The voice from within
SDV Board member, Ronnie Tagwireyi, was detained for three months in Dungavel. Here he blogs about the experience of being visited by SDV.
The sights, the smells and the sounds of Dungavel never leave you. Today, eight years after my successful bail hearing, they are still as vivid as ever.
Dungavel is a place where dreams become redundant, and hope is extinguished; a place where mental health deteriorates, not only because of confinement but the not knowing- not knowing how or when your ordeal will end- takes its toll. Its a place where I saw more grown men weep openly than I had done in all of my life before and since.
With its high perimeter fences, CCTV cameras and security patrols, the former hunting lodge has the feel of a prison about it and has often been referred to as such. I choose to describe it as being like a desert.
A desert is a huge expanse of sand, featureless, stretching as far as the eye can see, seemingly endless when you are in it- so is the mundanity of life in Dungavel and the indefinite period of detention that detainees are subjected to in the UK.
Deserts are places of extremes, unbearably hot by day and freezing cold at night- akin to the highs and lows experienced by detainees. But deserts also have oases, sources of respite in an otherwise hostile environment.
Enter Scottish Detainee Visitors.
In my time at Dungavel, SDV came in on Mondays and Thursdays. I tried to get in to see them as often as I could. Our conversations often had nothing to do with my prevailing situation, a welcome deviation from the norm within the centre. This is not a slight at my fellow detainees, our situation consumed us all, but rather, it highlights the refreshing difference that visitors made. They were a diversion from the ‘same old, same old’ conversation and routine.
I was in Dungavel for three months and I found that after a few visits, my mental health improved. This because I had renewed hope. I knew then that someone cared. It still blows my mind that a person not invested in my plight because they were a friend or family member took time out to visit me. Me? An undesirable migrant in the depths of despair.
But yes, they did. And are still visiting today. The generosity of spirit shown to me then still guides my thinking - kindness goes a long way. If you are reading this and have previously visited or are one of the current crop of visitors, take a bow!
‘Not at all’, I hear you say! Allow me please, I’ve been there, you made and are making a huge difference.
If you are thinking of volunteering, I hope I have gone some way to conveying the sanctity of the role.
It saves human lives.
If you would like to make a difference to people in the same situation Ronnie found himself in eight years ago, we’re recruiting visitors now. Click here to apply.
