by Shani Krebs
They were expecting to get moved any day, so I asked Itzik if he could buy and smuggle in a jack for my dog when they got transferred. I needed a spare.
Shlomo was in his element when they finally arrived in Building 2. He welcomed them into his house, and I welcomed them into our cell. Itzik would sleep directly opposite me with the old man, while Avi would sleep next to me. With the addition of the two of them, now we would be 14. Until then, Shlomo had been the only smoker in our cell. Now I discovered that all three of them smoked. This was going to make life unpleasant for the other members of the cell, who were all anti-smoking. A while back, I had tried to convert our cell into a non-smoking room, but Shlomo had refused, claiming that we were being selfish and not considering him. I had to give him credit, though, because he did compromise and only smoked three or four cigarettes while we were locked up. On the Israelis’ arrival I explained the problem to the three of them and asked them politely, for the 15 hours that we were all cooped up in the cell together, to please cut down on their smoking. Smoking had been banned in public places in many countries, and everyone knew that second-hand smoke was known to cause cancer. All I was asking them for was a little consideration.
Itzik had managed to smuggle the jack I’d asked for into our building, and I paid him for it straight away. The guard at our gate was the infamous Mr Somporm. He was only about 1.5m tall, but, since his appointment to the gate, he had bust many prisoners carrying drugs and dogs – even biscuits. How Itzik got past him, I don’t know – we drug dealers had our ways of eluding the guards – but anyway I was impressed.
Within minutes of arriving in our building, Itzik was already making enquiries about the availability of a dog. I was quick to enlighten him. As newcomers, the three Israelis would be closely watched by Veesarnou and his spies, the Blue Shirts, who informed indiscriminately on their fellow inmates in order to find favour with the guards. The risks were great. The key-boy informer now slept where the General used to stay, but he would walk around in the corridor to see who was doing what. In addition to all this, the closed-circuit cameras in our cell monitored our every move. I told them they needed to sit tight for at least two to three weeks. I didn’t mention yet the spare dog that I planned to give them. Instead, I offered to send text messages for them if there was something important they needed to communicate to someone outside.
Itzik’s wife and two little boys were living in Bangkok with the rabbi, and through the Israeli embassy he had organised permission for his wife and kids to visit every day and bring him food, as he claimed to be kosher. He was entitled to have his visits in the embassy section, which was at the entrance to the foreign visit room.
For my entire life, I had always been wary of people who are too friendly. Itzik was one of these people; he was over-familiar from the beginning. On his second day he already was pressing my buttons. He asked me to organise him a locker, preferably close to where Shlomo had his house. By that stage, as a rule, I had stopped assisting newcomers. Besides the fact that nobody ever appreciated a helping hand, the next thing you knew you’d find you’d adopted a next of kin. Anyway, I made an exception for the Israelis; after all, these guys were now my new friends. One of the Thai guys owned a locker right near Shlomo’s place, and, as a favour and because it was me, he gave me the best price possible. Itzik, in his broken Thai and disrespectful manner, then tried to bargain the guy down to a cheaper price. The Thai’s irritation was more than obvious, but Itzik just couldn’t see it. So I winked at my Thai friend and, with my hand behind Itzik’s back, gestured that I would pay the balance.
That Friday, the very first afternoon of their arrival, soon after lockdown I was davening Mincha when Itzik was on my bed with his wife’s phone number in his hand, asking me to message her to wish her good Shabbos and to tell her that he loved her. There were other instructions about things he wanted her to bring on her following visit. I really didn’t mind helping, as I knew from experience how important it was for us prisoners to have contact with our families, but it was a bit intrusive all the same. Avi, who slept next to me, also woke up early to daven Shacharis. Because we slept so close to one another, and although we are required to recite certain prayers in an audible tone, I always prayed in silence so as not to disturb the person next to me. When I was finished praying, I would go back to sleep for an hour before the cell was opened. Avi, I soon discovered, prayed pretty loudly and he also made other noises with his throat and was forever blowing his nose. I had no doubt that it wouldn’t be long before the guy would drive me crazy. I was already getting irritated.
