Isabel: A microphone is a passport to get into places we normally can’t get into. And, above all, to hear what happens in places under the weight of a great silence.

[Prison door]

Isabel: In January, we at the De eso no se habla team grabbed microphones and recorders and entered Zaballa prison, in Álava. Zaballa is a new prison. It was built in 2011 to replace another prison that is on the same site but has a much better known name: Nanclares de la Oca. There, 700 prisoners live together in different blocks. Of these prisoners, about 90 are women. We went to see them, the female inmates of block 9, the so-called “respect block”.

[Voices]

Sheila: Hello, good afternoon, I’m Remedios, I’m going to interview my fellow inmates at Zaballa.

Isabel: The first one to pick up the mic was her.

Sheila: Janire, let me interview you.

Hi there, we’re with Mari.

Hi, we’re here with Eva now…

What do you do when you’re locked up?

Do you have a partner here?

How long have you been here?

You can have four visits a month, and you have to choose between your partner and your relatives…

Is it like you imagined?

Anything you want to add about the jail, that you want them to know outside?

Isabel: Remedios is blond, 27 years old and has a seven-year sentence for robbery and theft. She’s been in this prison for two years. And, although on her ID card her name is Remedios, everyone, from her father to her fellow inmates, calls her Sheila. This story is going to be told mostly by her, Sheila.

[Theme song]

Sheila: At first I also thought that prison was like in the movies. But it’s not.

Isabel: Today, in De eso no se habla…

Sheila: Today, in De eso no se habla, we’re going to tell you what it’s really like in prison. And we’re going to tell this story ourselves.

[Voices, footsteps]

Isabel: Which floor are you on?

Sheila: On the first floor, in cell number 11.

Isabel: Do you call it a cell?

Sheila: No, I call it a cage.

Isabel: Will you let us in?

Sheila: Yes, yes, come in.

Well, now we’re entering my cage. There’s a curtain before entering. As we enter there are some hangers where I have my jackets; on the left we have the bathroom, which is made of steel; the sink, which is made of steel; the shower, which is made of steel, where I have the bucket and mop… Then we walk through, we have a little table, I have decorated it with little dolls, boxes, the pictures of my children. Next to it there’s the TV hanging. There are two plastic chairs… Then there’s the bed, the top bunk, which I have picked up because there’s nobody there, so I have the pictures of my children hanging up. And… and that. And there’s a window with six bars. I keep it closed because… Because… To not see the bars. I close the curtain and I… Or if I open it because I’m too hot, I have to put the curtain like this so that I can’t see the bars, because… Because it hurts me to see them, I just can’t. I can’t. So I always have the curtain down so I don’t see those bars.

Just telling you I was afraid to turn off the light and turn off the TV. I’ve been here for two years, but I started turning the lights off about six months ago. But I don’t turn the TV off. I have to sleep with the TV on and hear voices at least, something. And the light, I just couldn’t, I was terrified to turn it off. I couldn’t. And it bothered me, because I couldn’t rest. But I was scared. It was fear.

The only time you forget about your sentence here, it’s when you sleep. All the time you sleep is time you take off your sentence, because that’s the only time you don’t feel you’re here. And you still have nightmares.

[Music]

Isabel: Today’s episode is a chronicle in four acts. Act 1, getting here.

[Voices]

Joana: Ugh, myworld was falling apart. Of course, because I didn’t know what it was like. I, for one, thought it was like in the movies. I thought it was so hard, that everybody would be picking on you… you know?

Sonia: I’ve been here three days and… Well, I’m still very aloof, very aloof.

Sheila: But the hardest part is when people go by and you see that day after day it’s the same routine, and month after month it’s the same, and the visits, and when your children come, and when they have to say goodbye…

Carmen: Yes, I have two children.

Bea: Also two.

Joana: One. And then there’s the cell phone. That’s a big deal, when you come in.

Sonia: Not for me, what I miss are my people.

Joana: The first day Bea and I felt we had our phones and they were vibrating (laughs).

[Laughs]

Woman: But this is wonderful, I encourage girls to come here more to get to know it. It’s like “Zaballa d’Or”, a vacation resort!

