'I thought prison was for criminals. It's a disgrace to treat me like this'

By Sophie Goodchild and James Gooder

Three times a day, Gabriel Nkwelle was beaten on the soles of his feet by police officers. Running along the length of his thumb is a livid scar where the digit was dislocated during an anti-government demonstration.

In his home country of Cameroon, the human rights activist was persecuted for being a member of an opposition party. Five times he was stripped and thrown in a crowded cell without ventilation and in temperatures of 90F. But the memory he finds hardest to erase is not from his torture in Cameroon, but the relentless clang of the heavy metal security doors of HMP Wandsworth being slammed shut.

Mr Nkwelle was never convicted of a crime, but for nine months the former quality controller for Del Monte was shunted around four British prisons and detention centres after fleeing his country in fear of his life. Released in February this year, he now awaits the result of his asylum appeal.

"Political asylum should not be regarded as a crime," he says. "It's a disgrace and a shame for a country like the UK to treat people like this who have run away from persecution. I thought prison was made for criminals and you had to come in front of a judge."

His case is typical of hundreds of other asylum seekers — some who have already suffered torture — held in jail without a court ever authorising their detention.

Asylum groups say the system is a lottery. Those detained in prisons range from people who have just arrived in Britain to seek asylum to others who are appealing against their rejected claim. A few have expired visas or have committed minor offences such as shoplifting.

As asylum seekers they should be held in detention centres where they would sleep in dormitories, rather than being locked in cells. They would have regular visits from solicitors, access to phones and be allowed to associate freely. They are also allowed to wear their own clothes. Instead they have to obey prison rules alongside convicted murderers.

In prisons such as Liverpool and Cardiff, this means they are locked up 23 hour a day locked, denied education, allowed one shower per week, forced to wear a prison track suit and allowed association once a week if staff are available. They must wait for permission to phone out and cannot receive calls. They are frequently invited to sign papers for their own deportation. In contrast, convicted prisoners are allowed TVs, phone cards and exercise breaks.

Gabriel Nkwelle flew to Heathrow on 19 May last year after he learned police had ransacked his home. After a few weeks staying in a hotel in Victoria, London, he walked into Kensington police station to apply for refugee status. But immigration officials bundled him into a van destined for HMP Wandsworth.

"They stripped me naked and took me with another chap who was a drunk driver. I remember thinking 'this is a prison but I've never committed a crime'."

His cell with bars at the window contained a bunk bed and a toilet. Exercise was for one hour a day and he was put into prison clothes. He saw other detainees physically abused by prison officers, at one point had his arm twisted around his back by prison officers and was held in solitary confinement for protesting about prison conditions. Over the next nine months, he was moved between Rochester, Haslar and Belmarsh prisons.

"The prison officers at Rochester would call the asylum seekers who could not speak English Kunta Kinte — the name of a black slave. I doubt the Government is thinking about the future of these people. We have to be careful in our society because the Government is creating more hatred in the young generation. The whole system has been designed to strip immigration detainees of humanity."

Michael Ngaleu, a journalist from Cameroon who has now won his appeal, is another asylum seeker who was put in prison in the same wing as convicted criminals and had to stay in his cell for up to 20 hours a day.

"In Cameroon, if you are charged and convicted, you know how long you will be in prison. The consequence of not being accepted is going back to the country where you were persecuted. But it is worse not knowing what is going to happen to you. A lot depends on the ruling of the immigration officer when you first arrive and their practice is to make people depressed so they will just give up. It's against human rights in a country that is seen abroad as a place of freedom and justice."

Ntando Ncube, 24, is awaiting the result of his appeal after spending more than four months in Rochester this year. He attempted suicide in prison and eventually was released after writing to the Home Office. Rolling up his trousers, he shows broad scars along his shin where he was burned with charcoal by members of the ruling party in Zimbabwe.

"If I go home my name is on a list of targets — I would die," he says. "I was in my cell 16 hours a day. I chose to work as a cleaner — I received £10 a week for 20 hours' work. Now I earn nothing. I can't work. My solicitor just told me I had to go home. In the afternoons I read this book Some Other Rainbow [by Jill Morrell and John McCarthy]. I have learned a lot about imprisonment."