He was a strongly-built medium-sized man, answering exactly to the description given by my father to the police. He stood there, just looking down at the ground. I silently prayed to God for guidance about what to do next. Then I got up from my chair; addressed him politely by his full name; greeted him sincerely for granting me the interview; and requested him to sit down before I again did so.
I then said: “Mr. Witbooi, are you getting enough to eat here?” He re-plied: “Yes, thank you.” I said: “Have you peace of mind here?” He replied: “Sir, I am very unhappy. I have been praying to God in my cell for the last three nights, but it’s as if my prayers bounce back off the ceiling and don’t get through.”