Malabo - Each seeks comfort in his own way. Nick du Toit walks into court clutching a book, José Cardoso a deck of cards and "Bones" Boonzaaier what looks like a Gideon's Bible.
And of course, there are their wives. As each man shuffles from the antechamber into the court to give testimony, his face lights up as he flashes a look to his loved one.
The procedure in the makeshift courtroom in the Malabo International Convention Centre is different from that in South Africa.
The 18 defendants - eight South Africans, six Armenians, and four locals - standing trial for allegedly plotting to overthrow the government of President Teodoro Obiang Nguema, do not attend the entire proceedings.
Instead they spend most of the time waiting in an antechamber, only being called into the main courtroom when required to give evidence. Maybe the idea is to prevent them hearing each other's testimony, to expose inconsistencies in their testimony. Maybe it is simply because the antechamber is more comfortable. It is not clear.
All are wearing clean shorts, shirts or T-shirts, except their self-confessed leader Du Toit, who is wearing long trousers.
Alone among them, Du Toit faces the death sentence; the rest face long prison sentences.
In a strange ironic gesture - whether deliberate or not - the trialists troop down a red carpet towards the dias on which a panel of three judges and their assistants sit, underneath the portrait of the man they allegedly planned to topple.
Claims of torture make the men's apparently healthy appearances somewhat deceptive. South African trialist José Cardoso's claim that "the person who tortured me is here present - and he was present for the declaration" was carefully noted by the judge president.
Du Toit, who admitted last week that he was the local leader of the plot, insists his men knew nothing about it and were only instructed to collect "visitors" at the airport.
The "visitors" were, in fact, another group of 70 alleged mercenaries who were to fly in from Harare in an ageing Boeing 727, armed with an array of weapons apparently bought from the parastatal Zimbabwe Defence Industries.
A sample of the weapons they supposedly planned to buy is exhibited in the courtroom. But the weapons were never loaded in Harare, nor did the men arrive in Malabo, as they were arrested in Harare on March 7 - seemingly sabotaging the entire plan.
A day later, the men in Equatorial Guinea were also arrested, as well as a German man who later died in prison - officially of malaria, although Amnesty International says he had been tortured.
Du Toit and Boonzaaier continually glance over at their wives in the crowd of about 50 journalists, observers and other interested parties in the seats behind them.
An equal number of Equatorial Guinean military personnel is present to deal with any attempt at
escape, and wives are allowed only short moments with their husbands.
Boonzaaier's wife says he got his nickname "Bones" because he was a skinny youth. On Monday he was showing bones again, bereft of a latterday paunch and looking unwell - probably suffering from malaria.
Lined up on opposing sides of the main floor were the four members of the prosecution and eight defence attorneys who were appointed only days before the trial started. The judge president, unusually, is leading much of the evidence himself in what is believed to be the closing stage of this trial.
Attorney-General José Olo Obono looks immensely self-assured, and rather proud at having persuaded the judge to admit as evidence - and to display for the duration of the trial - the impressive arsenal of weapons which "may" have been used had the coup plan not fallen apart. This display is in itself something of a propaganda coup for the prosecution, seeming to refute, silently but eloquently, any pleas of innocence by the accused.
Most of the trial is conducted in Spanish - language of the old colonial power - unless the English-speaking South Africans are present.
For all the country's reputation for dictatorial control, the judge is remarkably lenient about behaviour in court, certainly by comparison with some South African judges.
On Monday's evidence alone, most of the spectators could have been charged with contempt in South Africa. A symphony of cellphones ringing throughout the proceedings did not even warrant a glance from the judge - not even when some people answered their calls and held distracting, audible conversations. Thank God for polyphonic ringtones.
One of the accused stood out as he walked down the red carpet.
Minister Antonio Xavier was not shackled like the other prisoners, yet he looked infinitely more restrained. Fear was etched on his face, in his manner and in his hands - now clasped in front, now at the back, now fumbling in his pockets.
Every lone moment in front of his accusers, who had once been his colleagues in the government, seemed the worst kind of torture, his refined grooming for the moment out of place in the dock. - Independent Foreign Service