German pilot Rust famous for his crossing the Soviet border and landing in the Red Square said in an interview: “I can understand everything but why for four years did they have to keep me in the toilet?”

This definition is exactly correct. Prison cells look very much like public toilet where homeless often find their shelter. Same dirt, same insanitary conditions that have become an integral part of prison life.

As a matter of fact, we have been quite lucky. In the fifties prisoners were taken to the toilet twice a day - half hour in the morning and in the evening. Under the surveillance of guards and barking of dogs. Later, in the seventies, ‘portable’ toilets appeared. They were nothing more but a rusty pail put in the corner. And later still prisons were provided with sewerage system.

Prison life is drab and monotonous. It’s like being dead while you are still alive. Deep inside you the flame of life is hardly smouldering. It is so different from your previous life, full of movement and excitement! The outside world changes, prison doesn’t. It is like a rotting musty bog in the middle of a green forest. Somebody compared prison to a desert island; I would compare it to a concrete coffin full of spiders gobbling each other. Statistics show that average citizen treats prisoners as the scum of society stuck halfway between life and death.

Just my luck…

For me 1997 was unusually dynamic and eventful. No other year is so vivid in my memory.

I roamed the narrow streets of Cairo and admired in solitude the pyramids of Egypt. In Cyprus my feet were washed by the waves of Mediterranean Sea where, as legend has it, Aphrodite was born.

In the garden of Gethsemane and Church of the Holy Sepulchre I prayed to God to make everyone I love healthy and happy.

I walked on the stones of majestic Acropolis that stands high above the ancient Hellas and saw the ruins of the Sun Temple in Delphi where Pythagores used to teach his pupils.

Countries and cities, peoples and cultures changed each other like in magical kaleidoscope. And to crown it all - a prison cell and complete isolation from the outside world. Maybe it was meant for me to think things over, sort them out, try to get a better understanding?..

In a sense I was luckier than the others. My cell was in one of the old buildings that actually started the prison. It dated back to the end of the 19^th century. I felt proud to be occupying premises in an ‘architectural monument’.

No big changes have occurred here since those times. A hole in the floor was made, water supply was laid on and an electrical socket was installed. These are all the changes.

I often wondered how much suffering, pain and blood must have been absorbed by those thick walls. How many lives had been ruined there! I close my eyes and see blood stains all over the cell.

During World War II, when Soviet troops were retreating from Kiev, evacuating prisoners was out of the question. Even most of the civil population had to remain in the occupied city. Soldiers opened the doors to the cells and shot down everyone. Guilty or not guilty didn’t matter. They had their order and they carried it out. I recall that when the Pope was asked how to distinguish between friends and aliens he simply said: “Kill everybody. God will classify them”.

My cell was no different from the others. Over there, by the door, where my cell-mates are having tea right now, there was a pile of dead bodies and the officer was trying to count them to make sure nobody escaped or pretended dead. The war ended over fifty years ago. Have there been any changes since then? In the surrounding world? in people?

Scenery changes, actors stay on stage. In all times dwarfs and giants have been few, most people were average size. Similar thing with inveterate rougs and righteous men. Most people are mediocrities with stereotype thinking and behavior.

I am sure you, my much respected reader, think that prisons and concentration camps were built for criminals and not for you and your beloved family. What? You didn’t do anything wrong? You aren’t guilty of anything? You make me laugh! Aren’t you a joker! At SPD nobody is guilty. Are you blind? In a country where between words ‘law’ and ‘prostitute’ equals sign is easily put the sword of Damocles is hanging over everyone’s head. And it is not that impossible that the bunk bed next to mine is meant for you.

Behind bars strange thoughts come into head. What if there is a fire? The door won’t open - it is against regulations. To transfer prisoners to another prison is highly unlikely - too much hassle. So while attempts to put out the fire are being made you will be suffocating in your cell trying to figure out where the best place to die is: on the bunk or under the table.

Nothing is more infuriating than the realization of your own impotence. You feel like tearing the bars with your bare hands but there is nothing you can do except pace aimlessly up and down the cell.

I am often asked where it was more difficult: in the cell for four people or for forty? My answer is: if you are a human being and not a piece of shit, it makes no difference whether you are together with many people or just a few. Live and let live. Just mind a few do’s and don’ts. Don’t hurt the weak and don’t let anyone order you around. Don’t take other people’s things without asking. Don’t sit on a bunk bed which is not yours. Always put things meant for common use back to their places. See, the rules are as simple as that.

