When I heard those bars slam hard, I knew it was for real. I feel confused. I feel betrayed. I feel overwhelmed. I feel silenced.
Kada sam čula kako su rešetke glasno zalupile, znala sam da se to stvarno događa. Osjećala sam se zbunjeno. Osjećala sam se izdano. Preplavile su me emocije. Osjećala sam se ušutkano.
What just happened? How could they send me here? I don't belong here. How could they make such a huge mistake without any repercussions whatsoever to their actions? I see large groups of women in tattered uniforms surrounded by huge walls and gates, enclosed by iron barbed wires, and I get hit by an awful stench, and I ask myself, how did I move from working in the respected financial banking sector, having worked so hard in school, to now being locked up in the largest correctional facility for women in Kenya?
Što se upravo dogodilo? Kako su me mogli poslati ovamo? Ne pripadam ovdje. Kako su mogli napraviti tako veliku pogrješku, bez ikakvih posljedica za njihova djela? Vidim velike grupe žena u otrcanim odorama okružene visokim zidovima i vratima, ograđene željeznim bodljikavim žicama i preplavi me užasan smrad i zapitam se kako sam došla od posla u uglednom bankarskom sektoru za financije, uporno se trudeći u školi, do toga da me sada zatvore u najveću kazneno-popravnu ustanovu za žene u Keniji?
My first night at Langata Women Maximum Security Prison was the toughest. In January of 2009, I was informed that I had handled a fraudulent transaction unknowingly at the bank where I worked. I was shocked, scared and terrified. I would lose a career that I loved passionately. But that was not the worst. It got even worse than I could have ever imagined. I got arrested, maliciously charged and prosecuted. The absurdity of it all was the arresting officer asking me to pay him 10,000 US dollars and the case would disappear. I refused. Two and a half years on, in and out of courts, fighting to prove my innocence. It was all over the media, in the newspapers, TV, radio. They came to me again. This time around, said to me, "If you give us 50,000 US dollars, the judgement will be in your favor," irrespective of the fact that there was no evidence whatsoever that I had any wrongdoing on the charges that I was up against.
Moja prva noć u najstrožem ženskom zatvoru Langata bila je najteža. U siječnju 2009., obavijestili su me da sam nesvjesno obradila lažnu transakciju u banci u kojoj sam radila. Bila sam šokirana, uplašena i užasnuta. Izgubila bih karijeru koju sam jako voljela. Ali to nije bilo najgore. Dogodilo se nešto puno gore nego što sam mogla zamisliti. Uhitili su me, zlonamjerno okrivili i optužili. Apsurdnost svega bila je kada me službenik za uhićenje pitao da mu platim 10,000 američkih dolara i slučaj će nestati. Odbila sam. Nakon dvije i pol godine, bila sam na brojnim sudskim postupcima boreći se da dokažem svoju nevinost. Bilo je posvuda u medijima, u novinama, na televiziji, na radiju. Opet su me potražili. Ovoga puta, rekli su mi: "Ako nam platiš 50,000 američkih dolara, presudit ćemo u tvoju korist", bez obzira na činjenicu što nisu postojali nikakvi dokazi da sam počinila prijestup za koji su me optužili.
I remember the events of my conviction six years ago as if it were yesterday. The cold, hard face of the judge as she pronounced my sentence on a cold Thursday morning for a crime that I hadn't committed. I remember holding my three-month-old beautiful daughter whom I had just named Oma, which in my dialect means "truth and justice," as that was what I had longed so much for all this time. I dressed her in her favorite purple dress, and here she was, about to accompany me to serve this one-year sentence behind bars.
Sjećam se donošenja moje presude otprije šest godina kao da je bilo jučer. Hladno, čvrsto lice sutkinje dok je izgovarala moju presudu u hladno jutro jednog četvrtka za zločin koji nisam počinila. Sjećam se da sam držala svoju lijepu tromjesečnu kći koju sam upravo nazvala Oma, što u mojem jeziku znači "istina i pravda", jer sam za time toliko čeznula cijelo to vrijeme. Obučena u njezinu najdražu ljubičastu haljinu, bila je tamo, spremna me ispratiti kako bih odslužila jednogodišnju kaznu iza rešetki.
