Stéphane: “I learned to live alone.”

Stéphane was imprisoned for 9 years. Is the lockdown a second imprisonment?

// A series of testimonials: In between walls (4/6)

Do the walls feel the same? They have spent months, years, even decades, in prison. Lack of space, restricted movement, idleness, inspections: these familiar rudiments have re-emerged during the lockdown. For some, it has felt like a return to prison with its routine and operations. They insist they were trained for this. But the lockdown was not prison, and they explain the difference. Prison Insider has brought out six narratives of former prisoners. Six perspectives on the lockdown and imprisonment.

47-year-old Stéphane spent 9 years in prison.

We would build stuff to make it feel less like prison.

THE MOMENT the lockdown was introduced, my mind instantly switched to “prison mode”. The main difference was that my lockdown cell was larger: 50x50 instead of 9x9. Sadly, due to my time in prison, I overcame the new challenge quickly.

During my last stint in prison, I spent three-fourths of my sentence alone in my cell. That’s how I learned to live alone.

In prison, I always manage to equip my cell decently, so much so that it never felt like a cell, but rather like a studio. There were drapes, a mattress, nice bath towels, decorations, and some shelves made with repurposed planks. We would build stuff to cheer up the place, to make it feel less like prison. I am not the type to hang up my photographs, but I did make a little album, with my children’s photographs and letters from friends, which I would look at very often.

The wait had turned into everyday life.

The goodwill of the prison officers

In new prisons like Lyon-Corbas, there is a gym and a library that can each hold six prisoners at once, and a computer room to help obtain professional diplomas. It was equally possible for these activities to occur or halt, depending, as ever, on the goodwill of the Chief Custody Officer. Yard time was limited. We were truly made to feel like prisoners.

As I was a “ranked” prisoner, my days went by quickly. The wait had turned into everyday life. I started out as an assistant: distributed meals on my floor, cleaned, dumped everyone’s garbage. Eventually, I became an assistant in the basement, which involved cleaning the activity rooms, the sports hall, the Chief’s office, and the walkways (at hours when the prisoners weren’t allowed to be there). As a result of this job, I earned the trust of the Chief Custody Officer, assumed the post of librarian, and the ability to “sail” smoothly from one building to the other.

Weekends were different. Other than walking, there was nothing to do. It was then that I felt imprisoned. We had no other choice than to accept the situation and tell ourselves that the door ultimately opens for everyone.

Time passed quickly in winter, and slowly in summer. The days were longer, and we had to endure the heat. In Corbas, the cells had showers. It’s much better in summer even though you have to ask to lower the temperature of the water, which cannot be done from the cell, but through the maintenance service managed by the Eiffage group.

A sentence for the family

When I set foot in prison, I told myself that the world outside didn’t concern me anymore, that I should focus instead on the world inside, because that’s where I was going to pass my time and spend my years.

It’s hard to leave your family out there.

Your parents, spouse, and children also undergo a prison sentence. Today, at the age of 47, I regret that my children had to endure sadness, and my absence. I can’t get lost time back, no matter how much I love them, because I chose to be a thug. I know that being the breadwinner now for my children does not make up for my past absence. I feel a thug does not deserve to have a family. Simply put, it is selfish.

Interview by Margot Hemmerich and Clément Bousquet.

Translated by Susanna Correya.