True
Confessions: Nancy
-
Age 30
- Legal secretary
- Single, with two sons
- Arrested for trafficking cocaine
- Spent a year in a Jamaican prison
This
was not the first time I had smuggled drugs. Sarah, an
older woman I had met, had offered me 5,000 English pounds
the equivalent of about $12,000 Canadian
to bring cocaine from Jamaica to the United Kingdom earlier
that year. Although I was uneasy about what I was doing,
I was the single mother of two small boys and had financial
problems; I didn't feel I had any other option.
The
four of us, Sarah, myself and her two children left for
Jamaica, enjoyed two weeks in the sun, and landed in the
U.K. wearing shoes with drugs concealed right in them.
No one gave us a second look at customs; it was the easiest
money I ever made. I returned to my children thousands
of dollars richer and with no regrets.
The
second time I received a call from Sarah, my eldest son
was living with my parents; my youngest was being cared
for by his father. It was a difficult time in my life
and I needed to get back on my feet financially, as well
as emotionally. The promise of easy money and a vacation
to boot seemed like a well-timed answer to my problems.
Sarah
told me I wouldn't be travelling with her; rather, her
friend Lauren would join me. I was nervous. I didn't know
Lauren could she be trusted? Would she handle herself
properly? Admittedly, I was not entirely aware of the
consequences of this dangerous game I was playing, but
I knew enough to realize any mistake could result in trouble.
I decided to take my chances. Sarah was a friend; she
wouldn't put me in harm's way.
Sarah
assured me that everything would go exactly the same as
it had the last time. We were to deal with the same contacts
in Jamaica as before. That was some comfort I knew
these people and figured they would protect their investment.
The people I dealt with in Jamaica took their business
very seriously. Before we left for the U.K. and received
the shoes stuffed with a kilo of coke, we went through
a series of prayers and rituals that they believed would
offer us protection from any harm. I went along with everything,
but I remember just wanting to get this over with and
get back to my kids.
When
we arrived at the airport it was deserted, and I recall
that even most of the check-in counters were closed. With
every step I took in those shoes, I grew more and more
uneasy. Lauren began to argue with the ticket agent, I
don't even remember why, but I remember feeling sick,
knowing we had drawn attention to ourselves in the already
empty airport.
We
made it through security and into the boarding area. Before
I was even able to register that we had made it through
the first leg of our journey safely, we were approached
by a police officer. "Sit down and take off your
shoes," she said. I knew in my heart it was over.
Lauren lost it: she began to cry and make excuses, even
going so far as to try and bribe the police. I sat silently
as the graveness of my situation sank in.
We
were brought to a holding cell at the police station behind
the airport. Little did we know that night that we would
sit in that same cell for almost three months. I was allowed
to call my parents, who didn't know I had even left the
country! They had been so kind, agreeing to care for my
eldest son while I got myself back on my feet. And now
here I was arrested for exporting cocaine.
My
family arrived in Jamaica shortly after, and as much as
I appreciated their visit, I was devastated. My son had
seen his mother in jail. Having him see me that way, at
my lowest point, was the worst experience of my life.
My parents were supportive but scared. This was a drug-related
crime, after all, and they were afraid to even stay in
Montego Bay where I was being held. They retained a lawyer
for me, and it wasn't long before I had my first day in
court.
In
those three months we made over 14 court appearances,
attempting to get bail, offering lame defences and arguing
technicalities, all in the attempt to avoid the inevitable.
When the day finally did come, I was fined about $6,000
and sentenced to eight months in prison. Admittedly the
holding cell had been an awful experience, but it did
nothing to prepare me for what was to come in a penitentiary.
I and six other inmates were brought to a women’s prison standing on the back of a truck in makeshift cells. It was about a three-hour ride with only one stop. When we arrived at the prison, we were brought into a receiving dorm. We were photographed, and those women who had braids, weaves or long hair had to have them cut out. We were given red plaid polyester dresses for uniforms and had to wear them in the hot sun, day after day. The prison had no running water — we were allowed to fill a bucket from a water truck once a week. I can remember begging other prisoners for water just so I could wash. The food was unbearable, the same meal every day: tinned mackerel and dumplings. Occasionally we would have porridge, and a slice of bread was considered a treat. I lost over 30 pounds there, and my system has yet to return to normal.
There
was a great deal of violence in the prison, those convicted
of relatively minor crimes mixed with hardened criminals
serving life sentences. As a foreigner I stood out, and
inmates were constantly trying to pick fights with me.
My nerves were shot, my skin was burned from the sun,
my hair started to fall out and I ate less and less each
day. My only comfort was in writing. I wrote down my experiences,
poetry and many, many letters to my dear parents and children.
The level of illiteracy at the prison was astounding.
I began to write letters for other prisoners to their
families. This made my stay a little more bearable as
I made a few friends.
When I did finally leave prison, after my parents had paid my fine and my sentence was complete, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I hope that no one will ever be tempted to take the chance I did. There is never a situation that will be resolved by resorting to the kind of crime I committed. And nothing will ever make my life the same again. I wouldn't wish that hardship on anyone.