IT was another one of those years of being greeted by the prison guard and standing in a line to collect the only decent meal for the year.It was Christmas morning, and Ronald (not his real name), who has been incarcerated for over a decade, knows only too well the emotion this day evokes, never mind it means one day closer to the end of his sentence.

The week leading up to Christmas has always been a time of those gut-wrenching experiences, where tears flow unchecked as relatives file past the grim security check point into the cavernous space before them, peering through multiple grills to get a glimpse of their loved ones at the Camp Street Prison.

The visiting room sounded like a typical day at the Bourda Market, with everybody speaking at the same time, wanting to be heard above the din in the few minutes they had to communicate.

SLAM SHUT
It’s difficult to appreciate how bleak prison is, until you’ve had that heavy metal door slam shut behind you like a thunderclap, and you experience being in prison, with its off-white walls and institutional lighting that seemingly sucks the colour out of everyone’s hair and clothes; the grilled windows that block any view of the outside world; and the pungent scent of unwholesome fumes.

During the Christmas week, Ronald’s other half, with whom he has children, has always managed to cause him to reflect on the choices he’d made, or did not make, in life. Teary-eyed, she would stand there begging him to have faith that, one day soon, he would be free; free to hold his children close, and be the father he’s always longed to be to them.

Trying not to break down in the visiting booths, where fellow hardcore criminals stood, Ronald would turn on his heels and walk away, making for the gate where the security guard, silicone gloves in hand, inspected the items he would receive for the Christmas season: A roll of toilet paper, two cakes of soap, a toothbrush, and a new pair of flip-flops.

LOTS OF WAITING
He would then say his goodbyes to his reputed wife, and return to his cell block to face another year of waiting; lots of waiting.
On this particular Christmas Day, Ronald, neatly attired in a clean white vest and grey trousers, sat in a corner of the room, staring at concrete walls, his face devoid of expression. A warden suddenly opened the steel door and barked his name; the other inmates look around, some eagerly, some hesitantly.

“Yes, officer; how can I help you?” Ronald, effusive as always, asked. The officer, who had no time for niceties, shot back: “What are you waiting for! Get up and get in the line for meals! Don’t waste my time; we have other divisions to feed! And if you make styles, someone else would willingly take your pan!”

Rising wearily to his feet, poor Ronald collected his stainless steel pan laden with what passed for chicken fried rice and a cup of cool aid, and returned to his bed space, where his stomach grew sick with the thought of missing out once more on the priceless moments that many take for granted with their families, relatives and friends.

His advice to all those who’ve been given a second chance is to use freedom constructively, instead of destructively. “You don’t know what you have until you lose it. Freedom is priceless, and many take it for granted,” he said, adding: “Sitting down in prison for so many years makes you realise that there’s more to life than this. So, my advice is: Never waste your freedom! Cherish it, and do all you can to help all you can!”

Meanwhile, in another cell block, Devon (not his real name either) said that, during the holidays, a day in prison was no different for him than any other day. It’s the same routine: the violence; staying alert; verbal abuse by guards; tolerance of abusive guards by their co-workers and the prison administration.

He listed a variety of other injustices: Wrongful conviction; non-violent offenders being made to serve inordinately long sentences; drug users serving life pursuant to still largely unreformed and arcane laws; over-sentencing, whereby punishment is grossly disproportionate to the crime; men whose guilt or innocence was unclear, but who had not received a fair trial; prisoners whose advanced age and medical condition strongly suggest they should have been released a long time ago; and people who had been denied parole repeatedly, despite their obvious rehabilitation.

Of course, there’s no shortage of the guilty in prison on Christmas Day, both the repentant and the unrepentant.

Devon hated living around real, cold-blooded prisoners over the holidays, but he had no choice, even though he claimed innocence.
Sharing the experience of his 15 years behind bars, Devon said holiday meals in prison are downright terrible, and many suffer. “We can never get back the lost time or the missed holidays,” he said.

By Rabindra Rooplall