Because it was Shabbos, Itzik didn’t ask me to bark the dog, but first thing Sunday morning, he was at my house asking to bark. Inside my house and against the wall I had two sets of lockers, on top of which were another two. Behind the lockers and in between the walls of our houses was enough space for you to sit and bark the dog without being seen by people walking past. Because I’d bark the dog at night in the cell, and because of the danger of using it during the day, I never risked using it then myself, but I was happy to help Itzik, Avi and the old man out, so I offered to facilitate them every Sunday until such time as things were more relaxed. Itzik did not care much for protocol. In the days that followed, every day he asked me to bark the dog. In the cell, he harassed me with ridiculous messages like ‘Tell my wife I love her and miss her.’ He was constantly coming to sit on my bed.
I then made it very clear to him that I didn’t socialise inside the cell. My time there was the only quality time I had away from the noise and goings-on of the prison. It was the time when I got lost in my head, and now Itzik was invading my space.
To avoid disturbing everybody in the room, all four of the Israelis would congregate on Shlomo’s bed, talk for hours and smoke. At first they limited their smoking; then, as the days passed and they became more comfortable in their surroundings, their conversation became louder, their smoking increased and they adopted an ‘I couldn’t give a fuck’ attitude. By the fourth day Avi was driving me mad, so I moved him to the other side of the room.
With the signal detector system fully operational, whenever I wanted to bark the dog I had to do so during the day on the other side of the building. Now that I had two dogs, I wanted to check the accuracy of the machines that supposedly picked up the signal and pinpointed your location. In a worst-case scenario, if there was a check I would flush my dog down the toilet – which reminded me of the time when Philip, the Australian, had flushed Joseph’s dog down the toilet. This was during a raid on the downstairs section. As always, we’d heard the security gates being unlocked. The guards rushed past our cell to the Chinese room, which they searched thoroughly. Philip, who was by now squatting in the toilet, completely panicked and flushed the dog. Meanwhile the guards didn’t even come into our cell. Philip was the laughing stock of the room. For somebody who acted like he was some notorious gangster, for him to have disposed of his dog, and not even his own dog at that, was such a laugh.
So I barked my dog in the cell, but all the time I was very nervous and fully expected to be raided in the morning when the guards had picked up my signal. Nothing happened. Perhaps the machine was not as accurate as we had been led to believe, or perhaps it was just that the guards on duty weren’t paying attention. That very afternoon, soon after lockdown, the cell next door to ours, which was part of death row, was raided. The guards had entered from the other side and bust one of the guys with a dog. There was every possibility that when I had been barking the dog the night before, the machine may have pinpointed the cell next door. I felt bad, but maybe it had just confirmed my suspicion that the system wasn’t as accurate as we’d been led to believe.
Several cellmates came to me complaining about the Israelis and their smoking. Being the room chief, I thought the best way to handle the situation was to call a meeting where each person in the cell could express their grievances and offer suggestions for a solution. Soon after lockdown and roll call, I addressed the guys,
explaining that since the Israelis had arrived there had been a certain amount of discontent regarding the smoking and level of noise. When we were locked up in our cells, each of us enjoyed a degree of peace and tranquillity, whether this involved watching TV, writing letters, reading a book or engaging in prayer or meditation. Those of us who had done hard time found the Israelis’ lack of consideration irritating to the point of being disrespectful. As newcomers, they needed to fit in with our way of life, and not the other way around. Each person said his piece. Nobody was rude, and the general consensus was that the Israelis should cut down on their smoking or smoke in the toilet and not on their beds. When Itzik and Avi spoke in their defence, they were obnoxious. They said simply that if they wanted to smoke, they would smoke.
Itzik was on my back every day, wanting to bark the dog. I couldn’t believe the attitude of these guys. Here were two Jews who claimed to be religious and who were davening three times a day, and yet I wondered if they actually understood the biblical injunction to ‘love thy neighbour as thyself’. Being in a private cell was also a privilege, and it was something they were taking for granted. I really couldn’t take it any more, so I basically told Itzik to fuck off and leave me alone. Reiterating my cellmates’ sentiments, I added that they, the Israelis, made me feel ashamed to be Jewish.
