By John Gerezani

It is not that I am playing truant or that I am indisciplined, but I have skived works today and my decision is final, damn the consequences. It all started in the early morning as I was having the last phase of my visit to the Caribbean island of Joh-mai-cah, the land of ganja and the "Bolt Master". Of course it was all in a dream.

What happened is that as I was walking through one of the streets in Kingston, I found inscribed on a graffiti filled wall these words: "If work were such a good thing, the rich would have found a way of keeping it all to themselves." So there it was, the Sonkos work less but earn more. They employ us because work is for the lowly, not because they are about us.

An inmate with his daily food ration. Some prisoners and warders are driving illegal food business in jails by selling and buying the food given free by the Government. Photo Evans Habil/Standard

My skiving work has everything to do with what Justice Muga Apondi calls "moments of reflection in neti". There are some demi-gods in my new neti who have driven me up the wall with their wanton avarice and insensitivity. Last week, I had a long trip along the major highways passing through dry countryside into my new address. Most jamaas here are cool, I can spot a few familiar faces from the past and the welcoming party was not so strict, letting me sneak in some sweets that my escort had bought me along the safari.

The first lot I see in action are the brutes. Long after Uncle Moody decreed that smarters should not be armed with their torture kit — the baton, some still seem to have hang-ups that "mfungwa lazima apigwe (a prisoner must be beaten)". They have now improvised and can be spotted with whips, which are unleashed on hapless chaps for reasons as mundane as failing to curtsy or uttering the colonial ‘afande’ whenever they bark.

Since most chaps are over 18, the stick does very little in rehabilitating them. I am, however, glad that these few blots will be sorted out by their bosses in due course.

The second demi-god I encounter, and who deserves to burn in the hottest part of hell is the man in charge of the kitchen, his cohorts and salesmen. When you see many netizens looking jaundiced and weather-beaten, blame these chaps whose main duty is to sit back, tinker with the rations and make hay. If there is a department that needs constant auditing and thorough shake-up in prison, it is this one. It is sad that whereas the gava releases colossal amounts of money to feed inmates, what eventually reaches the inmates is pittance. The problem is not at the ministry or prison headquarters, nor even with most officers in-charge of neti, the problem is with junior askaris and inmates themselves.

I am surprised one evening when I am brought three kilos of raw potatoes, a kilo of sugar and two kilos of fresh red meat. All the salesman (an inmate) wants is six reds – two for self and four for the raison master.

Multiply that by the 20 salesmen and you will know how these guys afford to make massive investments, drive posh cars and live large at the expense of poor inmates. It is not only immoral, but abhorrent, yet it is my fellow mates driving the business by selling and buying the food gava gives them for free.

The last lot that has caught my attention is the extortionist lot. These chaps know that most netizens are ignorant of their rights. For example, not many know that prison rules are clustered into two distinct brackets for offenders. The minor ones only require counselling and warning while the aggravated ones lead to solitary confinement in the cold bare cells for a period not exceeding seven days. This process has now been turned into a money minting venture. A smarter can ask you for KK, and if you can’t cough up, you are thrown into the slammer. To get out, you must negotiate (cough up more chwaa).

Those are the chaps who’ve made me skive works today. They don’t do anything but reap where they’ve not sowed, earning the department a bad name. To avoid being thrown into the cell, let me go get a medical exemption from the local nurse. By the way, what am I suffering from? Just in case he asks.