[Clapping, voices, loudspeaker]

Isabel: For some, this was an unknown place. For others, a place family and friends had been to. For others, a place they never thought they would enter. For most, it was a feared place. We are in the yard, on our first day here, and we are talking about that, about everything that came into their heads when they knew they had to go to prison for the first time, and how that has changed now that they’re here.

Like many of her fellow inmates, Sheila spent some time wanted and finally she decided to turn herself in.

Sheila: What was I supposed to do, hide? They wouldn’t take that sentence away from me. I spent some time waiting to get things sorted out, leave my house organized, leave my children well, try to assimilate it, which you never quite assimilate at all…

Isabel: And even though it happened two years ago, she remembers that day as if it had just happened.

Sheila: I got up in the morning. I… I dressed my children, crying, I didn’t want them to see me crying, I remember. I wanted to turn myself in in the morning because the kids were at school and I didn’t want to say goodbye in the afternoon or for them to see me leave the house. As usual, I put them in the van, I kissed each one of them like always. They kissed me too. I headed here. As I was going up the hill, I saw the sign that said “Jail”, I collapsed, I thrashed around. I remember like I do now. I jumped in the car, I couldn’t stop. I was jumping, jumping, my head hitting the roof of the car, as soon as I saw the sign that said ”Jail”. It takes many hours to explain this. Many.

When I entered I weighed 120 kilos. And now I weigh 73. Yeah. That would be from the discomfort or whatever, that I couldn’t eat… In one year, l already lost 40 kilos. And… When they opened the cells, I went straight to the gym because I saw that I was losing a lot of weight, and I was afraid about my skin and all that… I liked it, going to the gym… There’s only one bike, but I’m motivated to bike. Or I’d come here to work out in the cell when they locked me up. I would lift my leg up, put it down… Or I would just get on the chair, sit down, get up, sit down, get up. It’s a lot of hours in the same place and you try everything.

Well, I’ve already told you my story, but now I’ m going to introduce you to a girl who is one of the new ones, who has just arrived, who tells her entry into prison very well, what her experience was like. This is Sonia.

Sonia: I was brought in by two Red Cross workers. We went inside. They told me to undress entirely, to squat down. They took away my glass objects, and I said to them, “Leave me alone, don’t talk to me, I’m here to serve a sentence, to serve my sentence. And you’re not going to tell me what I have to do.”

I’ve started talking a bit today. I mean, four days, I started talking today, just a little. The rest of the time, I was quiet, I didn’t talk to anyone, nothing. Today I’ve begun to talk a little.

I’m learning about things, about rules, about things, from cellmates. Well, schedules, look, “now you have to be there at that time, and when they come to do count, you have to be dressed at the door, so they can see you”, I don’t know. One of my cellmates was shocked, she said “but how come they didn’t tell you? Didn’t anyone explain to you that on the first day you have the right to make a phone call?” Which I think is the official’s duty. Isn’t it? Because otherwise, what are they here for? Only, what, to yell at you or… or to tell you over the loudspeaker to go get your medication?

Isabel: There are many things that Sonia has had to learn by herself.

Sonia: Well, what choice do you have…

Isabel: But there are also things that those who have been around for longer explain to the newcomers -and, also, to us. One is this: the words.

Sheila: Sometimes here we speak the prison slang. Maybe that’s why you don’t understand us. We’re going to explain some words to you.

Joana: Chabolo. The room, the cell, where we sleep.

Sheila: The estaribén, the jail.

Isabel: What is it called?

Sheila: Estaribén.

Isabel: Why?

Joana: In gypsy language.

Carmen: We gypsies refer to prison that way.

Sheila: Estaribén.

Joana: Destiny, yes, when you have to do your clean-up, your jobs that they send you on.

Sheila: Support, which is when you have to do… Or accompaniment, it is called, when you have to accompany, when a new girl comes in or when some girl needs it.

Bea: The commissary, the shop where you can have a coffee, buy anything from a few Q-tips to a chorizo. I don’t know.

Joana: The dining room, they call it the office. And I was like “what’s that?” the first time. Well, it’s the dining room.

Sheila: The office, yes.

Carmen: Well, for example, we have to call the officials Mr., I don’t understand why, Mr. and Miss. It just doesn’t come out for me. For me, you are you, and that’s that.

