Marci Soifer

Day 1 on my volunteer job is over, and I have much to share. I woke up this morning, totally unsure of what to expect. However, the only thing that I could think to referrence was my experiences in a handful of Michigan prisons, as an audience member for the productions put on by the U of M Prison Creative Arts Project workshops (a group with which my community in college was particularly active).

Prison in Peru is nothing at all like any facility in Michigan, or the entire US, I would imagine. We walked up to the entry, and exchanged our ID (my Michigan driver´s license...not even passport) with the uniformed guard. He stamped our arms, and laughed with our volunteer placement coordinator that he didn´t need to see her ID, cause he had seen her before. We then moved inside, through one small gate, where another guard in uniform, looked in our bags casually, and allowed the volunteer placement coordinator to bring in cans of whipped cream and decorations for a Christmas party we will have inside later this week. She found some tampons in my bag and didn´t know what they were, which is something really difficult to explain in limited Spanish to a Peruvian woman who doesn´t speak English.

We then preceeded further inside, just through hallways and corridors. The first thing that I noticed was that the cement ground had clearly been met by human waste on many ocassions and the people in sight were unable to concern themselves with hygiene (the odor was pungent), and had been diluted by a bit of dirty rain water. We were greeted by a few women, who smiled and laughed with the coordinator. They were wearing street clothes. As soon as they moved on, I learned that these women are incarcerated. No prisoner inside was wearing a uniform, and some of the guards could not be distinguished from prisoners. People wore either street clothes or traditional dress, with bright skits and knit clothing. In addition, the prisoners are permitted to wander throughout the facility until 5 pm daily, when they must return to their cells. Guards stand at different doorways, but it seems as though they have little to say.

We walked through the mens side first, where many congregated in the yard in the center. This yard was a basketball court, and on one side was decorated by large, illuminated looms that shone with brightly colored yarn facing the other side, a wall decorated by advertisements for Coca Cola and Inca Kola, the local soda (tastes like licorice). There were many men assembled in the yard, listening to a lecture on AIDS, which I could not understand at all.

The women´s side was our next stop, through a crowded corridor where women and men watched us walk through and politely wished us a good day, and another gate with a guard. This area was truly amazing. The women have cells that hold four each, and have a small hole for a toilet in the center. The beds are cement blocks no wider or longer than your body is wide and your car door is long. They hold one small matress for one woman, or if you have a child, you must sleep with him or her there as well. The amazing piece was that the inside of each cell is a small kiosk. The women have tons of products, from goods, to phone cards, to dairy products, and everything in between, and they sell these products to one another. They were all sitting and laying on a dusty, cement yard, knitting beautiful pieces furiously. I have never seen someone knit so quickly, and professionally. The products of their labor are also sold to support themselves inside, their children on the outside, and provide for hope of a free future. I can purchase some of these products at the prison market which was set up near my house. I also met a women who has lupis and must remain untreated and suffering, since the single doctor for the thousand prisoners really only gives out IB Profin and knows nothing about lupis. The people inside call him, ¨Dr. IP Profin¨, and it is not meant affectionately.

Next, on to the children´s section. This was also gated, but not guarded, and apparently, many of the men come to the gate and laugh as they teach the children words for the female anatomy and curses, ect (of course the children repeat these terms all the time, in search of more laughs...I didn´t laugh). Their yard is also horribly kept, and had tons of evidence of waste (scent of urine) among the weeds and rusty, broken swing set. There are 14 children who are half-way watched and half-way cared for by an alternation of three mothers at a time. The kids stay here all day, unless they are ill, and then they go to their mother. They get very little positive attention, and absolutely no discipline, supervision, or education, as their mothers often do not know how to offer such attention. They hit, run, kick, bite...the whole deal. And, in four hours with them, I learned more Spanish than I did in any year of high school. It is also clear that they have no hygenic practices, and little clothing. The most astonding piece was that they have very few toys...maybe two books that are torn are ruined, and a couple handfuls of toys...and, they use old cans to build with, that have an open end that feels like a razor blade (but they don´t seem to get hurt, remarkably).

They play, and liked to laugh with me and smile. It is clear that these children have held on to their innocent happiness. Three of the children were concieved and birthed inside, so this life is really all they know. And, the others were too young when they were transported inside to recall freedom. They are 2-5 years old.

The women and men definetly exude negative energy, but seem to be opperating life as it is inside, in something that resembles a strong community. I already know they have strong spirits.

Alright, that is the synopsis of day 1 inside. Until next time...