Vivid Memories of a Dark Heritage
by Elvira van Noort

August 29, 2005 - (Mail & Guardian Online) Thousands of women used to be brutalised on a daily basis in the Women's Jail in Johannesburg. One of those who were imprisoned behind the high stone walls at Constitution Hill is Lillian Keagile, who still has bad dreams.

"The memories are so vivid ... how we used to get beaten and humiliated. I still have bad dreams," says Keagile (48).

Keagile was imprisoned in the Women's Jail in November 1981 and remained there for two years. The jail, in the Constitution Hill precinct in Johannesburg, opened its doors at the start of August with exhibitions to honour women's contribution to the struggle for freedom in South Africa.

"We basically have no written stories about what happened inside. We know this prison [the Women's Jail] was built by [then president] Paul Kruger in 1910 and was in use till 1983," says Lauren Segal, the curator of the Women's Jail exhibition and the programme director of Constitution Hill.

"For the last two years, we have been researching and looking for women who were either imprisoned here or worked here. We had some traumatic days talking to them. Some of the ex-prisoners even refused to come because of the horror the building represents to them.

It has proved impossible to find any female warders; through either embarrassment or fear, they have not yet come forward to tell their stories.

"The black wardresses were so humiliated that they denied anything that happened. In the minds of the white wardresses, the emotional stuff was just 'bleached out' of their memory. It has been a long process. And now we also have some names of ex-prisoners we hope to find. We don't even know if they are still alive," says Segal

Through this exhibition, Segal hopes, "the younger generation will take strength from the old generation".
Constitution Hill has been declared a National Heritage Site because it is recognised as a key asset that tells an important story about South Africa and its history.

On a hill overlooking the city, alongside Kotze Street in Braamfontein, high stone walls surround the Women's Jail and two other prison buildings: the Old Fort and Number Four.

In the Old Fort, which was built in 1896 by Kruger, only white men used to be imprisoned. An exception was made for Nelson Mandela; he was imprisoned in the Old Fort on his arrest in 1962. The prison called Number Four is where black men used to be jailed.

All these prisons are now museums with permanent and temporary exhibitions. At Constitution Hill, there is a visitors' centre, a coffee shop and an education centre.

It is also where the Constitutional Court is housed, the highest legal authority in South Africa.

"From 1983, Constitution Hill was the dark hole of Johannesburg because it was not officially in use until the Constitutional Court was established here in 1995," Segal explains. "In the whole of Johannesburg, there were different places where the court could have been sited. Luckily they understood the symbolic meaning of a Constitutional Court in this place, a place where the whole history of Johannesburg comes together."

I can't stop crying
Keagile was 24 years old when she was imprisoned in the Women's Jail for the first time.

"I was travelling from Botswana to South Africa and doing some work for the ANC."

She sighs.

"You know, I was arrested under the Terrorism Act [of 1967, which allowed for indefinite detention without trial]. I was innocent. They arrested me at the border and took me to a police station. On June 17 1982, they took me to the Women's Jail. I was there until January 1983.

"When I think about prison life, I think about the boiled egg with pumpkin and mielie rice we used to get. Sometimes they would just throw it at us. It is all so painful to think about. I still have bad dreams. I then see myself sitting in my cell, listening to the footsteps I hear outside. Then I wake up and I can't stop crying."

After the entrance hall is a small garden; on its right-hand side is the white women's part of the jail and on the left the wash court. Walking straight through the garden leads to the central hall, with behind it the black prisoners' courtyard.

"The day that Winnie Mandela walked across here [the central hall], she was walking like she was on stage and the prisoners adored her, they were just looking at her in disbelief," reads a quote on the central hall wall by Maleshane "Mally" Mokoena, a political prisoner in 1976.

It was forbidden for prisoners to cross the round central hall through the middle. Prisoners had to walk next to the walls, all the way around.

In this central hall, the prisoners used to polish the floor. Apart from washing and ironing the jail's clothing, cleaning the floors was the only work the prisoners could do.

Cells telling stories
Two tall cell doors on the sides of the central hall lead to communal cells.

"These communal cells were built for 30 women, but there were up to 70 or even 100 women staying. In total, the Women's Jail had a capacity of 330, but during different political times, like the treason trial [in December 1956 when 156 African National Congress leaders were arrested and put on trial for high treason] and the different states of emergency [during the 1980s], the jail would be overcrowded," says Segal.

Next to the two big cells, there are also isolation cells on the first floor -- cells as small as a single bed and a little bit extra, with a slop bucket and a water bucket. There is one window, without curtains, at the top of the cell wall.

Prisoners used to live in these cells; one wonders how they kept themselves warm without shoes or bedding, because it is freezing in the cells.

An exhibition is now housed in the downstairs isolation cells.

"Each cell tells the story of one woman, representing a larger story. The first cell tells the story of Nolundi Ntamo, who came to Johannesburg from the Eastern Cape to become a doctor," says Segal. "She never reached that dream. But in this cell you see the suitcase, with in there her matric dance dress -- the dress she wore when she was arrested for not carrying a pass."

Another isolation cell tells the story of Yvonne Ntonto Mhlauli. She was arrested under the Immorality Amendment Act, because she had been holding hands with a white man.

"We tried to let the prisoners speak here [in the isolation cells]. There were political prisoners, prisoners under the Terrorism Act and ordinary prisoners. We now try to give the nameless and faceless people a place," says Segal.

