Mavis stood there, in the cold and dark outside the Mitchells Plain police station thinking of her children. Thinking of Sakhumzi. Thinking of the drink she was craving. It had all happened so fast, back there in the alley. The police hadn’t even asked her name, or where she was from, or whether she had stolen from Bra Mike. They hadn’t given her a chance to explain that the knife was Sakhumzi’s and that it was him who had stabbed Bra Mike, taken his wallet, shoved it in her backpack and run off.

The male officer had shoved her forward while the female officer had pulled the back of the van open. “Get inside,” she had shouted as her fellow officer pushed Mavis, who began to slowly climb inside.

“Hurry up,” he shoved her from behind. Mavis’ head slammed against the top of the door frame and she winced as she fell forward onto the metal floor of the van.

When they had locked the door behind her she reached up and felt where her head had caught the metal. Her hand came back bloody. This was a mistake. She needed to get out of this van. She needed to explain to the officers and get back home to her children. She needed a drink. In her panic she began to beat against the sides of the van. But the officers didn’t even notice as the van sped through the streets. When they hit the potholes in the road she was flung from one side to the other. She pressed against the roof trying to steady herself, but her hands were still shaking.

The van suddenly came to a stop and she heard the doors slam as the officers climbed out. She waited in the dark for what seemed like forever. She could hear the officers talking on their walkie-talkies. Then they jumped back in the van and sped off again. By the time they reached the Mitchells Plain police station Mavis had lost all track of time. She was curled up in the corner of the van. She’d taken off her jacket and pressed it against the cut in her head. Luckily, the bleeding had stopped. But it had created a mess and her hands were caked in dried blood. There were bloody handprints all along the walls of the van.

“Get out, Mama!” said the male officer. “We have more important things to do than to stand here waiting for you.” But Mavis couldn’t move. Her throat was so dry that it was even hard to swallow. The officer reached in and yanked her out. The station’s bright lights felt like needles in her eyes.

The female officer grabbed hold of her shoulder and pushed her forward. The officers chatted and laughed loudly while she walked out in front of them. Every step was difficult. Her body felt so heavy. Inside the police station another officer asked for her name and address. Her hand was shaking so much that the letters were hard to form as she tried to write.
Then she was being led down a long, grey corridor to a cell at the far end. All the lights and the noise were confusing and her head was pounding.

She needed a drink. Badly. If she could get one, she could press life’s reset button and things would begin to make sense again.

The noise of cell gates slamming shut could be heard throughout the maze of corridors. In the section they were in there were two neighbouring cells – one for men and one for women. Both were big enough to hold at least six people each. The men’s cell was full. There was one other woman in Mavis’ cell, and she was sitting hunched up in the corner. The policewoman opened the gate and pushed Mavis into the cell.

“Haibo, sista, prison isn’t a place for ladies like you,” shouted one of the men in the opposite cell. “What did you do to be in here with–”

But one of his cellmates cut him off.

“Who cares why the bitch is here? She’s a criminal now – just like the rest of us!”

“Hey voetsek wena, man!” The woman in the corner of Mavis’ cell had got up and was shaking the bars and shouting. “Everyone in here is innocent until those guys in court prove you guilty!”

“Hay’suka wena, S’bu, you like pretending like you know everything,” responded the man. “You been in court so many times you think you the judge now.”

“You shut your mouth, man,” S’bu spit through the bars. The guy opposite flicked his middle finger at her as she swung round to face Mavis. She looked Mavis up and down slowly, checking her out from head to toe as if she was trying to see what kind of person Mavis was.

Mavis’ legs were shaking as she stumbled slowly to the single bed at the back of the cell.
She pulled herself onto the bed and curled up under the single blanket, shivering. But the woman, S’bu, wouldn’t let her sleep. She came and sat down on the bed beside Mavis and placed her hands on her shoulders. “I’m Nosibusiso, my sista. What does your family call you?”

Mavis turned her head and looked at Nosibusiso. She swallowed her spit to moisten her throat. “They call me Somnci, but my name is Mavis,” she said slowly.

“No offence, my sista, but those bastards are right. You don’t look like you belong here. What happened to you?”

“I messed up,” Mavis whispered hoarsely. Even if the woman was a criminal, she looked like she cared. Slowly and painfully Mavis explained what had happened.

After she had finished her story, Mavis buried her face in the palms of her hands and sobbed. “Haibo, my sista. Stop crying now. You need to toughen up in here if you want to survive.”

“My kids don’t even know where I am,” Mavis wiped the tears with the back of her hand.

“Did those police bastards not let you call them? They must make sure your children are safe.”

But Mavis just shook her head and closed her eyes. She didn’t even have the strength to get up from the bed.

***

Tell us what you think: Does Mavis have the right to call her children? What happens to children if the parents are in prison?