Going to court
We arrived at the police station around 8:30 a.m. The family was already hanging around but the investigating officer hadn’t arrived yet. We waited outside until we got kicked off the steps, then we went over to the EPA to pick up some documents that never materialized. About an hour later, Sergeant Arthur finally arrived and we all headed over to the court, a short walk from the police station. Anita was very concerned, because Sergeant Arthur seemed completely unaware of the arrangement she had made with the head of WAJU, who promised her that she could meet the judge before the court proceedings and plead her case for a psyche evaluation. Instead, he told her she could she could meet with the prosecutor and ask her any questions.
The court was fascinating. It’s a one-storey building down by the water, opposite the old legislation and next to the Kwame Nkrumah mausoleum. I’ve passed it several times and never noticed it. It’s a sandcrete building, painted mostly pink and salmon. We wound our way around the court, which has a courtyard in the middle. We nipped through a courtroom to get to the prosecutor’s office and the room looked like a Mennonite church, with a huge table in the centre of the room and a bunch of wooden benches lined up in rows. It was dark and dank, with huge ceilings, no windows and no A/C. Sergeant Arthur led us down a set of stairs to what seemed like a basement, but turned out to be the prosecutors’ offices. The offices themselves were lined up against another wall and separated from the hallway and each other by flimsy particleboard. Anita thought it looked like a dungeon, I thought it looked like an old barn.
The prosecutor was virtually no help. Her name is Alice and she’s been specially trained to deal with sex-based offences, but she, like all the others, asked Anita to walk her through the incident again and had a few questions like, “Was he your boyfriend?” and “Did you know him well?” I could tell Anita was getting really, really angry, especially when some guy walked in, interrupted everything, started speaking in Twi and rifling through files. It was incredibly rude. She asked again about the psyche evaluation and Alice told her only the judge could order a psyche evaluation. She asked Sergeant Arthur if the boy was normal and he said yes, that he had no paperwork to show otherwise. Anita kept pressing the issue and eventually Alice asked for the boy and his uncle to be brought in. She asked the uncle if he was right and the uncle said Jerry wasn’t himself lately, that he hadn’t been himself since his mother died in 1994. Jerry had spruced up for court, shearing off his little nubby dreads and arriving in a dress shirt and slacks.
Alice asked him what happened and the story was a little different this time. This time it was drizzling and Anita was walking home. He was very friendly; they had been friends for some time. He went to take her hand, he asked for a hug. She refused, so he walked away. No mention of urination or masturbation or anything. After they left I asked the woman if she thought Jerry needed a psyche evaluation and she hedged the question, but I thought it was fairly obvious she thought he was normal. I suggested Anita’s reason for wanting an evaluation is because Jerry has done this sort of thing before to other women. She seemed mildly surprised to hear that.
Anyway, Anita goes back to court on Wednesday to actually meet the judge.
The court was fascinating. It’s a one-storey building down by the water, opposite the old legislation and next to the Kwame Nkrumah mausoleum. I’ve passed it several times and never noticed it. It’s a sandcrete building, painted mostly pink and salmon. We wound our way around the court, which has a courtyard in the middle. We nipped through a courtroom to get to the prosecutor’s office and the room looked like a Mennonite church, with a huge table in the centre of the room and a bunch of wooden benches lined up in rows. It was dark and dank, with huge ceilings, no windows and no A/C. Sergeant Arthur led us down a set of stairs to what seemed like a basement, but turned out to be the prosecutors’ offices. The offices themselves were lined up against another wall and separated from the hallway and each other by flimsy particleboard. Anita thought it looked like a dungeon, I thought it looked like an old barn.
The prosecutor was virtually no help. Her name is Alice and she’s been specially trained to deal with sex-based offences, but she, like all the others, asked Anita to walk her through the incident again and had a few questions like, “Was he your boyfriend?” and “Did you know him well?” I could tell Anita was getting really, really angry, especially when some guy walked in, interrupted everything, started speaking in Twi and rifling through files. It was incredibly rude. She asked again about the psyche evaluation and Alice told her only the judge could order a psyche evaluation. She asked Sergeant Arthur if the boy was normal and he said yes, that he had no paperwork to show otherwise. Anita kept pressing the issue and eventually Alice asked for the boy and his uncle to be brought in. She asked the uncle if he was right and the uncle said Jerry wasn’t himself lately, that he hadn’t been himself since his mother died in 1994. Jerry had spruced up for court, shearing off his little nubby dreads and arriving in a dress shirt and slacks.
Alice asked him what happened and the story was a little different this time. This time it was drizzling and Anita was walking home. He was very friendly; they had been friends for some time. He went to take her hand, he asked for a hug. She refused, so he walked away. No mention of urination or masturbation or anything. After they left I asked the woman if she thought Jerry needed a psyche evaluation and she hedged the question, but I thought it was fairly obvious she thought he was normal. I suggested Anita’s reason for wanting an evaluation is because Jerry has done this sort of thing before to other women. She seemed mildly surprised to hear that.
Anyway, Anita goes back to court on Wednesday to actually meet the judge.
posted by Palmer in Africa at 6:35 AM
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