Objects from the past
Upstairs in the central hall is a permanent exhibition and two more communal cells. The permanent exhibition consists of 12 iconic objects that featured in the women's testimonies.

"We only have 12 objects because we have a building that has such power; we don't want to overwhelm visitors. We say: minimum intervention, maximum impact."

The first object in the exhibition is a pass book, which tells the story of all black women who had to carry one at the time. The second object is a black plastic shopping bag.

"These black women were forced to go to the city centre to get their groceries. At any time, while loading apples into one of those plastic bags, a police car could grab you and arrest you," says Segal.

Enlarged pictures taken of the prison register are shown on two large curtains.

"[The names of] black people were written down in blue ink and white people in red ink. You can even find the names of people like Winnie Mandela. The register also says how many times they have been arrested before and the reason for their arrest."

A beret serves as an example of discrimination against black women in the jail. The black wardresses had to wear a beret, were not promoted and worked longer hours than the white wardresses did. They were also not allowed to sit down during working hours.

"Black prisoners had to wear a red doek [headscarf] on their heads that had to be worn at a certain angle. If they got it wrong, they were punished and put in an isolation cell. It is these minor regulations that were the most painful," says Segal.

Near the end of the exhibition, there is a display of a pair of women's underwear. This is an object that also kept reoccurring in the ex-prisoners' testimonies, because black prisoners did not receive any underwear until 1976.

"If a black prisoner was menstruating, she had to show it to the wardress. They then got three sanitary pads to use through the day. We have two recreations of the sanitary pads here because we can't find the originals," explains Segal.

"There are two different kinds. There is one white square piece of cloth, which was used by the short-term prisoners. The long-term prisoners used to get the same cloths with loops attached to them in the corners so they could hook them up around their waists.

"They were punished if the pad fell by chance. But imagine trying to hold this cloth up between your legs for the whole day."

Names and pictures
Behind the central hall is the black prisoners' courtyard. There used to be another seven shacks outside, but those have been demolished. Keagile was imprisoned in one of those shacks.

Anti-apartheid activist Fatima Meer was also incarcerated in one of these shacks, in 1976. She described the shacks by saying that if one stood in the middle and stretched one's arms, one was able to touch both of the walls.

In secret, Meer painted images of the Women's Jail during her imprisonment in 1976. Her lawyer, who had access to her, smuggled the paintings out. These are probably the only existing images of the jail at the time.

Six of Meer's paintings can be seen in the courtyard. They have been enlarged on posters and show daily prison life, such as sentenced prisoners carrying babies and waiting for trial.

The buildings in the courtyard have now been renovated.

"Some of the ex-prisoners are angry about these new buildings. It was in a state of decay. They say the walls no longer speak. But we tried to do different things in here and display what the building doesn't say on its own," says Segal.

Outside in the courtyard, the names of the ex-prisoners are written on glass panels.

"We are now building our own database of imprisoned women. This is an exhibition in development. We used the glass because now you can see the present through the past."

Jeannie Noel, a political prisoner in 1976, is quoted on one of the glass panels in the courtyard: "In the morning, we were given mielie-meal porridge with no sugar. You could actually turn it over in your hand and I could hit you dead [sic] with it."

Walking out of the courtyard, through the central hall, on the right-hand side is the wash court.

"We were looking for the tub [in which the black women had to wash themselves], but instead we found the original showerhead where the women were pushed under. It is now displayed at its original place," explains Segal.

"In this wash court, the prisoners had to strip down naked. They were then ordered to leap into the air while spreading their legs. Sometimes they had to lie down on the ground; the wardress would then jump on their backs to see if they were hiding anything internally."

The white women's section of the jail is a completely different experience. This is also where the jail doctor's offices were situated.

"There was absolute anger and fury when a black prisoner had to walk past the white prisoners' cells. These white women were murderers, but treated so much better. They had their own toilet, a bed and curtains," says Segal.

Looking back from the present
Nowadays, the white prisoners' cells houses NGOs, the Forum for the Empowerment of Women and a place where public meetings are held, which everyone can attend for free.

Students from the University of Johannesburg law department, who came to have a look at the Constitutional Court, were visiting the Women's Jail.

"This is touching. I can't understand what these women went through. I just heard that when they [the prisoners] were brought in, they [the warders] used to search them. Everywhere. It is truly revolting," said student Jason Roberts.

Another student from the University of Johannesburg, Mpho Thulare, found the Women's Jail a very emotional place.

"I am trying to imagine what they [the prisoners] went through, but I can't. I think I'll come back to visit this place on my own instead of with my whole class. It is difficult to connect with the place while taking this tour. The most upsetting part for me is the wash court, where they [the prisoners] had to strip down."

When Keagile, who is now an entrepreneur selling T-shirts, visited the Women's Jail for the first time again last year, she became very emotional.

"I was just standing there at the front door and I couldn't move. The memories are so vivid. I'd rather talk about what happened in 1994.

"It was the first time I voted, together with my son, who was by that time 19. That was such a big day. When the new South African flag was raised, I was alone at home and watching the TV. I cried.

"I got what I was fighting for, and I healed from the past after I got what I wanted: my new South Africa."

From: http://www.mg.co.za/articledirect.aspx?articleid=249405&area=%2finsight%2finsight_national%2f