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BY NQOBANI NDLOVU
This is my story. It all begun around 5pm on Tuesday, November 16, when a call came through my cell phone. I was having a beer drink at a popular city joint with a friend, when our Bulawayo office manager Belinda Moyo, called.
She was to deliver some worrying news.
Moyo informed me that detectives from the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) had just been to our office looking for me. I could detect a hint of worry in her voice.
I knew immediately that my inevitable rendezvous with the CID would not be a rosy affair. I knew I could be locked up for days like many other local journalists who have been accused of writing stories deemed untrue or offensive to the government. I also knew that harassment and physical harm were highly probable. I had an uneasy sleep at home that Tuesday night. As I headed for work Wednesday morning my mind was working overdrive, churning out questions whose answers I could not find.
Will they arrest me? If indeed I am arrested, will they throw me into jail? Will I stand the filth in the cell? Are they disputing my story? Or do they perhaps just want me to reveal my source?
All these questions came fast and furious. But only the police could answer them.
With my lawyer Josphat Tshuma, I voluntarily reported to the CID Law and Order Section at the Bulawayo Central Police Station around 9am. This was a visit that was to result in my incarceration and subsequent nine-day detention.
A case of criminal defamation against the police was opened, my finger prints were taken, and then, a gruelling back-and-forth interrogation started.
The police demanded to know the source of my story. They called my story malicious and false. They demanded evidence as the questioning went on and on.
At around 2:30 pm, the detectives broke the news that I most dreaded. They were detaining me overnight. My lawyer protested to no avail.
I knew from others’ experience that the cells I would be thrown into were unfit for human habitation. It was unsettling and bloodcurdling.
The police tossed me into a squalid cell that reeked like hell. I joined a motley crew of petty criminals ranging from loiterers to pick pockets.
I was detained for two days at the Central Police Station. Family members and colleagues brought me mounds of otherwise delicious food; I found it all tasteless but my fellow inmates devoured it ravenously; I became their benefactor.
There were no ablution facilities at the Central Police Station, and that translated into two days without a shower.
Due to poor ventilation, the stench in the cell was unbearable. It was so uncomfortable that at some point, I chocked.
Two days of hell passed and on November 19 in the afternoon, I was arraigned before the court for initial remand. I was highly hopeful that I would be granted bail and regain my freedom.
But those hopes were shattered when presiding magistrate, Sibongile Msipa deferred my bail application ruling to November 22, remanding me in custody.
I was to spend the weekend at Khami Prison, tasting first-hand life at a facility notorious for disease and death. It’s also a place where the hardest of criminals are interned.
Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights were the most difficult days of my incarceration.
The fear of being bludgeoned or sodomised by some hard-core criminal was traumatising.
The weekend appeared to stretch like a whole month. I just couldn’t wait to be bailed out of the damn place.
And when November 22 came, I breathed a sigh of relief. Together with other detainees, I was transported back to court for a ruling on my bail application.
Like a big-time criminal, I was brought to court in leg irons, handcuffed with a suspected murderer.
Indeed, my bail application was granted.
At last I was tasting freedom, I assured myself. But it was not to be.
The prosecution invoked Section 121 of the Criminal Law (Codification and Reform) Act opposing my bail and seeking further detention while they prepared to appeal.
Section 121 was intended to ensure that dangerous criminals are not let loose on the streets by ensuring that they are kept behind bars even when granted bail.
Technically, this meant that the State could detain me for a further seven days.
But my lawyer promised he would pull out all the stops to move the process forward and facilitate my release. My stint at Khami came to an end on Friday, November 26 after spending nine days in custody.
It was around 12:30pm when I was called to the administration office and informed that I was a free man. High Court Judge Nicholas Mathonsi had ordered my release. I was overwhelmed.
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