MOTHER TO MOTHER
The smell is so familiar. The sweat and stench of un-bathed human bodies.
Part of me was at home. Another part of me wanting to run.
There is hardly room to walk in the corridors. Stacks of files. Chairs. Desks. And Guards.
All jails here are overflowing. This one obviously no different.
The walls were painted pink but so filthy that they seemed grey. And it was so hot.
The inmates all dressed in yellow were bored, talking too loudly, banging what they had to bang, Rattling the gates to their cells.
Unusual treatment to be ushered to the warden’s office.
Chit chat about the weather, waiting. Waiting for the mother I needed to interview.
And she came in…