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THIRTEEN DAYS IN HELL

if I go back into that cell, I’m a dead man. I won’t ever come out again.

‘Vamos, Enkono,’ they said, still trying to get me to cooperate voluntarily. They called me ‘Enkono’ because I reminded them of Thomas Enkono, a famous black goalkeeper player from Cameroon who had been contracted by one of the Bolivian football clubs.

For a few minutes, they tried gently to persuade me. Then they ordered me in, and finally they tried to drag me in by force. But I wouldn’t go. I was weak, but even two of them couldn’t get me in there because I was so afraid that that would be the end of my life. I started panicking and thrashing about with a strength that came from fear.

‘Let me go! Help! Somebody!’

A third guard arrived when he heard me yelling. Between the three of them, they got hold of me and lifted me up to carry me into the cell. However, they still couldn’t get me through the doorway. Each time I got near it, I wedged my legs against either side of the doorframe and pushed back with all my remaining strength. They almost succeeded, but I went crazy, twisting around and punching out at them and yelling at the top of my voice for someone to save me. I think they were afraid because they knew that my file listed me as dangerous.

‘OK. Tranquilo. Tranquilo, Enkono.’ One of them went to call the capitán, while the others attempted to calm me down.

When the capitán came down the stairs, his face was flushed red. He was very annoyed at having been disturbed and I thought he would simply order his men to use more force on me. The sudden strength I had found when fighting with the guards had disappeared. I was now very weak and my body was trembling. I wouldn’t have been able to resist them again.

‘What this time?’ demanded the capitán, looking at me angrily.
‘I want to go to court, please señor,’ I said, trying not to show him how much my muscles were twitching or that I was on the point of collapsing.

The capitán gave me the same excuse as every other time: I couldn’t go to court until the police investigation was complete.
‘But I’ve already made my statement,’ I said.
‘The judge will only send you direct to the prison. You want to go to the prison, yes?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘I’m sick. I need food. Can’t you see? I’m dying here.’
‘And you think the prison is better?’