully imprisoned.

A white prisoner sitting at a table diagonally across from me looked like a former colleague whom I’d privately named SpikyBoy, with his hair in a short bristly cut. He was talking to a young woman in a pink velour tracksuit with her back to us. He stroked her hair and sniffed it in his fingers as she spoke… I felt a pang of loneliness for him as I watched that gesture. But the man sitting across from me, following my eyes, laughed it off and said the guy should have arranged a conjugal visit as certain of the prisoners have earned those.

I wondered how the average man in prison handled the prolonged isolation from love and physical contact.

What Do Prisoners Do All Day?

From what the man I was visiting said, they often get time to play soccer, for which they occasionally travel to other correctional facilities in the greater Johannesburg area to compete against other prison teams.

Some prisoners are assigned to garden duty where they tend to the grounds while others do general domestic maintenance.

However, they all have to be in bed at a certain hour and how they entertain themselves until they find sleep is up to them.

There is also a pastor who visits and leads some of the men in prayer, but he hadn’t been there lately as the authorities got to grips with the recent upsets that had taken place.

The hour-long visit soon ended, and we again had to wait for all the visitors to assemble at the gate.  After about ten minutes of standing on the cold concrete floor inside, some of the visitors got restless and an irate coloured woman started banging on the iron gate. A couple of the men also started shouting and whistling loudly like professional cow-herds. I feared the guards would be unimpressed and keep us a little longer than necessary, but we soon heard the big key in the gate and we were free to go.

Offenders: persons being held in a correctional facility are referred to as offenders and not prisoners as some are there for long stretches while others are merely there for short periods as they await trial.

Bazalwane: Zulu word, often used to refer to believers/church-goers.

Learn more about the South African Department of Correctional Services. On this site you’ll find visitation procedures, address details for correctional facilities & lots more.

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