Joana: Yeah. I call people “cousin”. “Cousin!” (laughs). Imagine that. The other day Bea scolded me, I don’t know what I said to an official, and she said “no, you have to call them Mr.” Do you remember, the first day?

Isabel: Act 2, killing time.

[Voices, clapping]

Eva: (Singing) There are words that lead you straight to ruin, there are words that change the state of your life. But there is one word…

Pilar: Glory to God!

Eva: (Singing) … that which gives you life, your word is like a sword that takes care of you.

Pilar: Glory to God, Lord!

Eva: (Singing) And the last word is yours.

Pilar: Upward, my God!

Eva: (Singing) When I see that I sink your hands caress me, when I see that I faint your word gives me life, and when I see that it’s missing, your breath gives me life…

Pilar: Thank you, Jesus, for glorifying your name.

[Clapping, voices]

Sheila: Our everyday life always happens in the same places. The office.

[Voices]

Sheila: The sentry-box.

[Voices]

Sheila: The commissary.

[Voices]

Sheila: The cages. The dining room.

[Voices]

Sheila: The yard.

[Voices]

Isabel: Do you work, Sheila?

Sheila: I’m working for [the enterprise] Fagor. With cables. I clean them, I shape them.

Isabel: Do you like the job?

Sheila: It’s entertaining, but… I’d never say I was going to work with cables either.

Isabel: How many hours do you work a day?

Sheila: From 8 a.m. to 7 p.m.

Isabel: We wanted to see the workshops, that part of the prison where the inmates work for external enterprises, but we only had permission to record inside the block. So, instead, Sheila took us to her former workplace, the office, or the dining room, and there she introduced us to Irune, who has inherited the job Sheila had before.

[Office ambient sound]

Sheila: How long have you been working?

Irune:I’ve been working, I’ve been a substitute for about two months and now I’ve been working as an office manager for a month and a half.

Sheila: And the salaries, what do you think of them?

Irune: Well, underpaid.

Sheila: Would you like to say how much you make?

Irune: Yes. 160 euros.

Sheila: Per month?

Irune: Per month.

Sheila: Delivery, breakfast, lunch and dinner?

Irune: Get the cart up, get the cart down and… and everything.

Sheila: Could you say what it looks like… how you see the potatoes, for example?

Isabel: The potatoes look really bad.

Sheila: It’s all very bad. You see. So…

Irune: Ever since I’ve been in prison, I don’t eat the food here. No. I feed myself on milk, yoghurt and fruit.

[Dining room ambient sound]

Irune: Girls! Enjoy! Have seconds!

Isabel: Now, at dinner time, the dining room is full, but the block is much less crowded during the day. Many of the inmates work, like Sheila and Irune; others study, like Sonia, who will soon start a gardening course. Others do craft workshops, or poetry workshops, like Joana, Bea and Carmen; and some walk around the yard, or buy a coffee at the commissary and hang out in the living room, chatting. But they are the minority, because to be in this block one has to commit to doing activities. They also commit to what is happening now: all the prisoners have to spend at least 20 minutes in the dining room for each meal of the day, whether they eat or not. And they also commit to what is going to happen right afterwards: after dinner, all the inmates gather in the living room. Every day there is a meeting, just before the cells are closed, and nobody can miss it.

Sheila: Now we’ve just finished dinner and everyone sits in a room here, in some chairs arranged for a meeting. Here there are different types of positions, like presidency, vice-presidency… Another one is in charge of conflicts… Uh… More positions… What positions are there?

Isabel: Which positions do you have?

Sheila: Me, vice-presidency.

Woman: I’m the conflicts manager.

Woman: I’m a manager.

Sheila: Girls, let’s get started, please! First I’ll explain, there are girls…

Woman: All of you sit down, those of you over there, sit down, please.

Sheila: I’ll explain, there are some women recording who come from the radio, they want to see how the center works. And now let’s begin the meeting. Group 1 and 2?

Women: Good.

Sheila: Reception?

Women: Good.

Sheila: Coexistence?

Women: Good. Terrible. Bad.

Sheila: And support?

Anything else to add? When there’s a conflict, girls, that’s what the conflicts position is for. You tell her about it at another time other than at the meeting.

[Voices]

Sheila: Girls, anything else to add?

Women: No.

Sheila: Hold on, please.

