I spent one week in a jail. Well, it was not the jail as it was/is commonly known, but it was the jail of the military base. I broke some rule, but let us skip the details here.
The experience was not a Midnight Express-esque as I thought. It was more like what a group of illegal immigrants would face nowadays in their journey to a promised land. We were more than 20 persons living in one big room where we were not allowed to go out unless instructed. So we basically had nothing to do except eating, talking, fighting and suffering from lack of personal space.
M, a close friend of mine and my accomplice in the "crime", was a big source of consolation. He was one of the persons who could see a hidden funny side in every story. Chubby naivety iced with sense of humour. That was him.
Two incidents remained distinctive from that week: once, M waked me up in the middle of the night to ask if I smelt a hash cigarette. We wondered how any of the inmates could get it inside. The other memory was when one of the mates had diarrhea and could not control himself before we called the guards over to open the cell.
At the end of the week the situation became unbearable even with M's jokes, new interesting acquaintances and our non-stop laughs when, every night and immediately after the lights turned off, that rough looking guy started jokingly his show by imitating a female voice and calling every guy in the cell by name and citing what he would like that guy to do to him!
