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FROM
CUBA
My prison cell
Víctor Rolando
Arroyo, serving a 26-year prison sentence
in the Guantánamo Provincial Prison,
600 miles from home.
Guantánamo Provincial Prison, February
- Contrary to water elsewhere, the water
at Guantánamo Prison has color, odor,
and taste. None of them agreeable. In any
case, it only flows sporadically. We collect
it in buckets and cans when it does.
The light is uniformly dim if the inmates
provide the few light bulbs there are. Prison
authorities tell us they have no light bulbs,
the way they tell us they have no cleaning
supplies. We have to make do.
The "we" refers to over 200 men,
confined in a four-story building.
My cell, a space about 11 feet by 34, sleeps
18, in three-tiered bunks along the walls,
each about 6 feet by 28 inches. Sometimes,
more men are assigned to the cell; they
sleep on the floor, with or without bedding.
Then, having a bunk is no guarantee; some
have no mattress and their occupants sleep
on the wood slats laid over the metal framework.
The mattresses are usually nylon bags,
stuffed with foam, sponges, vegetable fibers,
or old cotton ticking. In winter, authorities
distribute blankets we understand have been
donated by foreign countries, and collect
them again when the weather warms up.
The cockroaches live among the bed slats.
We tolerate them; word among the inmates
is they keep the bed bug and flea populations
down. The rats nest in the holes dug under
the bunks to be used as hiding places by
previous inmates.
There are no furnishings on the cell, no
seats or benches which could presumably
be used in a brawl, no lockers for personal
items or dining utensils; those are kept
on the floor, in bags or what-have-you.
The bathroom, approximately 9 by 11 feet,
consists of a latrine, a cement tub, and
a wash-up area. No doors, no curtains, just
a spigot; they turn on the water at certain
times. The only ventilation is through slots
where the walls meet the ceiling.
We each get two bars of soap a month and
a small tube of toothpaste every two months.
But sometimes supplies don't come in, and
in any case, both products are of the poorest
quality.
There is no reading program, no entertainment,
save for that brought in by an inmate's
family. They turn the TV on at 6 p.m. There
are two sets in the whole building. We sit
on upended buckets, on cans, or on the floor,
to watch.
Versión
original en español
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