By Aminata Phidelia Allie
As a journalist, I always expected to go to prison someday. What I never thought about was that it would happen so early in my career. On Friday, August 8, I was on my way to the military court martial at Cockerill in Freetown when a friend, through a text message, pleaded with me to stay away “for your own safety”.
I was baffled so I asked him why. He only had to mention “August 6 publication on court martial” for me to understand the angle he was coming from. Then I remembered what I had been taught back at the journalism school at Fourah Bay College.
Under Communication Theories, I was taught about selective perception. That is, the different ways in which human beings perceive and explain different things. Frankly, I had not meant for my article to be perceived in the way it was by the prosecution at the tribunal presently trying 14 soldiers for alleged mutiny. But I cannot frown at them for interpreting it the way they did. There were a few mistakes. But that is an aside.
On Monday, my editors, my co-sub-editor and I stood before Judge Advocate Otto During in response to a subpoena that had been sent to our office the previous Friday. We apologised for whatever inconvenience my article might have caused. He accepted. I was sentenced to seven days in prison, as per an application from state prosecutor Gerald Soyei. Despite arguments by our lead defense lawyer, Roland Wright, that in a newspaper environment, the chief editor takes the blame - a responsibility which Umaru Fofana was willing to take - the ruling stood. Of course I broke down; it was a first experience.
With prison and military escort, I arrived at the female wing of the Freetown prisons around 2pm. At the gate, like everywhere else in the country presently, I washed my hands with chlorinated water before going through the gate. Through security and reception I went. At the reception, my particulars where taken. My handbag was searched and I was advised to take note of its contents. Gently I was asked to take off my jewelry and shoes. Luckily, I had a pair of slippers in my bag - I always have one.
I was also asked to switch my phones off, which I did. Done at the reception, I collected my toiletries and I was led into my room. I had a warm bath before settling down in my spacious room. I was told that the warm bath was a welcome treat accorded all incoming inmates. Lately, the prison officers have taken adding salt into the water “because of the Ebola” I was told.
Anyway...The room in which I passed the night was very spacious, clean covered floor, clean walls (no cob webs) and ceiling. It had four brand new foams on the floor and four standing in a corner as reserve. The mattresses had new linen and pillows on them. It was close to the kitchen. I was told that the room would serve as an isolation unit wherein newcomers would have to spend 21 days under observation before they would be mixed with other inmates. Again because of Ebola prevention.
I did not see any of the cells but I was told there were social amenities to keep the prisoners busy and feel at home. “They also contain new and clean mattresses, pillows and linen and it is really comfortable”, a prison officer explained to me. I was the first and only person to use the room, which was dissolved on the next day. To try out their dishes, I called for food, which I was promptly served. A bowl of rice and potato leaves sauce met me in my room. Potato leaves is not amongst my favorites but as the poor eater that I am, I tasted it and it was not bad at all.
Then I lay on my bed and buried myself into an interesting novel that I had taken out of my bag back at the reception. As night fell, the lights went off, on and off. I was not scared though I was alone in the big room. Naturally and normally, I am an indoors type of person. On week days, I only go out officially and on weekends I keep to my room quite a lot. As long as I have TV or a book to keep me company, I hardly step out unless to relieve myself. It was like a real vacation; undisturbed by telephone calls, visitors or even bad news which is so common around these days. As I lay on my bed in the dark night, most of what my renowned media law and ethics lecturer used to tell his class came clearly to me. Paramount amongst what Magistrate Binneh-Kamara used to say was that “journalists are often bound to become the news as they sniff around for what to report”. Towards dawn, officers making the rounds occasionally knocked on my door to ensure that I was safe. They greeted me and asked how my night had been.
Tea and bread came in the morning after I had freshened up. Various stakeholders at the prison went to my room one after the other to make my acquaintance. The commanding officer, who was already treating me like her daughter, reception attendants, officers in my room, cooks, porters, the red-band (head of inmates) and a few other inmates were all amongst the numerous friends I made in my 24-hour stay at the prison.
Around noon, lunch was served. To my dismay, it was rice and potato leaves, again. “Do they only cook potato leaves here”, I asked a reception attendant whom I cannot name now. “Of course not!” she replied. She explained to me that sauces at the prison varied according to days. “On Thursdays, the cooks prepare cassava leaves, beans on Fridays, Tola on Saturdays…
