Antalaha Prison - First Impressions

Antahala Prison, an overcrowded hell hole reeking of human misery sits in stark contrast to the breathtaking beauty of the surrounding landscape. Antalaha is the northern gateway tothe hilly Masoala National Park, which rises in the distance like a giant emerald chameleon. A white sand beach extends for miles along the towns edge, dotted with quaint thatched-roof restaurants serving grilled shrimp and calamari with rice. Ocean waves wash the shore, a ceaseless melody which rises and falls. Renowned as the “capital of vanilla”, Antalaha doesn't seem to suffer from the same level of poverty as other towns in Madagascar. But underneath its veneer of beauty and tranquility lies a seabed of rot, a deep family secret. 

Trudging under the stabbing sun along the road lined with small shops and friendly folks,one would almost miss the inconspicuous doors that open into the prison courtyard. Beyond the courtyard lies a cruel and unbelievable world unto itself. 

I had obtained official permission to visit a few prisons, including the children's prison in Antalaha. This had been brought to light by BBC in a documentary aired October 2019, “The Children in Prison for Stealing Vanilla”. 

Having the chance to have an insider's view of this infamous prison was daunting. The initial sensation was the pungent odor - an assaulting mix of sewage and urine. If you owned a camera that could photograph smell, your camera would break. Banana peels floated in the grey sewage canal soup. I learned later that desperately starving inmates reach into the polluted filth, grab the peels and eat them.

First we met with the Chef d'Établissement, Mr. Franco. He was very friendly and welcoming.

Later on we were granted a meeting with the Chef DRAP, Director of Corrections for the entire SAVA district - Sambava, Antalaha, Vohimar, and Andapa. He expressed a genuine willingness to work with us. 

"Organizations such as the Red Cross, Amnesty International and Save the Children come through, criticize us and walk out. If you can actually help us improve this prison, we will be very appreciative. Maintaining quality standards with a 1/200 staff-to-inmate ratio is next to impossible. This is the second most crowded prison in Madagascar. We are at a disadvantage because of our remote location and lack of donor visibility." 

"If you let the ones out on detention who are awaiting trial, the prison won't be so crowded," I cautiously suggested. 

He smiled slightly and looked at me kindly, curiously for a few moments and changing the subject. "We don't support physical abuse by the guards but it is hard to control. Most follow protocol, but some don't. Security cameras would be of great use." 

His primary goals were to improve the physical environment, to promote the general health of the prisoners, and ready inmates for life after prison. He took a big breath and expressed that his hands are tied due to lack of funding. 

"Are prisoners read their rights?" I asked? 

"We don't do that here. Although public defenders exist, in reality, the system has problems." 

We started our tour, passing through a kitchen built earlier by the Red Cross, firebricks heaped up like rubble. Stepping into the carpentry shop, I was stunned by a single thick jagged blade arising from the table saw. I noted the lovely furniture made in station, even schools had ordered desks in the past from this prison workshop. 

"Why the standstill?" I asked. 

"Barely any electricity to run the machines. We have a very limited budget and have no choice but to cut our power use." 

I found out later that the reservoir was often empty because the pump was run on unreliable electricity. Besides, the water tank was too small to meet the needs of the masses of people inside the walls. Toilets were overflowing, stinky and filthy. Men were relieving themselves in the sewer, and then eating banana peels from the same sewer out of hunger desperation.  Lack of access to running water was a major cause of skin diseases, including heat rash and scabies. The few solar panels weren’t equipped with a battery backup meaning that no one bothered to install fans in the sleeping chambers, and prisoners ran a risk of asphyxiation.  When it did rain, the grounds would turn into a muddy mess. The tin roofs were rusted through which was a blessing in disguise as small streams of air were let into the suffocating chambers. However, when it rained, there was no protection, and with compromised immune systems, inmates were getting sick. Medical care was only for those on their last legs.

We continued our prison tour. It didn't take me long to realize that there was a harsh disconnect between the reality of this subhuman enclosure and our somewhat naive plans for on-the-job training programs. A dizzying flurry of questions and feelings swept over me. 

I peeked through the fence at the men's section. All I could see was a mass of ragged human shapes. I wanted to look and I didn't want to look.

"What IS this place?" I asked myself in numb shock.