ON THE ROAD
The drive to Evin Prison Complex was a long and dusty one. Apparently, the desertous region is a no-man’s land. I adjusted my scarf over my nose and mouth as I was allergic to dust.
“Thirteen minutes before we arrive, ma’am.” The driver spoke with an Asian brogue.
“Thank you.”
“Are you sure you’ll want to meet them?”
“Yes, the world needs to know the truth.” I replied downheartedly. We were now reaching the outskirts of the city. The sandy horizon lay ahead of us. I was mentally coaching myself. The question I would ask, the way I would get them to say what the world ‘needs’ and not ‘want’ to know.
“I heard the Evin has some of the world’s most dangerous criminals, and the guards…not very nice.” My chains of thoughts were broken by the driver.
“Hmm. It is so I’ve heard.” I brought out my notepad and wrote down:
27th June, 2025
Evin Prison Complex
Interviewer: Sylvia José
Interviewee: ???
I put my notepad back into my bag, brought out my phone and checked the battery. 98%. It was enough for a two-hour interview. Hopefully, I wouldn’t feel the urge to use the phone as I haven’t used it for two days. I was getting restless. I checked my wristwatch which read 11:38.
“How long before we get there?” I asked from the backseat.
“See for yourself.”
I craned my neck and I saw the tip of the obelisk-like tower looming in the distance with its sides made of glass. As we got closer, I could see tiny figures in khaki which I deduced as guards. The octagonal fence was fortified with barbed wires, electric wires, alongside cameras and lights swivelling alternately.
From what I’d read, the fence is made of volcanic rocks, reinforced with titanium alloy and proximity sensors to know if a prisoner is near. Amazed I was. We finally approached the gates. Up close now, I could see dragon teeth on the fence and the guards didn’t look so nice. An officer with a desert coloured uniform came up to our car and asked the driver to lower the window. His badge read: F.H. Musbahudeen.
“Where are you coming from?” he asked us in a gruff Middle East accent.
“I have a passenger.” The driver replied.
“Wind down, let me see.” He commanded. I wound down my glass so he could see me.
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from the press.” I showed him my press card.
“Public or private?”
“Private.”
“What type?”
“Blogger.”
He nodded and said something to the guards in Urdu which I later understood as ‘open the gates’. As we drove in, the building looked more like a mall than a prison. With its seemingly invincible security measures, facilities and strategies, I wondered what the weakness of this place would be. None apparently. I came out of the car and thanked the driver.
“Thank you…er…”
“Call me Gotog. I’ll be waiting outside the complex.
IN THE COMPLEX
I watched as he reversed out of the compound. I sighed and exhaled deeply before entering the main building. Cameras swivelled and watched my movements as I walked through the hallway. There was a panelled office that looked like a cubicle which read ‘SECURITY’. A small window on the panel was nearly covered in newspaper cut-outs about the 12-day war. Apparently, they don’t use internet here. I felt a buzz in my backpack and I unzipped it. Seeing it was my phone, I checked the message and saw that there’s no Wi-Fi here.
“Eh…Ms. José.”
The officer peered out from the cubicle. He had black hair already greying at the temples, a black beard and a face which made me guess that he would be around 35-40.
“Yes, that’s me.” I replied.
“Asad Motef. Head of Security. Please follow me.”
The medium-heighted HOS lead me through the hallway which opened into a larger space like an airport terminal. Strong pillars rose up to support the sloping helical ceiling which I guessed was curvilinear. We were walking the left side of the building.
“…state of the art infrastructure designed to keep our prisoners in and our staff safe…” Asad was saying.
I was mesmerised by the glass-coated pillars, the marble floor and a statue of…
“Is that Atlas?” I pointed at the statue of a man holding the globe on his back.
“Yes. It is a sign of ‘brag and boast about yourself and you shall be defeated by your match’.” Asad said.
“And is it…”
“Yes, premium diamond. It’s actually a security protocol.” He winked. It was then I noticed he had sun-crinkles.
We were now reaching the end of the left side.
” We’ll have to check your belongings now, although it should have been checked at the administrative block, one of the 3-piece building.”
“Wait, three?”
“Didn’t you notice?”
We were now out of the building and walking through a cloister.
“This is one of the cloisters that lead to other buildings. And I advise you to stay away from the panels as they are electric.” Asad told me.
I looked up and saw that the cloister was actually a series of solar panels laid in filaments. The ammeters were measuring the flow of current passing through the vertical panels to other parts of the buildings.
“So this is how you get electricity.”
Asad nodded.
We were close to the door leading to the administrative block. Asad brought out a bunch of keys and picked out three, which he placed side by side into one lock and unlocked the door. I was greeted by a blast of cold air.
“Salaam colleagues.” He announced.
To be continued
Khadija Abdulmalik is a student of Dialogue Academy, Kaduna