When we reached the end of the corridor, the guard unlocked a door on the left to reveal an empty cell.
‘Get in,’ she said. ‘Have you any belongings?’
I shook my head.
‘We’ll notify your family in the morning and get them to send you your belongings. Now, go to sleep!’
I asked her whether I could go to the toilet. She pointed to a cement bucket in the left-hand corner of the room and said, ‘I’ll lend you some toilet paper.’
She pushed the bolt in place with a loud clang and locked the door. I heard her moving away down the corridor.
I looked around the room and my heart sank. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling; the once whitewashed walls were yellow with age and streaked with dust. The single naked bulb was coated with grime and extremely dim. Patches of the cement floor were blackened with dampness. A strong musty smell pervaded the air. I hastened to open the only small window with rust-pitted iron bars. To reach it, I had to stand on tiptoes. When I succeeded in pulling the knob and the window swung open, flakes of peeling paint as well as a shower of dust fell to the floor. The only furniture in the room were three narrow beds of rough wooden planks, one against the wall, the other two stacked one on top of the other. Never in my life had I been in or even imagined a place that was so primitive and filthy.
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