The bus reached the vicinity of the prison compound. Upon disembarking, we were ushered into the checkpoint area. Here, the degrading body examination ritual commenced, with approximately 50 disrobed men crammed into a cramped room. The amalgamation of body examination and humiliation remained a perplexing enigma to me. After enduring fingerprinting, photography, and the compilation of our physical details, we were informed of our impending destination: Quarantine One. We were slated to spend 14 days here before being transferred to Quarantine Two for an additional month. Subsequently, depending on the nature of our crimes, we would be allocated to the appropriate prison facilities. This dual quarantine phase served the purpose of ascertaining whether any of us were afflicted with drug addiction, enabling rehabilitation during this period.
I must confess, anxiety clung to me like a shadow. The atmosphere in this space was saturated with a seething fury, tinged with a hint of desolation. Furious souls burdened by the weight of sorrow. Prior to our induction into Quarantine One, each prisoner received a set of standard provisions: blue underwear, a white shirt, two white bed sheets, a pair of plastic sandals, and two tattered blankets. In exchange for these items, our shoes or sneakers were confiscated. We were herded into group showers, a thoroughly dehumanizing experience. Sharing the shower with at least three or four others was a deeply discomforting affair. Here, it didn't matter who I once was or how I perceived myself; in these drab clothes and this forbidding place, I had been transformed into someone unrecognizable.
After enduring these humiliating procedures, two officers accompanied by more than four armed soldiers arrived to manage us. The commands were curt and uncompromising: heads down, move in a straight line, and maintain silence. The soldiers were tasked with enforcing strict obedience, with explicit instructions to use force on anyone who strayed from the prescribed path. It was as if we were a defeated and broken battalion, mere captives, our bodies quaking with trepidation. My eyes remained vigilant, observing the unfolding situation without ever turning to acknowledge the intimidating presence of the soldiers, armed with batons. I could hear the ominous sound of beatings echoing behind me, the rhythmic march of footsteps, and the voice of command. Unbeknownst to me, my own steps fell into an unconscious rhythm, a subtle communication with the soldiers that signaled my compliance, my submission. It would be sheer folly to defy these orders, risking unnecessary peril. The savage beatings inflicted by the soldiers shook my concentration, replacing it with frantic apprehension. Yet, my eyes remained alert and focused, meticulously monitoring the unfolding scenario. They remained vigilant, perceptive, and astute.
The officers overseeing our group did little more than watch the procession, their presence serving as a stark proclamation of authority. They resembled shepherds guiding a herd of sheep down a well-trodden path—pathways we were already destined to traverse. Upon reaching the terminus of this path, we were divided into five or six groups and instructed to sit beneath the scorching sun on the hot asphalt. The searing heat was immediately palpable, and I could feel it as I attempted to sit down after a few minutes. However, many complied, sitting down in the face of the oppressive heat.
A cacophonous uproar permeated the air, drowning out all other sounds. Hundreds of individuals, their bodies entangled in fear, seemed fused together. They resembled a herd of cattle under siege from ravenous wolves during a harsh winter.
In this desolate space, we were all forced to congregate in one place, compelled to accept our collective internment in this sun-scorched expanse. High fences and imposing walls encapsulated the main prison compound from all sides. A melancholic silence hung heavy in the air, so profound that not even a bird dared to intrude upon this desolation. Though I couldn't see beyond the prison's perimeter, I could vividly imagine the multitudes of souls confined within.
YOU ARE READING
Good Mistake
AventureThis book is merely a partial diary of my life. It's neither beautiful nor ugly, not even black or white. To me, it appears more like gray-the color of reality.
