In the afternoon, I wait for dinner. In the evening, I wait for morning. Time for rice soup. I drag myself to the door and press my face against the bars. The doors are set at opposite ends of our rooms, so I can only see parts of the women's faces if they press their faces against the bars of their door and I press my face against the bars of my door.
Woman prisoners work in the camp.
They cook, sweep the camp ground, wash policemen's clothes, clean the offices. The guards allow the women to bathe when they finish. Men bathe once a week. Yen, the woman the men say was arrested for prostitution and the woman who gave me a cigarette the day I arrived, appears in the aisle with a big pot of rice soup. This is not soup, but the waste water people skim away when they cook rice.