“on Women's Day we occupied the prison's surgery”

During the time of the UDF (United Democratic Front) I was assisting the civic with setting up street committees, doing house-to-house organizing one night. The next day on 13 June 1986, while I was working in the office they came and detained me. I was detained for almost three months with Chantel Fortuin, Lucy Ninzi and another small group. After that, Lizzie Phike and Maggie Wilson and others were detained again.

We were detained in Paarl at the police station alongside the river. It was terrible - it was in winter and it was very, very cold. I felt so sick, because one slept on a mat and if you turned your head, the cold air rising from the cement floor entered your mouth as you breathed . They interrogated me in the morning, they interrogated me at night.

I told them my chest was sore, I did not feel right. Then I fell ill. At night at 11 o'clock, they took me to interrogator's room and I couldn't speak so they took me to Paarl Hospital and we drove past our house. The doctor who examined me knew that I was not a private patient but a prisoner, because the police were with me. He said that I had bronchitis, gave me medicine and we were on our way back to the cell. The next day they interrogated me again, but they could not hear what I was saying because I had a tight chest because of the bronchitis. The interrogation went on and on and on.

They did not give your medicine to you. They kept the medicine and never brought the medicine. They came very early every morning at 6:00 and would ask, ‘Any complaints, any complaints?' with that harsh voice. I complained every morning about the medicine, which I never received. All they would then say was, ‘Yes, we will come, we will come,' but they never came.

One day the call came again, but this time it was a woman. I told her, ‘You come here every morning, wanting to know if there were complaints. How many times did I complain? Where is my medicine?' I told her that my chest would not heal and that my chest was sore. Then she went to fetch it and brought it to me. The next day, there was someone else. I had to ask for the medicine again and then I just didn't bother anymore.

The Special Branch was very, very hard, trying to show that ‘we've got the power and we'll show you what we can do'. Especially one security policeman, that always hunted me in Paarl, this Daniels. He was sent to interrogate me. He didn't even interrogate, because we were fighting all day. Daniels was very boastful and arrogant, and the two of us could not get along at all. He was very presumptuous.

One day he and another detective called Louw came and leaned against the wall. He said, ‘Hey Liz, up to now, what did the people get from you and your struggle for the people?' I replied, ‘I can tell you what the people got. I started working for the union and people earned 75c, now the people are earning more than R100. That is what I struggled for, but tell me, what did you struggle for? You only struggled for the oppression of our people and even your children are suffering because when they say oppression to all who do not have white skins, then they oppress your child as well.' And I said, ‘Hey, just ask me what you came here to ask me, do not come and ask other stuff.'

He said, ‘Geez, Liz, you are so difficult. I know if you would get the chance one day that you would take me out.' I said, ‘ No, I will not take you out, I will take you in and then I will get your head straightened out. That is what I will do, because that is what you need.' I left him standing there and walked away, and then they were on Lucy's case again. With Lucy they did the same thing, but she was not someone who talked much. They talked, but Lucy would just stare at them.

After a week they transferred us to Pollsmoor. It was a little bit better, I can't really say better - at least there were beds with sheets and blankets. The food was very bad and we kept complaining about the food. We decided that we were not going to eat it. Later on – after fighting, fighting, then the food improved. It was this stamped mealies and cabbages.

We were first in a big cell – thirteen of us. Sometimes we were just mischievous. W e were despondent because we did not want to be there and we got up to mischief. Sometimes we refused to go for our exercise. We just sat there, covered the listening devices and discussed what we were going to do. One evening we decided not to go back to the holding cells at 3.30pm. I always sat in front because I was the eldest. They came to tell us that it was time to go back to the cells.

We sat there and said we wanted to know why we were detained. They got very upset because they knock off at 4 o'clock and they didn't want to work late. They said we must go to our cells, and when we refused they went to fetch reinforcements. They took us one by one and chucked us into the cells. I still refused to budge and a short warden grabbed me. I took my elbow and hit her on her breast – now that was painful – and she backed-off and another one grabbed me and chucked me into the cell. Once we were in the cell they sprayed a lot of teargas in the cell and there was nowhere to run. We all huddled around the taps, and wet ourselves to breathe.

Then they wanted to split us up. They removed the young prisoners and said there was going to be an identification parade. Then they took all of us and, after they had seen our faces, put us in single cells. We wanted to know why – if they wanted to identify someone, they must have done something.

We were very unhappy, because we wanted to know why we were there. We wanted to know, because if you go to prison, it must be because you have committed a crime and you must appear in a court of law and you must be sentenced, but we just lay there. What did we do? They said they were waiting for the Special Branch to come. We said, ‘Let the Special Branch come, so that we can ask them'. But the Special Branch never came.

