Visit to Tsiafahy Prison
We spent four days in Antananarivo before heading out to India via a stop in Europe to visit our daughter. During this time, Elson secured permission for us to visit the high-security prison of Tsiafahy, notorious for its severe overcrowding and lack of sufficient water. Inside, men sleep on the floor, their bodies molded together like pieces of a giant human puzzle. Every two hours, a prison guard claps, and they all turn in unison - a cruel, silent choreographed dance.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2zMlJRHUco
The prison official called some of the inmates together in two groups to speak with us. They squatted in the huge courtyard, forming tight lines facing us. I wasn’t allowed to take photos so instead I recorded the interactions. Loose translations follow. I think it is more impactful for you to hear directly from the prisoners than for me to simply recount their words.
Loose translation of Group 1.
(Prison Official)
“Feel free to stand up and speak up. This discussion is not about the legal process. They want to hear about your day to day existence in the prison.”
(Dr. Elson speaks)
“Welcome to all of you. Your prison is known for its lack of water. This woman next to me, “Neny”, as you call her, (mother) is a regular visitor. She complains about the water problem that you all face and nothing seems to be done about it. This is our friend from America, Tamara is her name. I am Dr. Elson and this is Hanitra, my wife. We would like to speak to you about water, because we realize that your daily water allotment is limited. I give you our promise that we will look into this problem and from there, will make some decisions. This is the reason we are visiting today.”
(A prisoner stands up and speaks).
“Water is a huge problem for us.“
(Prison Official speaks)
“How many liters per person per day do you receive?”
(Another prisoner speaks up).
“Speaking of water, in the night it might come. But we are many people. If the water runs well, we might receive one liter/person/day. This is how much we receive. Every day. This includes water for cooking. Lack of water is what causes our diseases.“ ( He shows us his legs, dry, flaky and with deep lesions).
Loose Translation of Group 2:
Elson:
“Hello to you all! “
Prisoners respond with a hello.
Elson:
“I am Dr. Elson. This is my wife. This is Tamara. This is a woman you are familiar with as she comes often to visit you. You call here “Neny”, (mother). Tamara is the daughter of a missionary and knows Malagasy. . She has a heart for the Malagasy people, which is why she has come back. “
“It is well known that this prison lacks enough water to meet your needs and it is reaching a crisis point. Water is the source of life. This is why we are making this visit. Tamara is the spokesperson for our funding agency. We want to encourage and pray for you and see if there is an answer to this situation. If you would like to take turns talking to us….”
Prisoner stands up:
“We would like to ask you to purchase new water storage containers for us. The ones we have are broken. As soon as the water comes on, the water spills out of the containers. The remaining water isn’t enough. This is my request.”
After speaking with the prisoners, we were shown the kitchen. The fire bricks are in disrepair and 250 new bricks are required in order to make the stoves efficient again. In addition, new storage containers for water are desperately needed. We then spoke to the higher officials about how we can tackle the water problem. They suggested we build a well, cistern and install a pump. This might be a project that we pursue sooner than later, depending on available funding.
As we left, I was stuck by a poignant scene playing out in front of me. A prisoner was kissing his baby, while his wife was weeping.
“Papa loves you and is here for you.”
I entered into this scenerio as if time had stopped, gluing my feet to the ground. It felt somehow like I was meant to witness this tender scene. Meanwhile, the guard thinking we had all left, locked me inside the highest security prison in Madagascar. I looked around, realizing what had happened. Thankfully, the guard eventually let me out to reunite with Hanitra and Elson, who were anxiously searching for me.
I begin to ask myself what role the prison plays in this father's life? Can he truly be rehabilitated in a place lacking ample water, sufficient food, and living in such deplorable conditions? Is this father a murderer needing to be shielded from society, or is he one of many falsely accused, awaiting trial for months or even years?
All I could see was a loving dad, gently touching his child. I wish him grace.
I leave you with photos of clotheslines as I find them quirky and universal. Regardless of nationality, creed, class, or background, whether imprisoned or free, we all have dirty clothes to wash and hang.