Woman: Did I tell you to stand up?

Women: Fuck. Come on.

Sheila: Ok, now it’s done. That’s it.

[Voices]

Isabel: What happens when the cells are closed? We wanted to lend Sheila a recorder for her to record herself during the night, but we weren’t granted permission. So, instead of recording, Sheila wrote.

Sheila: It’s January 10th and it’s 10 past 8. We’ve just been locked in. I am sitting on the chair, next to the heating, at the table beside the TV, with a blanket over me, because it is cold.

Well, they just announced the count. “Visible and lights on”. That’s how they announce it at 9.

Well, the count’s over. They open our cells a few inches and an officer walks by to see that we’re here.

It’s 9.35. I’ve taken a shower, I’ve put on my pajamas and now I’m sitting up in bed. I really want to hug my husband and children, but the only thing I can do is kiss their pictures a thousand times before I go to sleep.

When I get anxious, I take the chair we have in the cells, a plastic chair, and I place it under the shower. I sit down and turn on the water and I spend half an hour under the water, or even an hour often. Until I calm down. Or sometimes I cry and cry and cry until I get it off my chest. And then I feel better.

Also, I must say that prison is not like in the movies. There are no rats here, no cockroaches, no broken cells. There is hygiene, we have hot water, we have heating, a television, a shower in the cell… Unfortunately there are many inmates. Each one has a cleaning assignment. Some of us clean the stairs, others the yard, the dining room… The girls in the “respect block”, most of them work. The ones who don’t, attend distance-learning university; others take courses such as baking, painting, gardening… On Sundays there are movies, on Wednesdays there’s spinning and rugby, there’s usually a theatre play, etc.

And well, I’m saying goodbye, because if I go on, I’ll write a book and I need to rest. I’ll be back.

Isabel: Act 3, affection

Joana: I’ve just spoken to my family today. I’m so happy… Yes, I am. I cried so much when I heard my mother’s voice… I haven’t talked to my daughter, but well. I’m still emotional, girl. She said to me “How are you, my child?” I couldn’t speak, I was just crying. “Don’t cry, dear, time is running out.” To hear my mother, telling me those words, it… It still gives me goosebumps. I’m happy, happy.

Isabel: Your face looks so much better today.

Joana: Yes, yes. I needed it very, very badly. Knowing that my daughter was okay… Tomorrow they’re coming to visit me.

[Voices]

Isabel: In prison, there are three ways to keep in touch with those who are outside: the calls, like the one Joana just made for the first time since she arrived; the letters…

Irune: Good morning Miss, request form and mail.

Rosi: Well, at least I have something good, a letter from my love.

Isabel: And, above all, the most precious thing: face-to-face visits.

Isabel: Where are you going?

Sheila: To the conjugal visit

Isabel: You look beautiful.

Sheila: Thank you very much.

Isabel: How long did it take you to get ready?

Sheila: Well, I got out of work at 3:00 and… from 3:00 to 5:00 non-stop. Shower, grooming, make-up, straightening my hair, the last touch, does this fit me well, does this look bad on me, then my nerves won’t let me put on my make-up, because if I put on my mascara it goes to one side because of my nerves, I can’t, and if I take off my make-up again, I’ll put it on again. It’s a lot of nervousness, so…

Isabel: What are you wearing?

Sheila: Well, I’m wearing a pair of boots… The best I’ve got. I put on a shirt, a blazer, a scarf, something like that, to look elegant, some earrings…

[Footsteps]

Isabel: Tell me where we’re going.

Sheila: Well, we’re heading towards the visit rooms. They’re special rooms, there’s family rooms and there’s conjugal rooms. The family rooms have four chairs and a table and the conjugal rooms have a bed, two tables and a bathroom and a shower.

Sheila: When you’re on a conjugal visit, an hour and a half is like a half hour, and you get out of the visit and time stops again. And that’s the way things are.

During the visit, of course, I’ve had a great time, but it’s gone by very quickly. It’s been a conjugal visit, but the fact that it’s conjugal doesn’t mean that it’s just for “being intimate”. It’s for being with the person you love. So when I’m on a visit I feel protected, we hug, we talk, I vent. When he has to leave I can’t talk because I get a lump in my throat and I don’t want him to see me sad, because if he does, my husband cries too, and he leaves very bad, and I get much worse.

