The Special Court for Sierra Leone stands on a sprawling site in central Freetown, shielded from the rest of the country by imposing grey walls. An outer wall, ranging between five and eight feet in height, displays signs warning people that to park or even stand in the court's vicinity is forbidden; an inner one, about fifteen feet tall, is crowned by coils of razor wire. A policeman brandishing an AK-47, accompanied by other security personnel, guards the entrance from a sentry post; above it, a sand-bagged gun turret takes aim at the main road. Visitors who pass through the court's steel gate are obliged to acquire a security pass from a razor-wired concrete reception area in the shape of a pill box, then walk through a car park area and into the court's inner compound through two sliding, steel doors; vehicles, meanwhile, are subjected to bomb checks. Inside, to the left, stand the prefabricated huts of the Office of the Prosecutor, reminiscent of a military barracks or prisoner of war camp, ringed by razor wire and a six-feet high fence carrying signs that read ‘ID Cards Must be Shown at All Times’, ‘Restricted Access’, ‘Authorised Personnel Only’, ‘Visitors Must Be Escorted’. At various junctures guntoting Nigerian soldiers stand guard, wearing dark sunglasses, blue helmets and military fatigues; sometimes they conduct drills and simulate combat situations. Past the Office of the Prosecutor and up a path stands the gleaming structure of the courthouse itself, architecturally designed, apparently, to evoke an impression of the scales of justice.