San Pedro prison, the biggest in Bolivia's main city, La Paz, is
home to about 1,500 inmates.
Once you pass the thick walls and the security gates, any
resemblance to a normal jail disappears: there are children
playing, market stalls, restaurants, hairdressers and even a hotel.
It looks more like the streets of El Alto, Bolivia's poorest
neighbourhood that sprawls on the outskirts of La Paz, than a
prison.
The prison is divided into eight sectors and facilities range from
miserable to luxurious.
There are no guards, no uniforms or metal bars on the cell windows.
This relative freedom comes at a price: inmates have to pay for
their cells, so most of them have to work inside the jail, selling
groceries or working in the food stalls. Others work as
hairdressers, laundry staff, carpenters, shoe-shine boys or TV and
radio repairmen.
"If you have money you can live like a king," an inmate told me.
Money can buy you accommodation in the "posh" sections of the
prison - one of the best is Los Pinos. Here, cells are spacious and
have private bathrooms, kitchen and cable TV. Outside, they have
billiard tables, kiosks selling fresh juice, and food stalls. Cells
cost between $1,000 and $1,500 and are bought for the duration of
an inmate's sentence.
In the poor areas of the prison, inmates have to share small
cells.
"I have been an outcast since I was a child. My life was spent in
correctional centres. I was sent there 27 times," says Victor
Calatayud, aka El Pecos, in the Los Alamos sector.
"This is my eighth time here. I know this place so well that I have
written a guide to it, including its history, anecdotes, and even a
guide to prison jargon."
Tourists used to be allowed in, but the tours were stopped because
many people were coming to buy cocaine, said to be the purest in
Bolivia.
About 200 children live here with their fathers. The younger ones
go to one of the two nurseries inside the jail, while the older
ones go to schools outside. Outside they suffer discrimination -
inside they are afraid of violence and sexual abuse. Their mothers
are often in other jails or have abandoned them.
"It's tough for them here, but at least we can try to protect them
and give them a sense of family. Outside they would be completely
on their own," says the father of Manuel (right).
Cell 25, an area of 4 sq m, has been Hugo's home for the past five
months.
"I can't afford to buy it, so I rent it for 80 bolivianos ($10; £6)
a month. I am awaiting trial. I could be here another three months
or two years - nobody knows. I am accused of drug trafficking. I
have this cell to myself - it has a kitchenette and a tiny window
to see the sun, so I guess it's not that bad. This is my first time
inside. The toughest thing is not seeing my wife, who is in another
jail," he says.
"Not everyone likes the food in the canteen, so we sell snacks and
sandwiches here for inmates and for their families when they come
to visit," says Pedro, the owner of this food stall.
"The chorizo sandwich with tomato and salad costs three bolivianos
(20p). With the money I make, I pay my rent and keep a few
bolivianos for cigarettes."
"My name is Freddy Guanto Pantaluka Saca. I am here for killing
people. I have been here for 25 years - I will never be free, the
judge forgot about me!" this man says, smelling strongly of chicha
(a local alcoholic drink)
In a mix of Quechua and Spanish, Freddy shouts something about
suffering.
Few of the inmates here are convicted killers - 80% of them are
here for drug-related offences. Only about 25% of all prisoners are
actually serving a sentence - the rest are awaiting trial.
Violence in San Pedro is relatively contained during the day, but
things can get bad at night, when inmates steal from each other and
fight with knives. The police do not go inside or interfere in any
way.
According to prison figures, there are about four deaths a month
from both natural causes and "accidents".
Prisoners are expected to resolve their own problems through
section representatives elected democratically.
The mural reads: Welcome to the football pitch... Freedom and
justice for everyone. This is the prison's biggest yard and it
doubles up as a small football pitch. Every sector has a team and
tournaments are held regularly, with bets of more than $20,000 a
year.
Good players are sought after and signings by teams from the
wealthier sections are not unheard of.
"It is the same as outside - if you are good, you can make more
money with your feet than with your brain," an inmate
jokes.