Well, I’m now coming from a visit , but here in prison, even if it looks hard, there are also love stories.

Isabel: It doesn’t look like it, but I think people flirt, right?

Sheila: People flirt, and there are love stories.

Isabel: Such as?

Sheila: Such as Irune’s.

Irune: Go ahead. You’re welcome in. It’s a little like this, a little bit… And this is my home.

Isabel: You have so much stuff in here!

Irune: Well, little things my husband gives me. I have two letters that, well, two poems that my husband wrote for me. Well, one of them is a song. Then a picture of my husband and then some presents.

Isabel: Show me the letters, come on.

Irune: Well, the letters… I told you 137 because it’s 135, and the ones I have there, 136 and 137.

Isabel: Do you count them?

Irune: Of course!

Isabel: How long has he been sending you these letters?

Irune: Three months. And that’s that. So, then I have the flag that he… that I took from him. Well, I stole it from him.

Isabel: Which flag is this?

Irune: Of Athletic of Bilbao. It has all our dates on it.

Look, let’s start here: September 27 of last year. It’s the day we started going out, the day we started dating. Then we move on to October 30th, which is when he came back from his first leave while being with me. Then there’s October 17, which was the day he asked me to marry him on the hill, and September 27, 2020, which is the day I’m marrying my husband. And yeah, it’s very special.

Isabel: So, on your anniversary you’re getting married?

Irune: Yes, yes.

Isabel: How did he propose to you?

Irune: Well, it was a very nice thing, it was a very nice thing. It was on the hill, that hill people call “the hill of love”, and he proposed with an improvised ring that I have here, see. This is the ring. This one.

Isabel: What is it made of?

Irune: Cardboard (laughs).

Isabel: And the date is written…

Irune: 27/9/2019. And yeah, well, that’s it. It was very nice.

Isabel: Did he kneel down?

Irune: Yes.

Isabel: Did you expect that?

Irune: Hmm… He had warned me (laughs).

Isabel: How did you meet Raúl?

Irune: Well, yeah, Raúl showed up one day in my life. I had been seeing him for a long time. I was in block 10, which is the conflict block, and I would look out the window and I would see him go by.

Isabel: And is there a lot of flirting going on through the windows?

Irune: Oh… If I told you…

Isabel: Come on, tell me.

Irune: There’s too much.

Isabel: How do you flirt through the window?

Irune: Well, you flirt, well… Here, you… Well, like in the street, I guess, right? They talk to you, they greet you, you become friends, you gain confidence and…

Isabel: But are you allowed to speak from window to window?

Irune: You can’t, but… nothing is forbidden until they see you. Well, maybe we get together in a cage and start dancing, or we start singing. The men are there in front of us, they answer us when we sing, when we dance… And that’s it.

Isabel: How do you see each other?

Irune: Well, we see each other when we go down to pick up the breakfast cart. That’s the “good morning” kiss. We see each other at noon, when we go to pick up lunch. That’s the “I missed you, darling” kiss. We see each other in the evening, when it’s time for dinner. It’s that “good night, darling, dream of me and rest up” kiss. And… that’s it.

Isabel: What’s Raúl like?

Irune: Well, he’s tall, with a shaved head. His eyes… give me stability, sincerity. Eh… Everything, he transmits everything to me. He’s taught me what love is, he’s taught my heart to beat at a pace like never, ever. I’ve suffered abuse for 20 years. The father of my children was a person who didn’t let me go out on the streets alone, didn’t let me wear makeup. I got pregnant with him five times. Of those five pregnancies, my two princes were born, which, thank God, was the best thing that man could give me. But of course, they were born because they were men. The others were not born because they were women: when he knew they were girls he beat me up until I had an abortion every time. Yes. Yes.

[Voices, cart noise]

Irune: Raúl! Raúl. Come here a minute. Come here a minute. What have you done, man?

Man: He’s hit the gym bag and look at him. It’s a good thing the bag doesn’t move, otherwise…

Irune: These women have been recording us this afternoon.

Raúl: Singing?

Irune: Also, singing, yes, singing. It’s just that I’ve never sung to him.

Woman: She sings very well, by the way.

[Voices]

Isabel: Hey, Raúl! I’ve heard a lot about you, huh?