The next evening, soon after roll call, Itzik sat on his bed, legs folded, and stared straight at me in a challenging manner. Then he lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke in my direction. This was a direct act of defiance and disrespect, but I wasn’t prepared to react. Instead, I fitted my surgical mask around my mouth and nose and ignored him, pretending his actions didn’t bother me. I continued doing whatever it was I was preoccupied with. The following day, the Russian guy who slept next to Shlomo and who, when the Israelis sat together on Shlomo’s bed, was subjected to more smoke than anybody else, approached me. He complained bitterly about their habits, and especially about Itzik’s cocky attitude. He told me he wanted to fuck him up. I thought this was a great idea and would save me the trouble, so I encouraged him to do it and added that, in the event that the prison authorities got involved, we would all testify that Itzik threw the first punch.
That night, Avi went into the toilet and conducted a conversation with himself, pretending to be speaking on the dog. He was quite loud, and his voice would be audible to the Thais in the cell next door. I was at this stage the only person in our cell who was a dog handler, and I was convinced he was doing this deliberately to arouse suspicion. When he emerged from the toilet, I was standing at the end of my bed waiting to go and urinate. The little shit was half my size, but as he passed me, he bumped into me. He pulled his shoulders back and gave me this menacing look. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself, knowing that with one punch I could knock him out.
The tension in the cell was mounting. I wanted nothing to do with these bloody Israelis. Besides, my 50th birthday was coming up – half a century! – and I considered it something of a miracle that I had made it so far. Fifty was a milestone in itself, and if you think about my past and how I never envisaged even making it past 30, I decided it was cause for celebration and that I was going to celebrate in style. My birthday fell on a Friday, so celebrating on the day wasn’t an option, as drinking during the week was far too risky. In preparation, I made 24 litres of wine and decided to have two parties, one on Wednesday for all my cellmates, and the other on Saturday, for my drinking buddies.
I discussed with Shlomo the problem we were all having with his fellow countrymen. He was not too happy with them, either. I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t want to speak to them and that they should avoid me at all costs. Shlomo understood, and I’m sure he conveyed my message. The Friday night a week before my birthday, about an hour before Shabbos, I was sitting on my bed with an open folder in front of me texting a friend of mine. Itzik had been watching me; he knew I was barking the dog. The next thing I knew, he was on my bed on all fours asking me to please send an SMS to his wife. Talk about being thick-skinned. I gave him a dirty look and told him to fuck off. He climbed off my bed and blurted out a volley of abuse. I put my dog in a small zip-up bag and placed it in my underwear. Itzik then called me a fucking South African. I’m not one for verbal confrontation, so I jumped up and rushed him. Ahmed and Donald, who slept next to me, grabbed me and tried to hold me back, but I broke free. By this time Itzik had made his way to Shlomo’s bed. I pursued him. Avi tried to block my way, saying something stupid like ‘Take it easy’. I lashed out and hit him first. He staggered to the side. Then Shlomo tried to prevent me from getting to Itzik. I told him I would fuck him up as well. I was mad as hell. I caught Itzik in the corner on Shlomo’s bed and I started punching his head. He kicked wildly and scratched my face, but I kept going. It took six of my cellmates to wrestle me off him or I would more than likely have killed the fucker.
With all the commotion going on, somebody from the corridor had alerted the guards, who entered our cell carrying batons. I was ordered out of the cell and made to wait in the corridor while the commodores investigated what had just happened. My face was bleeding where I’d been scratched. One of my fingers was turning blue and swollen. I thought it was probably broken from punching Itzik’s hard head. We were both warned that if we didn’t stop fighting we would be removed from the cell and placed in separate rooms. I was so mad I still wanted to break him in pieces, but I agreed to call it a day. After the guards left, Ahmed and the Russian came and sat on my bed. I was pissed off with the Russian, too; I thought he was supposed to be the one who was going to sort Itzik out.