The guards did not seem sensitive to the trauma that this experience was causing me. My dignity and humanity disappeared with the admission process. It involved me being searched for contrabands, changed from my ordinary clothes to the prison uniform, forced to squat on the ground, a posture that I soon came to learn would form the routine of the thousands of searches, number counts, that lay ahead of me.
Čuvari očito nisu marili za traumu koju mi je izazvalo to iskustvo. Moja dostojanstvenost i humanost nestali su u procesu prijema. Pretraživali su me radi krijumčarenja, presvukli me iz uobičajene odjeće u zatvorsku odoru, prisilili me čučati na podu, u položaju za koji sam ubrzo shvatila da će postati rutina za tisuće pregledavanja, prebrojavanja, koja su me čekala.
The women told me, "You'll adjust to this place. You'll fit right in." I was no longer referred to as Teresa Njoroge. The number 415/11 was my new identity, and I soon learned that was the case with the other women who we were sharing this space with.
Žene su mi rekle: "Prilagodit ćeš se ovome mjestu. Uklopit ćeš se." Više mi se nisu obraćali imenom Teresa Njoroge. Broj 415/11 bio je moj novi identitet i uskoro sam shvatila da su se jednako odnosili i prema drugim ženama s kojima sam dijelila prostor.
And adjust I did to life on the inside: the prison food, the prison language, the prison life. Prison is certainly no fairytale world.
I prilagodila sam se životu zatvora: zatvorskoj hrani, zatvorskom jeziku, zatvoreničkom životu. Zatvor zasigurno nije svijet iz bajki.
What I didn't see come my way was the women and children whom we served time and shared space with, women who had been imprisoned for crimes of the system, the corruption that requires a fall guy, a scapegoat, so that the person who is responsible could go free, a broken system that routinely vilifies the vulnerable, the poorest amongst us, people who cannot afford to pay bail or bribes.
Ono što nisam očekivala bile su žene i djeca s kojima sam služila kaznu i dijelila prostor, žene koje su zatvorene zbog kriminala u sustavu, zbog korupcije koja zahtjeva dežurnog krivca, žrtveno janje, tako da osoba koja je odgovorna bude na slobodi, iskvareni sustav koji rutinski zlostavlja ranjive, najsiromašnije među nama, ljude koji ne mogu platiti jamčevinu ili mito.
And so we moved on. As I listened to story after story of these close to 700 women during that one year in prison, I soon realized that crime was not what had brought these women to prison, most of them, far from it. It had started with the education system, whose supply and quality is not equal for all; lack of economic opportunities that pushes these women to petty survival crimes; the health system, social justice system, the criminal justice system. If any of these women, who were mostly from poor backgrounds, fall through the cracks in the already broken system, the bottom of that chasm is a prison, period.
I tako smo nastavili. Slušajući priču za pričom od otprilike 700 žena tijekom te godine u zatvoru, uskoro sam shvatila da zločin nije to što je dovelo te žene u zatvor, za većinu njih, bilo je to nešto sasvim drugo. Započelo je s obrazovnim sustavom, čija ponuda i kvaliteta nije jednaka za sve; nedostatne ekonomske prilike koje tjeraju te žene na sitne zločine za preživljavanje; zdravstveni sustav, sustav socijalne pravde, sustav kaznenog pravosuđa. Ako jedna od tih žena, koje dolaze većinom iz siromašnih sredina, padne kroz pukotine već iskvarenog sustava, pada na dno ponora - u zatvor, točka.
By the time I completed my one-year sentence at Langata Women Maximum Prison, I had a burning conviction to be part of the transformation to resolve the injustices that I had witnessed of women and girls who were caught up in a revolving door of a life in and out of prison due to poverty.