Raúl: Yeah, right?

Irune: Not from me.

Raúl: No, right? Let’s see, who then?

Irune:No, no, they’ve snitched.

Raúl: Who?

Irune: All of them

Raúl: All of them, who?

[Rain]

[Voices, laughs]

How’s life?

Will you record me?

[Voices, laughs]

What are you holding?

A recorder?

But what for?

For the radio? For the radio it is? Get all the prisoners out of Zaballa! All the prisoners in Bilbao, get us out, all the prisoners in Zaballa!

They’ve got us embittered locked up in here!

The nights are very hard!

Prisons are very hard! We must make them softer!

We’re locked up like birds!

If you want to talk to me, make an appointment.

Isabel: Act 4, the outside.

Sonia: I don’t know what people outside think of… I don’t know what idea they might have of prison, really.

Güi: You don’t know what it is until you live it.

Joana: You can’t imagine it, really.

Bea: And then you walk down the street and say you’ve been in jail and they look at you like you’re a fucking freak.

Sonia: What has she done to be in jail?

Bea: If she’s been there, it must be for a reason. There’s a lot of people who just don’t….

Sheila: People don’t see you the same way. They don’t look at you the same way. In every way. Go look for a job and say you’ve been in jail, you’re not going to get that job. Go rent a house, and say you’re in prison, that you’re only out on weekends. They won’t rent it to you either.

Isabel: The outside means, here, many concerns, many fears, many doubts. And above all this hovers a word.

Sheila: The release. The release, the release, the release. You always think about it.

Isabel: Always, right?

Sheila: Always. The release. And when you’re waiting, a lot more. Like Carmen, who spends the day waiting.

Carmen: What’s it like? Well… un-come-able, which I don’t know if you can say un-come-able, very eternal, and it just doesn’t come. I know ultimately I’m going to get out, because I already have the approval and I’m waiting for a damn paper, but it doesn’t come. It feels eternal.

Sheila: Maybe you’re desperate, is that the word?

Carmen: Yes, totally.

Sheila: And when you received the news that you’ve been given a semi-open parole to get out, how did you get the news?

Carmen: Well, look, the day I got the paper, it was the 25th, Christmas day. I mean, all my fellow inmates saw me, I went crazy. I was just talking to my husband and they called me on the microphone, “Carmen Escudero”, and she said “Congratulations, you’ve been given a semi-open parole”. Look, I just couldn’t… I couldn’t, I told the official, “Are you serious? Really?” I mean, I started to cry, to scream, I was very happy. And from then on, I mean, I saw it that day, I mean, I’m leaving, I’m leaving. And almost a month, three and a half weeks have passed since then. And I don’t know, it’s not coming, girl. I mean, I feel like I’m never going to leave.

Sheila: And now every time they call your name on the loudspeaker, you expect it to be that paper?

Carmen: I, when I hear my name, whatever it’s for, I think it’s that. And I go and say “Whoa, it’s not,” you know?

Isabel: Did you ever imagine going to prison?

Carmen: Let’s see, I would never have thought of being in prison, never, I mean, never ever, since I can recall, I would never have thought of that… Well, it’s… It’s not something you expect, but in the end you know what you’re risking. When you’re doing something wrong, in the end… I mean, if you do it ten or twelve times… In the end you get caught and you have to pay for it. Especially us, you know? I mean…

Isabel: You, who?

Carmen: Well, the gypsies, we know… We just know. There are some who are lucky and some who are not.

Sheila: I, for example, did not imagine going in at all, but as I said, I did think about the possibility, because I’ve had a very, very, very difficult childhood. My father has been in prison, my mother has been in prison, my brother has been in prison. So… It’s very difficult to believe that you’re going to go to jail, but… that possibility exists, right? That always… And if you steal, if you see that you’re arrested again and again, you know that that possibility can come, that is, it can happen.

Isabel: Have any of your relatives been in prison?

Carmen: Unfortunately, yes: my grandmother, who has taken care of me; all my uncles, I have five, the uncles, all five of them are in jail. My sister and I were in a youth center since we were 12 years old and we knew the possibility existed. What’s more, my sister is wanted and on Monday she’s going to turn herself in. I’m here… I tell you, almost all my family, unfortunately, has been in jail. My grandmother was released from this prison a year ago.