Now let’s compare a small and a big cell. To gain some ‘valuable’ experience of prison life thirty-nine cell-mates are, of course, better than three. During the day you can walk from one prisoner to another, chat here and there and the day is over. In a small cell communication is quite limited. As far as space goes, there is practically none. The size of a small cell is 2mX4m. There are two pairs of iron bunk beds, a table, a bench, a rusty wash basin and a hole in the floor that serves as a toilet. No spare room at all. Big cells seem to provide more space. But simple calculations show the opposite: there is only 1.6 square meters per person in a big cell while in the small one it increases to 1.9 m2. Besides, in small cells there are never more than four prisoners while the big ones are often overcrowded. Bunk beds are not enough for everybody and prisoners have to sleep in turns. The number of people who use the same toilet is not the least important thing either. And it is certainly easier to come to terms with three people than with thirty-nine.

When you get behind bars you soon realize that you are here for long. Waiting for court hearing takes years. Some find it unbearable and die quietly. Others make attempts at their lives. Quite a few become indifferent to everything and degrade.

The things one has to face in prison are a greater shock than the arrest. I have been through humiliating searches and suffocatingly stinking cells, hand-cuffs and fingerprints. Mockery and sneers of wardens. Barking of dogs. At the turn of the 21^st century.

I realized: I would only be able to survive if I had a goal, if I knew what the sacrifice was for. The simple words ‘love’ and ‘hatred’ made the remaining life meaningful.

It is not easy to remain outwardly calm when inside you are overwhelmed with rage and desire of revenge. Every cell of your body seems to be filled with it. Your nerves are on edge and you can feel you are coming closer and closer to the dangerous moment when you lose control and stop thinking of the consequences. And at this fateful moment His Majesty Laughter comes to your rescue. This mighty savior is sent to save you from uncontrollable rage and help you to survive.

Believe me, there is a lot to laugh at in prison. Look at yourself in the mirror: what you used to be and what you are now. Take a detached view of your cell-mates, their everyday life, everything that surrounds you. Don’t you have a feeling you are in the house of fun?

Take, for instance, pictures taking.

As far as I understand, the purpose of taking prisoner’s pictures is to be able to identify his personality. Logically the photograph should be as authentic as possible. However, logic is not the strongest point with cops. They never look for easy ways. A detained person is first put to SPD where he hardly ever washes, shaves or gets a haircut. In two months’ time he is hardly able to recognize himself. Then he is transferred to prison where his photos are taken. In prison the conditions are slightly better and a prisoner is able to wash and shave more or less regularly. As a result, the person in the picture looks absolutely different from the one before the arrest and quite different from the actual prisoner.

I once had a chance to watch identification by photograph. The investigator shows a witness one single photo covering the person’s forehead and hair with his left hand and lower part of the face with his right one. The witness can only see the eyes.

- Is it him?

The question sounds affirmative. The witness is obviously nervous, he keeps glancing at his watch. He is desperate to be home. His answer is unintelligible murmur.

- That’s exactly what I figured, - smiles the investigator. - So it is he. Sign here.

I notice beads of sweat on the witness’ face. The investigator gets impatient and shouts:

- Sign I tell you! Do it and you will be free!

This time it is an ultimatum. What if he doesn’t sign? Will he be put to prison? He has to pick up his child from the nursery school, get things from the dry cleaner’s… The witness gives a sigh, signs and hastily leaves the room.

Over the shoulder I cast a glance at the photo. An ordinary inconspicuous face. It could fit any description.

In prison a person gradually gets used to limited space, lack of light, daft cell-mates. However, there are things impossible to accept.

I was once put into a cell adjoining the kennel. Unbearable stench, non-stop barking during the day and shrill howling at night. At six in the morning and eight at night the mixture of dogs’ smells and sounds increased dramatically: they were being fed. I regretted I didn’t have a gas-mask.

How come prisons in the west are so clean? What do they do with dirt and garbage? Why are there no problems with water and electricity? Where do they get cops that are not mentally deficient? To me it is still a mystery.

I once came across a book by D.Murphy who had spent almost twenty-seven years in US prison. I was reading it as a science fiction story. By his description American prisons can be compared to the Hilton hotel!

When I was a child my mother used to point at the notice by the bus window: ‘Don’t lean out!’ “This is the most important law of life,” - she would teach me. I tried hard to follow it but failed.

Lack of light in prison caused deterioration of my eyesight. I asked for a desk-lamp. As it turned out I was the only one who had such a crazy idea. I have never expected that such an ordinary object can cause so many problems. It looked as if the permission had to come from the Members of the Parliament. When finally the lamp was allowed two special commissions examined it as if it was a fragment of a spaceship. They took the lamp to pieces absolutely sure that there was a radio-receiving set inside it with the help of which I was going to communicate with the outside world and give instructions to my associates. The harder I tried to persuade them that the lamp was no different from any ordinary desk-lamp the less they seemed to believe me. They demanded an expert’s opinion and only personal interference of a Deputy Minister of Internal Affairs put an end to their playing with the lamp as if it was a children’s meccano.