Do trenutka kada sam odslužila jednogodišnju kaznu u najstrožem ženskom zatvoru Langata, imala sam goruću želju biti dio transformacije za rješavanje nepravdi kojima sam svjedočila o ženama i djevojkama koje su zaglavile u životu po zatvorima zbog siromaštva.
After my release, I set up Clean Start. Clean Start is a social enterprise that seeks to give these women and girls a second chance. What we do is we build bridges for them. We go into the prisons, train them, give them skills, tools and support to enable them to be able to change their mindsets, their behaviors and their attitudes. We also build bridges into the prisons from the corporate sector -- individuals, organizations that will partner with Clean Start to enable us to provide employment, places to call home, jobs, vocational training, for these women, girls, boys and men, upon transition back into society.
Nakon mog otpuštanja, pokrenula sam Clean Start. Clean Start je društveno poduzeće koje želi pružiti tim ženama i djevojkama drugu priliku. Naš je posao povezivati ih. Idemo u zatvore, obučavamo ih, dajemo im vještine, pomagala i podršku kako bismo im omogućili promjenu načina u razmišljanju, ponašanju i stavovima. Gradimo prijelaze u zatvore iz korporativnog sektora: pojedinci, organizacije koje će biti partneri poduzeću Clean Start kako bi nam omogućili da pružimo zaposlenja, mjesta za život, poslove, profesionalno osposobljavanje za te žene, djevojke, dječake i muškarce, po povratku u društvo.
I never thought that one day I would be giving stories of the injustices that are so common within the criminal justice system, but here I am. Every time I go back to prison, I feel a little at home, but it is the daunting work to achieve the vision that keeps me awake at night, connecting the miles to Louisiana, which is deemed as the incarceration capital of the world, carrying with me stories of hundreds of women whom I have met within the prisons, some of whom are now embracing their second chances, and others who are still on that bridge of life's journey.
Nikada nisam mislila da ću jednoga dana pričati te priče o nepravdama koje su uobičajene unutar sustava kaznenog pravosuđa, ali evo me sada. Svaki put kada sam u zatvoru, pomalo se osjećam kao kod kuće, ali težak je posao postići viziju koja me drži budnom noćima, spajajući udaljenosti do Louisiane, koju smatramo svjetskom prijestolnicom kaznenog sustava, noseći sa sobom priče stotina žena koje sam upoznala u zatvorima, od kojih su neke sada prigrlile njihove druge prilike i ostale koje su sada na prijelazu životnih puteva.
I embody a line from the great Maya Angelou. "I come as one, but I stand as 10,000."
Utjelovljujem izjavu velike Maye Angelou. "Dolazim sama, ali stojim za 10 000".
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
For my story is singular, but imagine with me the millions of people in prisons today, yearning for freedom.
Moja je priča osobna, ali zamislite sa mnom milijune ljudi koji su danas u zatvorima, žudeći za slobodom.
Three years post my conviction and two years post my release, I got cleared by the courts of appeal of any wrongdoing.
Tri godine nakon moje osude i dvije godine nakon otpuštanja, žalbeni sud odbacio je optužbe za bilo kakav prijestup.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
Around the same time, I got blessed with my son, whom I named Uhuru, which in my dialect means "freedom."
Otprilike u isto vrijeme, blagoslovljena sam sinom, kojeg sam nazvala Uhuru, što u mojem jeziku znači "sloboda".
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
Because I had finally gotten the freedom that I so longed for. I come as one, but I stand as 10,000, encouraged by the hard-edged hope that thousands of us have come together to reform and transform the criminal justice system, encouraged that we are doing our jobs as we are meant to do them. And let us keep doing them with no apology.
Napokon sam dobila slobodu za kojom sam toliko čeznula. Dolazim sama, ali stojim za 10 000, ohrabrena ogromnom nadom jer se tisuće nas ujedinilo kako bi reformirali i transformirali sustav kaznenog pravosuđa, ohrabrena jer radimo svoje poslove onako kako se to očekuje od nas. I nastavit ćemo raditi bez isprike.
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)