Why freedom for ex-convicts is like being in prison without handcuffs

Maxwell Werimu a 24 years,at their "Crime si poa"office.He was imprison at Eldoret prison and later on he was released.Maxwell is upcoming artist and also work at construction site in Ruaraka. (Photo: Edward Kiplimo/Standard)

For 10 years, George Aguko had the tiny cubicle at Kibos Prison in Kisumu as his home. But this was about to change. You would have thought that Aguko was filled with joy.

But on the night of July 7, 2012, he sat on his bed staring at the blank walls. His thoughts were fixated on what lay ahead. In a few hours, he would leave prison and be a free man.

It was a moment infused with joy and anxiety. He had been counting down to this day ever since he was sentenced for robbery with violence, but was not prepared for the cocktail of emotions he was experiencing.

“I was excited, but also scared. I did not know what to expect once I walked out of the prison gate,” he says. Aguko had adjusted to the feel of metal against his wrists as he moved – handcuffed – from one location to another. He had gotten used to the sound of the key turning inside the lock when a prison warden opened the door to allow him and other prisoners step out and enjoy a little sunshine away from the dark cells.

He had fantasized on what he would do when he got out of prison, where every single move he made was monitored. The time had come, and fear and panic was beginning to creep inside him. “The idea of coming out of prison was good, until I realised I did not have a place to go,” he says.

Worse still, he did not know how to find his home, or if his family would welcome him back.

His mother had visited him a few times in the first years of his detention, but suddenly stopped. Nobody told Aguko why she did. “One day, I waited but nobody came. I imagined they were busy, but they did not show up for the next visits either,” he says.

While in prison, he had done projects such as carpentry and interior design, and had made some money. The prison department gave him Sh4,000 as earnings.

Only hope

On his release day, Aguko started his trudge towards finding a home. “My cellmate gave me directions to his home. I got lost many times, but eventually found his mother.

She was a stranger, but was the only hope I had,” says Aguko. After a lot of convincing she allowed him to stay. But he knew he could not overstretch his welcome. He had to find a place to go; a place that would allow him start his life over, and reclaim his dignity in society.

He started to earnestly seek his family. He is the first born among five siblings, and he wanted to know his brothers and sisters whereabouts. He knew his home was in Kisumu, but was not sure he would identify the homestead.

After a long walk, he found his home. But it was a shadow of what he had left. The walls of their house had crumbled, leaving patches of mud all over. “It was abandoned, and I was afraid of walking in,” he says.

His youngest brother saw him, walked slowly towards him, as if trying to recognise him. The reunion was bitter sweet. For him, it was his first encounter with family, but with that contact also brought bad news.

“He told me my parents had died, and it was a struggle to make ends meet,” he says.

He stayed home for a short time. He realised part of their land had been taken, and everyone he talked to treated him like a criminal.

With no job or money, he decided to seek fortunes elsewhere. He travelled to Nairobi, with hope that everything would fall into place.

The biggest challenge, he says, was convincing people he has reformed. He had not anticipated rejection and shame. “When I mentioned being a former prisoner, people got uncomfortable. Some would not even look at me in the face,” he says.

It is nearly five years since Aguko walked out of prison. He describes his life away from the cells as one where he always has to go out of his way to prove that he is a changed man.

“Out here is like being in prison without the handcuffs,” he says.

Most Kenyans interviewed by The Standard on Saturday admitted that they treat ex-convicts with suspicion due to previous experience and narratives they have heard.

Abel Kinya, a foreman at a construction site says he once employed a former prisoner who ended up colluding with others to steal materials worth Sh800,000. He has since learnt to scrutinise the history of job seekers, and avoids anyone with a criminal record.

“These are people who have done these things before. What makes you think they will stop?” asks Kinya.

Aguko acknowledges the high possibilities of former prisoners returning to crime as soon as they are released. He recalls one of his friends getting shot dead in Ruaraka, Nairobi, barely a year after he was released.

He has since joined a group called ‘Crime si Poa (Crime is bad)’.

The group brings together ex-convicts whose mandate is to visit slums and schools to educate people on dangers of crime and drugs.

Prison Commissioner General Isaiah Osugo says most prisoners return to crime because of the isolation and rejection they feel when they are released. “Some commit crime to return to prison where they are accepted and treated like a part of a community,” he says.

He adds that the Prison Department has been putting efforts to ensure prisoners are paid a decent amount of money, to help them settle once out of jail. However, he says there is a dilemma on whether paying them will act as incentive to commit crime and get paid in prison.

“They are paid an average of 15 cents per day. We have been pushing Treasury to raise the amount, but have not succeeded,” he says.

Festus Amunga, 38, was in prison for six years. He was also jailed for robbery with violence. When he was incarcerated, he left behind a wife and three children.

He says no single day passed that he did not think about the life he left behind. “I held on to memories of my children to keep me sane,” he says.

He adds that prison was what he needed to turn his life around. “I did things I am ashamed of. Had the law not caught up with me, I would have died,” says Amunga. When he was released from Kamiti Maximum Security Prison in Nairobi in 2012, he took a bus to town, bought a phone with the money he had received as his pay from prison, and made a phone call he had waited to make for so long. “I called my wife and told her I am free,” he says with a smile.

His wife was working in town and immediately came to see him. Amunga says he cannot convey the feeling of seeing her after such a long time.

She was staying with her sister in Mlolongo, but Amunga says he did not accompany her there, since he was not sure whether extended family was ready to embrace him. He booked a room in town and stayed for three days as his wife looked for a house where they could start their life over again.

Embrace changes

His children were no longer babies, and most of his friends had moved on with life. “It is overwhelming. You try to reconnect with family and friends, you mourn those who died while you were away, and embrace a lot of changes,” he says. Even though his family was eagerly awaiting his return, his friends and neighbours were not as excited to see him.

Mary Khaemba, National Director Offender, Correction and Rehabilitation in Kenya Prison says most prisoners face fierce rejection from the community, and this makes it difficult for them to participate in building the economy.

She says their department’s efforts to rehabilitate and settle prisoners has not been successful due to lack of funds to create a settlement programme for those who do not have a place to go after prison.

An ex-convict from Langata Women’s Prison says even though her family welcomed her, the neighbours were volatile.

She opened up a shop although she continues to lose customers whenever she reveals she was once in prison.

“I now treat it like a secret. People are not ready for former prisoners,” she says. Osugo says averagely, they release 5,000 prisoners to go to the free world, but they worry if they will be accepted.