In preparation for my pre-birthday lunch on the Wednesday, Elisabeth bought ready-prepared food from the prison canteen on her visit, plus three trays of prawns (not kosher, but a real treat for some), ten packets of sticky rice and some spicy Thai dishes. Ahmed started early in the morning preparing the dough, and we had marinated 4kg of chicken breasts the evening before. I ordered 100 dim sum from my Chinese neighbour. One of the lady-boys who made meals for the guards had steamed two deliciously prepared fresh sea fish and barbequed 30 chicken drumsticks. Cold drinks I purchased from the coffee shops.
There were about 14 of us for lunch. It was a real feast and everybody enjoyed themselves; in fact, there was so much food that I had to give some to my neighbours. The night before my birthday I stayed up almost all night barking the dog.
Friday 15 October dawned and I was 50 years old. I didn’t feel much older than the day of my arrest, actually. While I was relaxing and drinking my coffee, Ahmed arrived with a folded piece of A3 paper. He embraced me and wished me happy birthday. I unrolled the sheet of paper; to my surprise, one of the Thai artists had drawn a portrait of me in pencil crayon. There were birthday wishes written all over the page from prisoners and guards. One of the guys had even composed a poem for me. I was so deeply touched I almost broke down. It was the nicest gift I’d ever been given in my life. Even behind these forsaken concrete walls, such poignant moments did happen sometimes, and we were all the richer for them.
I was expecting at least 20 people for my Saturday party. My first priority was to pay the guard on duty to close his eyes. My next mission was to transfer the wine from containers into plastic bottles. I made my favourite fried rice and another rice dish with buffalo, which I’d cooked for four hours the previous day. Ahmed made his roti and barbecued his chicken breasts as usual, to be served with baby marrows, onions, chillies, tomatoes and mushrooms. I made a gravy. The lady-boy barbecued drumsticks and chicken wings for us. By 11am my friends were beginning to arrive, everyone in party mood. I was the barman, filling plastic cups with wine and passing them around. Many of the guys got really drunk. One of them puked all over and passed out in the drain running in front of my house. I got really drunk myself, for that matter, but we all had a great time.
My 50th birthday was probably the most memorable prison birthday to date, and the most short-lived.
Chapter 17
A Change o
f Fate
We are taught that, at some stage or another, all good things come to an end, but bad times can be equally fleeting. It all depends on you. A change of attitude opens other possibilities. Positivity attracts, while negativity repels. I tried to keep my negative thoughts at bay as far as the South African government was concerned. They had failed in their duty to alleviate the injustice that South African citizens were suffering at the hands of a foreign government. All my hopes and positive thoughts I now pinned on becoming an Israeli national. In Israel I would be with my own people, Jews like me who cared for one another. Whether I was being delusional or not, time would tell. And the Israelis in my cell weren’t doing their country proud, that was for sure.
The day after my fight with Itzik and Avi, while I was quietly enjoying my coffee, Ahmed came running to the house. Apparently a group of Bad Boys who were my friends had heard about the fight and had congregated outside Shlomo’s house. They were ready to attack and stab Itzik. One of the outside guards summoned me to the office and asked me to defuse what could become a dangerous situation. I went and told my Thai friends to leave the Israeli guys alone. Then the same guard, whom I had known for years, asked me how best we could come to a peaceful solution. I told him that there was no way Itzik and I could stay in the same cell. Either they would have to move him out of the cell or they’d have to move me. Seeing that he was new in the building and that not only had I been there for much longer but I also owned the cell, Itzik was moved to a Thai room upstairs. I was still at the office when Itzik came up to me and threatened to inform on me to the prison authorities and to tell them that I had a dog. I couldn’t believe the man’s chutzpah! I had just saved his life! Anyway, I told him to go ahead. I had connections. Some of the biggest Thai gangsters were my friends. I could arrange a surprise party for his wife. Furthermore, his family’s phone number was registered on my phone. In the event that he did inform and the authorities were made aware of my dog, I would simply tell them it belonged to him.