Recollecting prison life I can’t help mentioning a special day once a week when prisoners were lined up in the corridor and taken to the ‘shower room’. In prison it is called a ‘bath house’ though it has nothing in common with what we usually mean by this common word. The ‘bath house’ is an empty cell with tiled walls and a stump of rusty pipe hanging from the ceiling. Lukewarm water runs slowly and sadly from this pipe for about ten minutes.

The appalling thing is that the water running from the pipe is so called ‘technical’ water, i.e. meant for technical purposes. It often contains some oily admixtures. After such a shower the skin becomes too dry and develops some kind of rash. I could only hope it wouldn’t turn into something serious. Thanks God a had a small heating element in the cell and was able to heat some water to wash my hair.

Warm water was also necessary for washing clothes. In prison washing is a long process which requires special preparation and needs to be coordinated with the cell-mates: there was only one washing basin for all of us. Heating water with the help of a heating element took a long time. Washing itself could be done in three different ways.

The easiest one: give your cell-mate a pack of cigarettes and he will do the washing for you. The only problem is that those who are always prepared to wash for others are usually not the cleanest of people themselves. I have always felt squeamish about my things being washed by somebody else. Besides, there was no guarantee that my clothes would be washed as carefully and thoroughly as I was used to.

The most common way - do it yourself using a piece of soap. The bad thing is that very soon you will have blood and blisters on your palms and fingers. Besides, such washing means a lot of effort, foam and sweat. You try your best but the result is far from satisfactory. You only succeed in making the cell damp. Some of my cell-mates deliberately took their time doing the washing not so much for the sake of getting their clothes really clean but more for the sake of letting everyone see how clean and tidy they themselves were.

If you are interested not so much in the process of washing but in the final result the following is the best way for you. Dissolve some chopped soap in warm water. Then soak the washing in it and leave for a few hours. Washing powder suits the purpose much better, of course, but it is banned in prison alongside with many other useful things. The advantages of this method are obvious: clothes are cleaner and serve longer; washing itself doesn’t take much time and what’s very important in prison cell - it doesn’t make it too damp. Dampness in prison causes many illnesses including TB.

Drying washed clothes is another problem. Prisoners are not provided with any facilities for that. They make ropes themselves out of old and worn-out clothes and hang their washing just below the ceiling. This annoys wardens and they keep tearing the ropes down. Prisoners make new ropes again and it goes on and on. Nobody cares how they manage their washing and drying. Prison authorities pretend the problem doesn’t exist.

Trying to avoid TB we aired the cell as often as we could. I also made it a point not to miss a single walk though it could hardly be called a walk. The so-called recreation yard was a small concrete coffin with smeared walls and thick metal bars on top. The bars were covered with electrified wire netting.

The size of prison yard varies from 2mx3m to 4mx5m. Your placement in a big cell doesn’t automatically mean that you will be taken out for a walk to a bigger yard. It all depends on the wardens who take prisoners out. They would often put ten people in a tiny yard. Nobody cares that prisoners feel like herrings in a barrel. The duration of a walk is up to the wardens as well. According to the regulations it should last for an hour but very often it is no more than fifteen minutes. Complaining is useless, you won’t be able to prove anything. Besides, who will listen? Your rights are limited. Restrictions are so many that nothing is easier than to get a ‘violation of prison rules’ from the wardens.

The more prisoners complain the more praise wardens get from their chiefs. Prison is for the scum of society so let them have a dog’s life. When everyday life becomes unbearable for the prisoner he is much easier to talk to at the ‘discussions’.

Some prisoners tried to prove the obvious but their efforts were futile. As the saying goes: “Many had gone to find the truth but who returned?’ Trying to establish contacts with administration, gain favor with them? Stupid, basely, hopeless. Provided you are not a bootlicker, of course.

The only thing that remains is to make the surrounding world work for you. It is both easy and difficult at the same time. There is a material side to it though all wardens and guards are terribly scared to take bribes which, as they realize, can put them behind bars. On the other hand, they derive such a pleasure from adding up to their modest income that even self-preservation instinct becomes secondary. People in general are corrupt and unscrupulous. Occasional exceptions only prove the rule. Behind bars where practically anything can be bought and sold these qualities thrive. For some prison is a painful wound while for the others it is a reliable source of income.

I had enough time to think things over and make some calculations on a piece of paper. The numbers I got are quite interesting. The gross shadow income from camps and prisons in Ukraine is 8-14 million US dollars per day. Surprised? Now it is quite clear why cops and wardens don’t quit their jobs though the salaries are low. There are things worth fighting for.