Joana: Well, girls, see you tomorrow, they’re gonna lock us up until 8:00 a.m. tomorrow.

Carmen: I’m going to watch the soap opera and take a piss.

Isabel: It’s almost eight, the time of the lock up or the closing of the cells.

Bea: Well, I’m going to write.

Isabel: The doors won’t open again until tomorrow at 8:00 a.m.

All: See you girls tomorrow, God willing. Kisses.

Carmen: Sleep tight and dream of angels, not of demons!

Isabel: And while they all go up the stairs to get to their cells, two inmates have stayed down. One of them is Sheila, who is leaving the block because tonight it’s her turn to “do support”, or to go and accompany a prisoner who has just arrived at the admissions pavilion.

Isabel: Where are you going?

Sheila: To do accompaniment to admissions.

Isabel: What are you carrying?

Sheila: Here? The blankets, sheets, the remote, toilet paper, the water bottle, an apple…

Isabel: Is there nothing like that in there or what?

Sheila: Nothing, and it’s super cold, the cage. It’s two cells together and in the middle there’s… We call it the fish tank, because there’s a glass in the middle, with bars. And through there you have to take care of the companion who’s there.

Isabel: Do you like doing accompaniment?

Sheila: Not at all. It’s very bad psychologically because you feel more locked up, you think more, you’re dazed, you’re not in your cell… You hardly bring things, nothing more than necessary, and it’s very oppressive. It’s sad.

Isabel: And now we’ve gone through the… What do you call it, the yard or what?

Sheila: This isn’t the yard, it’s… I don’t know, I call it “the never-ending hill”.

Isabel: Why?

Sheila: Because every time I have to go down to the conjugal visit I want to go down so fast that I can’t see the end. It gets huge. It gets super long. That’s it. Now we’re going through the gate.

Isabel: We can’t enter this way.

Sheila: No? Oh, you’re going down there?

Isabel: Yes.

Sheila: Oh, well, I’m going this way.

Isabel: Goodbye then.

Sheila: Agur, see you tomorrow.

[Kisses, footsteps]

Sheila: Well, I’m doing support now. Before coming, I took a shower in my cell and put on my pajamas. I don’t like showering in any other cell but my own. I got in at 8:10pm and I’m gonna be in here until 8:00 in the morning. The fellow inmate I’m looking after has already fallen asleep. I had never taken anything to be able to sleep, but since I entered prison I’ve been taking medication for depression and to help me fall asleep. But when I have to do support I don’t take it so I don’t fall asleep. So in the morning I’ll be exhausted. Well, now I’m eating a pear while I write. I’m not hungry, but I’m nervous and that’s why I’m eating a pear. Now the fellow inmate, half asleep, has asked me if I could please give her one of the muffins she has on the table and I’ve given it to her. She’s eating it. While I write, everything in silence, I only hear the noise of the little plastic bag she’s opening.

Isabel: And while Sheila is trying to fall asleep in a cell that is not her own, Sonia, alone in front of the guard station, is waiting for an official to give her the key to the yard. Because here, in block 9, every night a female prisoner is in charge of locking the door. And it’s her turn tonight.

Sonia: Miss, see if you can give me the key to the yard, there’s no one there anymore.

[Voices]

Officer: Right now, one second.

[Voices, loudspeaker]

Officer: I’m waiting for the closings here, give me a second.

Sonia: Yeah, yeah, relax, relax… Mr. I don’t understand why you have to call neither Mr. nor Miss, because they call me by number or by my name. Well, if you want me to call you Miss, call me Miss, too. I don’t know. These are things that don’t… There are many things here that you don’t understand, really.

Look. Now we go out into the yard and first we go to the toilets that are here. You see that there is no one, as there is no one, so you close the door.

[Door]

Sonia: This one closes like this. We go here, to the hairdresser’s…

[Door]

Sonia: Like… This needs to be greased, too, huh? Let’s see. The gym. Anybody there? Nothing. Then out we go. Very important, because if not, the one who’s left in charge of the key to the yard will really get into trouble, because you’ll leave them here locked up and uh. Well, then. All in order, Judge.

[Loudspeaker]

Sonia: They’re locking the cell doors. Now we all have to be inside.

