By John Gerezani

The Hague may be cold and distant, but the jail facilities are second to none. You can only compare the amount that the UN forks out to maintain a single inmate there per day to what one would use in any top ranked hotel in the glitzy capital cities of the world. Not such a bad prospect after all.

When Jean Pierre Bemba’s dad passed on the other day, Bemba was escorted in an executive jet (at the court’s expense) to attend the burial in the DRC and thereafter whisked back to his executive 10 by 10 feet cell in Den Haag. So is it the cost factor that has got the West breathing down our necks that "we" try those on Ocampo’s crosshairs locally? Many netizens are actually longing to see some big shots hauled in here.

To those who could be joining us, please keep this in mind. The moment you appear in the courts and hear the local magistrate say "bail denied" or offence not bailable", let out a big yawn to mask the butterflies running in your tummy. Put on a brave face for the flashing media cameras and wave to the public gallery where your girlfriend is. Of course Wifey and family will be teary eyed by now and too distraught to know that mpango wa kando is in the house. By the way, it’s very important that all women in your life attend that first court appearance since there will soon be competing interests and drama in the neti visiting booth once you arrive.

The court session is over and you go to the court cells for processing. When you hear a faceless warder bark kaba kwa hesabu, you must fall into line pronto, five per row for a head-count. At this time since you don’t know what to expect once you arrive, you try talking nicely to the smarters to get you a ‘nice place’ to pack. As all and sundry rush in to milk you dry, do remember that those smarters performing escort duties to the courts never set foot inside the prison the moment Moody Hoppa makes its entry. In short, consider the money you’ve parted with, bad investment and consign it to the non-performing loans portfolio.

At the inmate processing unit (IPU), physical torture is no longer in vogue since Izzo introduced the wailing scanners, which can only detect metal — read mobile phones. Expect a lot of taunts and morbid jokes, a thorough body search with intrusive searches around your jewels and in the rut – both considered to be the favourite trafficking compartments for netizens. The main idea behind such moves is to de-horn you, to make you feel worthless so that you stop pulling airs about your former exalted status.

The chaps are not through with you yet. The neti Kwekwe Squad now takes over and silently directs you to any empty bucket. Woe unto you if you cannot make some droppings because you will be detained there till you do, or better still, manage to prove that you’ve not stuffed marufuku up the backside. From the Kwekwe depository, you are moved into some isolated block for a 10 day observation before eventually joining the other netizens. By this time, you are a broken fellow.

The 10 days are over and you move into our hall of residence. It houses quite a number of crazy brothers; so don’t act rough. You will immediately notice that the corners look different from other sections of the ward; with better and bigger mattresses, cleaner beddings and neatly arranged clothings. That is where the old timers sleep and the areas are called ‘State House’ in neti lingo. The other places where the holloi polloi are crammed are called the ‘Pipeline’. To get accommodation anywhere near ‘State House’ comes at a steep premium, but being a sonko, that should not be a problem. Tomorrow we will show you how to bribe the ration store and kitchen smarters so that you can have sufficient food.

Are you ready to roll? I am taking bookings and any advance payments will earn you good stead by the time you arrive. Welcome!