Jail Day 04 (Continued): We Beat You Then, We Shave You.

When we arrived at the Casho DMIAP, Detection Militaire Anti Parti – inside the intelligence compound, here in Kinshasa. I was put inside a room and given rice, beans and Chicken.

Then two glasses of water.

I was very grateful.

I was deposed by a concerned looking woman, the same one who gave me her left over lunch.

I thought I was free.

The vibe however, was still very much, you’re in jail.

Please call the Embassy of Canada, tell them where I am and what I’m being charged with

I repeated for the hundredth time.

Ok” she lied.

We three were then walked across the dark compound, to a totally separate building.

The two guards began an agressive pat down.

If they knew Braille they could have discovered the brief but detailed history of Celeste’s dick.

That’s how no nonsense this was.

This one guy, let’s call him Visa, slid his hand up Celeste’s butt crack.

It was all very terrible.

I’m the kind of guy who’d rather have his dick looked at rather than squeezed unnecessarily.

Same goes for my butthole, have a peak, but keep your fingers outta there.

So when Visa came for me I pulled down my pants, showing him and his one eyed boss, Nyembo, my enormous pecker.

He pawed for my butthole like a neglected street cat so, I pulled back the curtains.

This seemed to gross him out, he made a face like ” who put salt in the sugar?!”

He ripped off my bracelets then pushed us through a door with six industrial pad locks hanging in welded rebar rings along the side.

Once inside I was in a small room with about 25 inmates.

All of whom had a front row seat to the Book Of Butthole movie that just finished.

They all stood in half moon fashion around me. The uniform they wore was blue pants and a blue shirt, most however, were shirtless or wearing muscle shirts.

The leader, told me to change into the blue outfit.

So there’s Bobby, yet again, naked in front of: who the fuck knows?

I took the key from my discarded pants as I pulled them off, I rolled it into the waist band of my new tight blue plastic prison pants.

All while 25 dudes watched me intensely.

Ethan Hunt what?

I deliberately put my shirt on inside out.

I ain’t no convict.

The leader, a young Muslim man explained the program to me in English, the room was heavy.

“Here you are in a maximum security jail”

“Because you are new, we will take you to the bathroom, beat you, then we will shave you.”

I said “ahhhh??”

“Quiet” he said loudly.

“You will shower, then we will show you where to sleep.

In the morning you will wash the bathroom.”

Do not fight us.”

Do you have any questions? He asked, finally.

Yes, I said impatiently, “the beating and shaving part?”

“Where are you from”, he asked.

“Canada” I said.

“Ok” he quickly acknowledged.

The man spoke to Celeste and Michelle in the local Lingala language, I could understand that Celeste was explaining how we ended up there.

When Celeste finished our explanation, the young man took a deep breath, then exhaled through his nose.

“We won’t beat you or shave you.” He said.

But tomorrow new prisoners will arrive, we will beat them and shave them.”

Me!? I asked loudly

Everyone laughed, no he said, you don’t beat anybody.

We were taken to the bathroom. Inside were two shower heads and a single squat toilet.

There were 3 men in there all smoking in the dark.

You will shower now, one of the men said.

Ok.

I got naked turned on the cold shower and rubbed myself with the small yellow bar of soap.

While several smoking men rotated through the darkness.

Oddly enough, I never felt a rapey vibe. It was pure curiosity.

People wanted to talk to me, practice their English, see me naked but mainly they wanted to tell me their story.

After my shower, which was very nice. Seriously. I was shown to my room, the space I would share with seven other men.

I sat on my mat, next to a sleeping man.

“This is the Bagdad room” a small quiet man said.

“There is no light in here.” He said, showing me the property.

“Are you hungry? ” He asked.

“Yes” I said.

He brought me Fufu, which is a ball of maize paste you pick from, then mash between your thumb and forefinger until the texture changes. After that you dip it into broth of some kind then eat it, accompanied by two fried fish heads.

Fuck.

After my fish head dinner I was invited to the “common” room.

Here there where several men reading the Qur’an in shared prayer, some were playing cards and a strange dice game!

I was invited to play.

And play I did, in true competitive fashion. I loved it!

After 10 minutes I was back to my old self.

The objective of the game:

You move your bottle cap around a large board with a cross painted on it.

In the center of the cross is a circle, the objective is to get your bottle cap here first.

Each arm of the cross is made up of 12 squares.

Roll the die.

You must roll a six to begin.

Then move your cap from the coloured part of the cross that corresponds with your caps color.

I was sprite.

So I started in green.

If your bottle cap lands on one of your three opponents they must go to jail, a special part of the board where they must roll a six before they can start over.

But wait!

If you’re lucky enough to circle the board you get to enter the center. Here you must roll a 6,5,4,3,2 and 1 in that order, before everyone else.

If you do, they let you out of jail.

Kidding. You win.

The best part, to be real was the little cups we each had to shake our die in.

These guys has some pretty crazy die cup moves.

Ok, not Catan, but pretty fun right?

Every time I landed on someone I’d yell “you go to jail” or “Get to jail” then my opponents started saying it in English when they landed on me.

Soon everyone was saying “go to jail” in English.

The irony of having a group of prisoners yelling go to jail, made me feel real good for some weird fucking reason.

Maybe the humour of it?

In any case, I was finally relaxed.

4 hours in jail and I’m in a games room squatting over a dice game laughing with inmates.

Hi, I’m Bobby.

After loosing dice ( I did come in second) I was given quiet advice back in the Bagdad room, “Don’t talk too much“.

I tried to sleep, but my head was sandwiched between two men’s bare feet, plus my teflon fucking pants were too tight.

All in all it was a restless stay at the Grand Bagdad Hotel.

Sweating.

Sweating.

Sweating.

Then finally, sleeping.

NOW! You go to jail!”