land. We had arrived in Zante.
A police car had been waiting at the marina to escort us to Zakynthos town police station in Zante. It was only 500 metres away, but the police insisted on driving in front of the van with flashing lights and sirens on. Neeeeee noooooor, neeeeee noooooor – big criminal coming through. You would have been forgiven for thinking that they were holding Osama bin Laden, not Andrew Symeou, the student from Enfield. There wasn’t even any traffic.
I was exhausted, but still filled with a numbing fear. There were only three cells in the police station. I walked past the middle cell; it was filled with about six or seven men who could just about fit inside. I was taken to the cell on the far left, which was already occupied by one man. It was about 3 metres wide by 4 metres deep and a solid concrete bed was covered with flea-infested, dirty blankets. Unlike Patras Police Station, the entrance to the cell was made up of vertical metal bars and a gate, as opposed to a solid steel door. The outside wall – opposite the entrance – had a small rectangular window that was welded shut. Outside it was forty degrees, so the heat in the cell was almost unbearable.
Journal extract
The other man in the cell sparked up a cigarette and took a huge pull. He looked at me and threw the box in my direction; I assumed he was offering me one so I took it and thanked him. I asked him, ‘Yiati eisai mesa – Why are you in here?’ He put his hand to his nose and sniffed, so must have been something to do with cocaine. It wasn’t long before he was released and I was alone.
I started to read The Da Vinci Code . I brought it with me from home and the officers allowed me to have it inside the cell. About twenty minutes had passed and I could hear a female voice – I could have sworn that it was my mum. But the woman whose voice it was began to speak quickly in Greek and I realised that it wasn’t her. My heart dropped. Suddenly a woman walked in front of the cell bars. It took a while to process, but it was my mum. Seeing her standing in front of me just brought all of the emotion back. I had got myself into the ‘prisoner’ frame of mind – I was in the zone. I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t get up to go and speak to her; it took a few seconds to walk towards her and hug her through the bars.
I’d only been in police custody for a few days, but I had always had a close support network around me before my extradition. I was treated well by police officers in my own country – they’d refused to handcuff me and told me that the extradition should never have gone ahead. To then be treated like an animal in a foreign land (after a year of fearing it) was such a drastic transition that I fear my words won’t do it justice. I wasn’t merely held in a series of police cells waiting to be released, I constantly dreaded what the next day would bring. I reminisced about my past and questioned whether my future would be taken from me. Since my extradition, I’d been facing the journey alone and was forced to change my mentality. There had been no one around me to pick me up and it was completely draining to stay strong without them. But the moment I saw my mum standing in front of thebarred cell gate, all of that strength I’d built since I was dragged to Heathrow Airport days earlier had crumbled away.
I was shaking as I squeezed her arm. No words can describe how comforting it was to see her. I knew that my family was there to pick me up, like they had always been. Not everyone’s mother would be standing there like she was.
It wasn’t long before my mum was asked to leave, then a police officer approached my cell and gazed at me through the bars like I was a caged animal in a zoo. ‘ Ehoume CCTV, xeris? – We have CCTV, you know?’ he said smiling.
‘Take it to the judge then; we can show it to her so she can let me go home,’ I said.
The officer’s smile became malicious as he walked
A police car had been waiting at the marina to escort us to Zakynthos town police station in Zante. It was only 500 metres away, but the police insisted on driving in front of the van with flashing lights and sirens on. Neeeeee noooooor, neeeeee noooooor – big criminal coming through. You would have been forgiven for thinking that they were holding Osama bin Laden, not Andrew Symeou, the student from Enfield. There wasn’t even any traffic.
I was exhausted, but still filled with a numbing fear. There were only three cells in the police station. I walked past the middle cell; it was filled with about six or seven men who could just about fit inside. I was taken to the cell on the far left, which was already occupied by one man. It was about 3 metres wide by 4 metres deep and a solid concrete bed was covered with flea-infested, dirty blankets. Unlike Patras Police Station, the entrance to the cell was made up of vertical metal bars and a gate, as opposed to a solid steel door. The outside wall – opposite the entrance – had a small rectangular window that was welded shut. Outside it was forty degrees, so the heat in the cell was almost unbearable.
Journal extract
The other man in the cell sparked up a cigarette and took a huge pull. He looked at me and threw the box in my direction; I assumed he was offering me one so I took it and thanked him. I asked him, ‘Yiati eisai mesa – Why are you in here?’ He put his hand to his nose and sniffed, so must have been something to do with cocaine. It wasn’t long before he was released and I was alone.
I started to read The Da Vinci Code . I brought it with me from home and the officers allowed me to have it inside the cell. About twenty minutes had passed and I could hear a female voice – I could have sworn that it was my mum. But the woman whose voice it was began to speak quickly in Greek and I realised that it wasn’t her. My heart dropped. Suddenly a woman walked in front of the cell bars. It took a while to process, but it was my mum. Seeing her standing in front of me just brought all of the emotion back. I had got myself into the ‘prisoner’ frame of mind – I was in the zone. I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t get up to go and speak to her; it took a few seconds to walk towards her and hug her through the bars.
I’d only been in police custody for a few days, but I had always had a close support network around me before my extradition. I was treated well by police officers in my own country – they’d refused to handcuff me and told me that the extradition should never have gone ahead. To then be treated like an animal in a foreign land (after a year of fearing it) was such a drastic transition that I fear my words won’t do it justice. I wasn’t merely held in a series of police cells waiting to be released, I constantly dreaded what the next day would bring. I reminisced about my past and questioned whether my future would be taken from me. Since my extradition, I’d been facing the journey alone and was forced to change my mentality. There had been no one around me to pick me up and it was completely draining to stay strong without them. But the moment I saw my mum standing in front of thebarred cell gate, all of that strength I’d built since I was dragged to Heathrow Airport days earlier had crumbled away.
I was shaking as I squeezed her arm. No words can describe how comforting it was to see her. I knew that my family was there to pick me up, like they had always been. Not everyone’s mother would be standing there like she was.
It wasn’t long before my mum was asked to leave, then a police officer approached my cell and gazed at me through the bars like I was a caged animal in a zoo. ‘ Ehoume CCTV, xeris? – We have CCTV, you know?’ he said smiling.
‘Take it to the judge then; we can show it to her so she can let me go home,’ I said.
The officer’s smile became malicious as he walked
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