On those nights when there was electrical power, they hoisted Naghma, a short, flat chested girl with black frizzy hair, up to the ceiling.
There was a wire there from which the coating had been stripped.
Naghma would hand wrap the live wire around the base of the lightbulb then to make a circuit.
The toilets were closet sized, the cement floor cracked.
There was a small, rectangular hole in the ground, at the bottom of which was a heap of feces.
Flies buzzed in and out of the hole. In the middle of the prison was an open, rectangular courtyard, and, in the middle of that, a well.
The well had no drainage, meaning the courtyard was often a swamp and the water tasted rotten.
Laundry lines, loaded with hand washed socks and diapers, slashed across each other in the courtyard.
This was where inmates met visitors, where they boiled the rice their families brought them. The prison provided no food.
The courtyard was also the children's playground.
Mariam had learned that many of the children had been born in Walayat, had never seen the world outside these walls.
Mariam watched them chase each other around, watched their shoeless feet sling mud.
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