Tuesday 15 December 2009

The Things I Does in Bolivia

Sunday 8th February 2009, San Pedro Prison, La Paz

Happily awoke this morning – nothing like the promise of a visit to prison to get you started! Dorothy and I found the prison alright – a big building, not particularly prison-like save the two small watchtowers on the corners, the police bus out front and the rifle-wielding guards standing non-chalantly around. We had been told that by loitering in the park opposite we'd be approached in no time with an invitation inside. Well, an hour passed during which our best loitering skills were put to use, but there was a line of locals at the door with large supplies of foodstuffs (onions, eggs, bread rolls etc.), and we began to think Sunday is perhaps for family and food supplies only, or the guards out the front were deterring potential break-in tourists. Needing to be in and out by 11:30, 10 o'clock rocked up and we very skeptically gave it 15 more minutes. At 10 past we were approached by a white lady with a smoky South African accent, who I was sure had been a tourist. Shadier characters had made eye contact with us but evidently for reasons other, unbeknownst to us. To finally be approached, especially as we began hatching plan B (buying tomatoes, mainly) was most exciting. This lady walked us straight in to her “office” on the inside, told us to hide our cameras on our persons (mine was too conspicuous in my pocket but fit down my pants and could be neatly concealed by my jacket), and after her coming back and forth a few times (and a sneaky bribe sent to the right people) we were let straight in!

Now this prison isn't any ordinary one (obviously). Inmates have to pay for their cells, meals etc. Everyone has a job: there are tour guides, artisans, chefs, hairdressers, carpenters, and plenty of drug dealers. In hindsight it's actually quite lucky security didn't bother checking my bag on the way in on account of the coca leaves I had (to make tea, though it is also the root of cocaine), albeit in a tiny quantity. The prison is just like an insular, smelly, dirty community. Wives and children live there too. There are churches, a school, pool rooms, cement courts for soccer and tennis, restaurants, stalls, and even advertising for Coca-Cola. Have to wonder how many kids brought up inside end up back there. They were pretty cute though and very happily took the lollies we gave them. Our guide, Ramiro, was 19 and in for drug trafficking. His English was pretty basic, and he has hopes of getting out, going to uni and becoming an English teacher. Best of luck to him. His friend who silently accompanied us was 25 and in for a murder he says he didn't do. It was a real snap back to reality to walk through a cafe-plaza type area and be told the surrounding cells belonged to murderers. Ramiro seemed to harbour a penchant for washing areas, showing us numerous bathroom and laundry facilities. We were also shown to a cement hole, kind of like a small pool. The explanation we were given was newcoming inmates were “initiated” with a chilly nighttime swim, though when Emma went all she was told was 3 prisoners were recently killed there. Convicted for paedophilia or rape or some such crimes, other inmates paid guards to bring in the dead men walking and then to leave. Lives are evidently fairly inexpensive commodities.

But the protocol of money exchange only perpetuates the problems of currency and values. The smaller cells constitute an upfront payment of US$120 – a substantial amount for a Bolivian prisoner, even moreso given the shoebox dimensions it actually buys, and loads more than I'd pay for the smell of sewage wherever you go. And the cells at the brighter end of the spectrum must be owned by the prison's own drug lords. The more they worsen their biggest problem, the better their living standards and hierarchical standing. Furthermore, a get out of jail card can be purchased for US$4000. Emma told us her guide was awaiting trial on trafficking charges, but not expecting a fair trial, was trying to raise the funds before his trial date. I wonder how.

Now I'm not an expert on criminal detainment, but this place seemed an easy escape. There was no barbed wire, Dorothy and I walked in and out without so much as a pat-down or bag check, and inmates don't even have uniforms. In fact, a group tunnelled their way to freedom quite recently. Given the murder last week, one can quite understand why. You're not allowed cameras inside, but given the only official guards are outside, in the watchtowers and at the entry (the guards on the inside are merely inmates trying to earn their keep), it was a very simple operation to get away with. We would've liked to have seen more but didn't have any more time. I particularly wanted to buy personalised bracelets made on the spot for Ben and I, but Ramiro didn't know the guy who did them (I had only been shown by Sam, one of the guys we had dinner with last night). We did see impressive chain wire sculptures and little metal buggies (VW), but to take them home would mean to break or damage them somehow on the way. Including tips and entry fee it was 275 Bolivianos, about AU$60. A huge amount of money by their standards, which apparently goes toward facilities for the children. But definitely the best thing I've seen in Bolivia thus far and I can't wait to read the book. The rest of the day has been a 3.5hr bus ride (had a lovely chat with Dorothy), went and got icecream (and a warm beer) and now on a 7.5hr BUMPY train ride, my excuse for the bad handwriting. A good day though, and certainly worth the 5 pages of my travel diary.

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