Fortunately, I knew some of the prison language from the gangs in Masiphumelele. Although we had never been a member of any of them, Atie and I had listened often to their stories in some of the shebeens. They spoke in a mixture of isiZulu, isiXhosa, Afrikaans and other languages, as the migrant workers do in the mines.

The law of the cells was: if you belonged to the right gang, you would be safe. If you belonged to the wrong one, you should start praying…

As the older guy had the gang name ama26 on his hand, there was hope for me. I knew some of their code words. It seemed as if the ama26 were ruling this cell, not any of the others, like the ama27 or ama28.

I had just sat down on the mattress when a group of guys approached me. Their leader, a well-built guy with a shaven head and tattoos of naked girls on his chest, said in a low voice:

‘Phakama – get up!’

I stood up, and knew the moment had come.

His face was close to mine when he whispered: ‘Ngawuth’ bathi ugubani – who are you?’

As it was clear by now that the ama26 were in charge here, I knew what was expected in reply. I responded in an equally low voice with their code: ‘Ndiyimpumalanga.’ What that literally means is, ‘I come from the east, the sunrise’. But in gang code the meaning is much more complicated.

My interrogator pushed me back onto the mattress and spoke in a voice that everybody could hear: ‘Kulungile – all right, boy, follow our rules. You will be okay then.’

We had to go for supper at about six o’clock. At exactly seven o’clock all of us were locked into the cells again. That was the first day out of exactly one hundred and fifty eight days that I spent in that cell. That’s almost six months. In prison, most people count every day. I did the same.

***

The days were tough. But the nights were horror. I had already realised how important it was to know the right codes. I thank God that I was able to give the correct response when tested.

Others were less lucky.

There were different punishments. Heavy ones and light ones. Those from the guards and those from the other inmates. The ones from the other boys were by far the most cruel.

The cell space was clearly demarcated: the best area was occupied by the ama26. Second best and considerably smaller, was the area of ama28. The rest was open territory. Everybody knew exactly where the borders were. The lights were left on all night, so there was no way to ignore what was going on.

Normally after supper, most of the guys just withdrew to their beds. Some would sleep or pretend to sleep; some would be reading soccer magazines; some working on each other’s tattoos. Others did business: they dealt dagga or agreed on certain actions for later in the night. Once we were locked up for the night, the guards normally did not interfere with whatever was going on.

Tell us what you think: Terrible things happen to people in prison. Should the guards intervene to stop abuse from happening?