UAE | General
Drunk Driving Jail Hell
Arrested and jailed for drunk driving, a senior reporter woke up on the concrete floor of a Dubai jail with a sick feeling in his head and stomach. Over the next three weeks he was to feel fear, regret, sickness and pain. XPRESS looks at life behind bars.
- Derek Baldwin
- Published: 00:00 March 22, 2007
- Image Credit: XPRESS/Ador Bustamante
- Derek was dubbed 'Kennedy' by inmates - Arabic for Canadian.
XPRESS Senior Reporter Derek Baldwin pleaded guilty in December to drinking and driving and was ordered by the courts to spend 23 days in jail.
His first 18 days were spent in the holding cells of the Bur Dubai Police Station where four wings hold offenders awaiting trial. He spent the last five days in the Central jail.
Derek's Diary
Halfway around the world from my home country of Canada, I lost freedom, self respect and dignity in a split-second of poor judgment.
I decided to drive in Dubai despite the fact I had imbibed. Hello misery, goodbye freedom…
Day 1
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The morning after my car accident and arrest, my brain has never hurt this much before. I hear snoring. It stinks of unwashed armpits.
It's painfully clear what has happened. I'm hungover. I'm lying on a concrete floor in the blackness of a tiny unkempt cell in the Bur Dubai Police Station with only a wool blanket to keep me warm. No pillow.
It is freezing, damp and raining outside. I think of my girlfriend, my job, my family back home, my friends. All hopes of living an unusual life on the cutting edge of a thriving city in the Middle East are slowly crushed in this instant: “My life is over as I know it.Why did I drink and drive? Idiot…'' I hate myself…
Day 3
I am out of sorts as I file my way through a sea of mattresses on the hallway floor of the Arab/ foreigners' wing of the jail.
The noise is deafening. A voice over the loudspeaker screams names in Arabic for morning court appearances; inmates talk and play cards while makeshift morning prayers are held in the outdoor compound at the end of the hallway.
The right lens of my glasses is gone, my forehead is scraped and my senses are assaulted by the unforgiving conditions of the place. Once white concrete walls are soiled and the smell of the two washrooms between the cells and the outdoor compound turns my stomach.
I wait for more than an hour to make phone calls. My boss is incredibly understanding, my girlfriend is at least still talking to me and my mother back home sobs into the phone.
Day 7
I'm a mess this morning mentally and physically. I am forced to sleep on the stone bench outside near an overflowing garbage can – no room inside – and am soaked.
The heaviest rains in 15 years poured during the night through the overhead cage covering the four walls of the outdoor compound.
To my amazement, a group of young Arabs laugh, joke and swap life stories in the nearby corner while smoking up a storm. I sit up and one of them affectionately alerts the room that Kennedy (that's me, Canadian in Arabic) is awake. Perhaps this place won't be so bad.
My name is read across the loud speaker for a court appearance and I make my way to police officers who wait with handcuffs. Transported in a small van with a rear cage. Waiting for court is a nightmare but I'm thankful my girlfriend and work friends are here for support.
Wait all day, not given any food or water. Can't smoke. Never actually get into the courtroom.
Day 11
Still sleeping outside and I'm sick to the bone from damp nights sleeping in the rain.
I am losing weight because I will not eat the food; lamb or chicken with rice delivered in tiny take-out tubs to each wing and dropped on the hallway floor for pickup. No cutlery.
I am filthy because I refuse to step into either of the two hideous showers. I am truly worried for my health.
Another trip to the courts but still no word on my fate. Does anyone have some Dettol?
Day 12
A kind man from Kenya has allowed me to stay in the top bunk – one of four – in his cell. I sleep in a warm, dry bed for the first time and realise how ill I am.
I am changing from the inside as well. I realise I am a selfish unworldly white dude who has been oblivious to the dark reality of others. I am desperately lonely. I miss snow.
Day 14
My new group of Arab friends and two days bed rest is lifting my spirits – barely. Bankers, executives, salesmen, restaurateurs and idlers from rich families, they're an eclectic bunch who have run afoul of the law thanks to booze and finances. They are so kind to each other in this hell.
Day 18
Leaving Bur Dubai jail to plead guilty in traffic court. Transported to new Dubai Central jail in Al Aweer to serve out of the remaining five days.
They shave my head, give me prison pyjamas. Weird that I distrust the cleanness of the place.
I'm corralled with others to F6 holding cell, a room that holds up to 94 inmates, most of whom are from Pakistan and India.
Dubai Central lacks the carefree mood of local jail. It is a worse hell with a fresh coat of paint and new windows.
No smoking is allowed except after meals. Antiseptic hallways are filled with squatting inmates who stare hollowly at two television sets hanging from the ceiling.
Day 22
I'm not thinking straight – a little voice tells me I will never be allowed to leave, forgotten and doomed to this place where few books are allowed.
Long-faced inmates, barren of hope, queue to watery stewand flat bread eaten at stainless steel tables in the cafeteria. A quick five-minute smoke break.
I'm dumfounded when I finally remember that it is Christmas Eve. I watch a bright orange sunset over the desert through the bars of a second storey window. I am so ashamed for torpedoing this holiday time for those who love me.
An inmate from Amsterdam throws me a Twinkie and wishes me a happy holiday.
Last Day
Unsteady and scared, I make my way to freedom. I refuse to believe I am leaving, I say to myself, until I actually leave the final heavy steel door behind me.
I can never remember the sun feeling this good on my face. I vow at the moment that no one will ever take my freedom away again, God willing. Strange, this.
Christmas present to self: Remember to cherish even the smallest acts of self-decision every day because the freedom, or self determination that we all celebrate and so easily take for granted, can be taken away in the blink of an eye.
“Merry Christmas,'' I say to myself as my friend's car hums its way to my empty flat back in the city. I realise it's taken me 23 days to get home after deciding to drive with drinks in me that fateful night.
THE UAE HAS A ZERO TOLERANCE POLICY FOR DRINK DRIVING. IT IS A CRIMINAL OFFENCE.
Your comments
If you are going out drinking, just take a taxi! The safest and, in the long run, cheapest alternative to driving after drinking.
Neil, UAE - Dubai
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