The next morning they asked a retired judge to come and speak to us. We explained to the judge that we are human beings and wanted to be treated like human beings and receive decent treatment – not like animals. The meeting finished and he undertook to come back and try to see what he can do about the food. He never came back - just promises.

While we were in detention there were many problems within the Food and Canning Workers Union, where Lucy and I worked. Our union was very hard hit because many of our organizers and our secretaries were detained. Every morning, when you woke up, you would see a new branch secretary in gaol. When you went to the exercise yard in the morning and the branch secretary from Grabouw was detained. The next morning there's another one from Saldanha Bay, and so on. When we had discussions we never excluded anyone because we wanted them to understand how a union works, how you must act to build up a union. They were all interested even if they did not belong to a union.

On 9 August - Women's Day - we occupied the prison's surgery as the doctor was not there and had a meeting. What a discussion! When we were done, we rose and sang the anthem. The matron came and said, ‘Come, come, you had enough outings – the time is up.' But we stood firm and sat and somebody told her, ‘You must wait until we have finished praying and singing, and then we will come'. So we prayed, shouted ‘ amandla' and toyi-toyi ed all the way to the gate. From there we all went back to our cells.

The detention was a very emotional experience for me. I was very depressed and because I was emotional, I created many problems for the people looking after us. I could not eat while I was in prison – I don't know if the food was not right. I don't know what the reasons were for me not eating. One day I got soybeans and something else with it. When I picked it up it started to wriggle like small worms – it was not small worms, but it wiggled. I could not stomach it at all, and I could not eat it.

They brought me a short brown loaf of bread with a hole at the top, a piece of white fat and a bit of red jam. I also could not eat that stuff and the warder said, ‘Liz, you must eat' and I replied, ‘I cannot eat.' She put it at my bed and I left it there. They returned in the afternoon with more food and I told them I could not eat it. By then I was angry that they kept on bringing me food and when I saw the food it made me nauseous. I took the food and the bread and I threw it out under the gate so that it landed a distance away. In the late afternoon, a female warden came and I said, ‘If your children cannot eat, then you will know how it feels not to get any food in your stomach.' I kept on refusing the food.

People could bring you money in prison. I did not know who brought me the money, but I had money. John Pendlane, who was detained at the prison in Worcester, had told me, ‘Liz, if you cannot eat in prison, buy salted fish and bread. The wardens are constantly going to the shops, and you can send one of them.' So I sent one of them and then I started to eat the salted fish and bread. I felt that my stomach was a little better. I started to eat food, but not the strange food that they were bringing me. If it looked strange to me, I would leave it and rather have the fish.

The worst part of being detained is when they tell you, ‘Get ready, pack, pack, you are going home', and when you have finished your packing and you think you are going home, they take you to another prison. That is what they did to Shenaaz Isaacs from Bonteheuwel. She was at Pollsmoor and they came and took her. She was all packed and we thought she was on her way home.

Normally when you are released, you would come back to visit the others, to see how they are keeping. We thought it strange that she did not pay us a visit. All along she was at Wynberg police station – alone, alone. She said that she was so afraid that they would rape her. They tried to do it with Cecil Esau's sister. She was so fearful and thought they would come when it was quiet. Eventually, there was someone whom she met. I don't know if she knew him from before or if they met there for the first time. Then she was a little bit happier and after a while she came back to Pollsmoor. When we opened our eyes, she stood at the gate of our cell – and we said, ‘And now?' She said, ‘Now they are bringing me back.' We did not know where she had gone, or whether she went home and was detained again.

This put us in a state of depression, because they told me at 6pm that evening that I should get ready to go home. Well, you stayed ready, packed – if they told you to go, then you do not fiddle much, you just grabbed your bag. I sat and wondered whether this was for real. Where to from here? They said, ‘Come, Lizzie, you must come now' and I went with no objections. They did not take me to another prison. I came home, but the whole way I was nervous because I reckoned they are going to take me somewhere else.

My family was very depressed because they did not know much of what was going on. When I was detained in Paarl, before I went to Pollsmoor, they always tried to visit me but they did not allow visitors. They always brought things, and I could see, yes, they still thought about me, especially Sadia. Sadia's children had cars but the others did not have transport. They always brought something or would send a message.

The daughter who grew up in my house always tried to come and visit at Pollsmoor, but she was always depressed because they did not know when I was going to come home. The children in the house actually felt that if you go to prison then it was because something big has happened, but there was never anyone who came and explained to them that it was not so.

When Mrs. Goosen was detained, I went to her husband and children, because they also did not know what to do. I told them what it meant and that they could visit her. So this had an effect on them, and when I came out, they wanted to know everything. Of course, I explained to them.