[Key sound]

Sonia: Alright, we’re all locked up now.

[Key sound]

Sonia: Good night (laughs). See you tomorrow.

[Door]

[Theme song]

Isabel: In Spain, there are about 59,000 people in prison. Of these, some 4,500 are women. According to the Ministry of the Interior’s 2018 data, which are the most up-to-date, most women are in prison for crimes against property or for crimes against public health -that is, for robbery and theft or for drugs.

There are other data that are not collected by the Ministry of the Interior and that we’ve found in other studies. For example, that women prisoners with low-skilled or unskilled jobs make up 75% of the total. In men, it’s 53%. Or that almost a third of people serving prison sentences are themselves the children, grandchildren, brothers or nephews of prisoners or ex-prisoners.

Another fact: a study of the female prison population in Catalonia estimated that 88.4% of women prisoners had suffered some form of gender-based violence. Another study, in Asturias, estimates that 92.4% of female prisoners have been victims of some kind of abuse, and that each prisoner has had an average of six abusers. Both studies are from 2005. There are no more current data or data from the rest of Spain.

And one more piece of information: in Spain, the gypsy population is 1.4%. In Spanish prisons, one out of every four prisoners are gypsies. These are data from an article by the Barañí team. From that study, this quote: “the over-representation of gypsy women in the prison circuit far exceeds that suffered by other historically discriminated groups, such as the black population in the United States or the aborigines in Australia.”

I’m Isabel Cadenas Cañón and we don’t talk about that… Or else we do.

Isabel: Many people have participated in this episode. In January this year, Blanca Cadenas, Laura Casielles and I went to record at the Zaballa prison. There we met many women: Salazar, Rosa, Eva, Olga, Pilar, Güi and, among the ones you’ve heard the most, these:

Carmen: Well, I’m Carmen. I’ve been here for a month, I’m 21 years old and I’m waiting for my bracelet to leave in semi-open parole with high expectations.

Bea: I’m Bea, I’m 31 years old and it’s been four days since I entered for a four-month sentence. I want to go home now, please.

Joana: I’m Joana, I’m 33 years old and I just entered for four months and it’s my first time. And I’m a mess (laughs).

Sonia: Hello, my name is Sonia, I’m in the prison of Zaballa, Vitoria. And… that’s it.

Irune: Well, my name is Irune, they call me La Chusa. I’m 40 years old, I’ve been in prison for a year and a month and I’m waiting to go free.

Sheila: Well, I’m Sheila, I’m 26… It’s a lie, I’m not 26, girl (laughs). It’s just that in here, we all think we don’t age. It’s true, it’s true that. You ask people, and they’re the same age as when they came in. They think time doesn’t go by… (Laughs).

Isabel: So we’ve recorded this episode together. The script, production and editing were done by me, Isabel Cadenas Cañón, and our editing assistant is Paula Morais. Vanessa Rousselot is our script editor. Laura Casielles, our text editor. The sound design is mine and from Chaliwa Studios. The final mix is by Chaliwa studios, and the voice-over has been recorded at Isolé División Sonora. Laura Casielles is in charge of communication. The illustration of this episode is by Carmen Cáceres and our theme is by Alva Noto and Ryuichi Sakamoto. Thanks to Carola Solé and all those people who in the middle of that other confinement participated in our virtual listening session. Thanks to Estíbaliz de Miguel, Chema Bastos and Miren Ortubay for opening the doors of the prison to us. Thanks to Nigel Poor and Earlonne Woods for encouraging us to go into a prison when we thought it was impossible. If you’re interested in what goes on in prisons, you have to listen to their podcast, Ear Hustle. And thanks to Ana Ballesteros and especially to Manu Maroto for the thousands of consultations on prisons and justice and on how to tell all this. On our website, www.deesonosehabla.com, you can find references to the books and studies we have cited at the end of this episode, and also extra material. De eso no se habla is done in the Lavapiés neighborhood in Madrid, with the help of PRX and the Google Podcasts Creator Program.

Sheila: Thanks for listening.

Isabel: Yes, thanks for listening.

[Footsteps, door squeaking]

Sonia: These doors have to be greased because it sounds so much like jail. A lot. Jail, jail, jail. (Imitates squeaking) Bang.