It is not hard to describe a typical day in prison, especially for someone who has lived through it firsthand the past sixteen years.
I would like to start by talking about nighttime. I know it may seem weird, but never would I have imagined being monitored during my sleep. This is a rare privilege if I do say so myself. “Sleep” is a strong word for prison, a place where you’re lucky when water doesn’t drip on you from leaks.
You hear all kinds of noises: the noise of keys clinking, a sound which is unique and marks you for life. Then there’s also the sound of the guards’ heavy footsteps when they make their hourly rounds to make sure everything is in order. There’s also the light that is turned on, just for a few seconds, but you notice it anyway. So basically, even nighttime in prison is unpleasant.

When the first rays of light appear at dawn, the drone of the television begins, uninterrupted for 20 hours of the 24 hour day. It is always on. No matter what the program is, it has to be turned on.

I get up and I make my delicious coffee. Each inmate must perform this ritual in an almost sacred manner. I can already imagine the smell of coffee taking over my cell as I get the Italian coffee maker and pour water into it. The smallest coffee machine model does the trick. A bigger one would make the whole section smell like coffee. I add the coffee grounds and wait for it to boil. When I hear the noise of the coffee sputtering, I start thinking about the taste. I grab a paper cup seeing as how all the other types of cups are not allowed. I wait for it to cool off a bit and then I finally take a sip. I look at the scenery outside my window at the same time, but all there is to look at is a grey wall. I don’t understand why everything has to be grey… no colors… maybe it is intentional. I’m not sure about it, but I do know that all this greyness in prison heightens one’s depression. Imagine a colorful prison… that would delight the visitors as well as the prisoners. After I finish my coffee, I tidy-up like I do every morning because I like it when everything is in its place. Those in prison mustn’t lose their dignity because that is the only thing they have left.

I get dressed and I get ready to take on a day of work. Work dignifies a person because it keeps them from having to depend on their family, volunteers, or on the kindness of other inmates. There is true solidarity amongst prisoners. Work is important because it helps us realize what sacrifices need to be made in order to get paid. Money doesn’t grow on trees. I am very professional when I tackle a day at work.

Then there are the visitation days. Everything changes completely. You wake up with a different outlook, you make something that you can eat together, you shower, and you get dressed and try to look nice.

Everything has to be perfect: You can’t let them see that you’re not doing well or that you’re suffering. You have to give the impression that together, you will get through this rough patch. But how many times must you take it upon yourself, put on this act, and say that things are working out even though there’s the judge’s refusal? How many times have I had to do this? Whenever I saw my daughter and son, I would put on a smile and they would be calm. This made it less traumatic for me to be away from them. It’s impossible to have actual relationships when you are only given one hour of visitation rights. We aren’t even able to say to our loved ones what is truly on our minds.

Once your morning of work, studies, and visits is over with, the afternoon in prison seems frozen in time. Nothing works anymore, it’s as if time has just stopped. It seems absurd to me that the rest of world optimizes their time to the max while here in prison, prisoners just waste time like you can’t even imagine. We could use this time to compensate society with public interest activities. When my work is finished, I go back to my cell. Here I either read a lot or have fellow inmates over for a cup of coffee. Any excuse is a good pretext to do so. We play cards or talk about football until dinnertime. We eat early and very fast in prison. It almost like a Tibetan monk’s life. We are careful about personal hygiene in prison and we shower when hot water is available. If there isn’t any, you have to wait for the hot water tank to fill up. This is one of the most important problems in prison. I’d like to know where it says that a prisoner must shower in cold water.

**It has been sixteen years now that I’ve been showering in cold water every morning whether it be summer or wintertime. And how many times have I showered in ice-cold water? What’s the point of this extra punishment? It’s certainly not making me a better person. Yet, I repeat, dignity is a priority before everything else. Someone who forgets about their hygiene is someone who has lost their sense of dignity. **

Once we’ve showered, we get ready to eat. It’s early, but our cells get locked for the night at an early hour too. If you want to eat with the other inmates, or eat the food brought by caring loved ones, you have to do so at 7 PM. Otherwise, you won’t have time to clean up, put away the cutlery and the rest. The area is quite small and you can’t just get up and leave without tidying up. After dinner, you have to wash everything. Afterward, we walk around in the hallway to digest somewhat. The main reason we do so is because after that we will be on our bunks all night until 8:30 the next morning. That means twelve hours during which you have to find your vital personal space in closed quarters.

Some choose to write a letter, some read, and others watch TV. I have started to enjoy reading again so I prefer to do that. This is my way of escaping the prison routine. But shh! You’re not allowed to say that word in prison.

Throughout all this time, you’re still just with yourself. It’s up to you to find a way to stay focused despite all the noises, people’s desperate cries and whatever else you hear when locked in your cell. But no matter what happens, you must ignore the distractions. You don’t know where the noises are coming from because the voices all sound the same when muffled by armored doors and TVs. In any case, these cries for help are almost never heard. Hardly anyone listens to you in prison, and those who do lend you an ear, don’t even listen that much. It’s usually too late to help someone in need. A lot of inmates commit suicide in the summer, often because no one listens to their hardships.

Then it’s nighttime again…the noises…the heavy footsteps…back to the place of the living dead…that is us, the inmates.