The Prison Teacher

“I believe that I should be given the opportunity to continue my education in prison, especially since I did nothing wrong. At times, the monotony of prison life feels unbearable, and I wish so badly to pass the time studying instead of just sitting around. My dream after I am released is to become a schoolteacher. “

March 2023 Antalaha Prison kid 1

“My father and mother are separated. My dad lives far from here and my mom brings me 20 kg of raw rice once a month which I store in a shared place. No one around here steals from each other. The warden gives me access to a small charcoal cooking stove. I make one cup in the morning and another cup in the evening to share with those who ask. I am friends with everyone. My hope is to become a school teacher when I get out of here. I have a lot more studying to do to reach that goal. I don’t want to be a lawyer.“

March 2023 Antalaha Prison kid 2

As per the Malagasy Constitution, the government guarantees tuition-free public education for all citizen children and mandates primary education until age fourteen.. Madagascar ratified the United Nations Standard Minimum Rules for the Treatment of Prisoners (Mandela Rules ) in 1994. Rule 104. reads:

“The education of illiterate prisoners and of young prisoners shall be compulsory and special attention shall be paid to it by the prison administration. So far as practicable, the education of prisoners shall be integrated with the educational system of the country so that after their release they may continue their education without difficulty. “

In spite of the laws passed and treaties signed, the reality on the ground is that in spite of their best intentions, the prison officials don’t have the resources to put these mandates into practice, This is why during my visit to Morondava prison, I was taken aback to discover an actual functioning schoolroom.

In Antalaha, the situation is different. There, Grandir Dignement arranges for a salaried teacher to provide literacy instruction for a couple hours a day, targeted at kids who have never attended school. Classes are taught in the covered porch area, not in a separate classroom. There is no provision for the ones who were previously enrolled in school before incarceration, primarily due to budgetary constraints. During my interviews with some of these children last year, they expressed reluctance to continue their studies upon release, since they would be so behind their peers. It's disheartening to think about how the potential of these children is being eroded due to the lack of educational opportunities.

I was curious and delighted to see a “Sekoly” sign next to a school room door in Morondava Prison and sought details from the Greffe, the Court Clerk. He explained that two prisoners who previously were teachers themselves, are voluntarily conducting the classroom instruction. Over the past couple of years, thanks to these classes, one incarcerated student graduated from 10th grade, and another completed high school. This achievement appears to be a significant source of pride because later on the Administrative Director told me the same.

Wow, inspiring! My mind immediately started dreaming about how this brilliant idea could be replicated in other prisons. Paying the teachers an honorarium would incentivize their good work, Securing funding for school supplies and basics for setting up a classroom would ensure the sustainability and success of the project. It feels possible.

I asked to meet these teachers. One told me his story.

“I actually am from Fort Dauphin (in the far south) because my father was from there. I had been teaching high school in a private Catholic institution. When my father died, we all relocated to my mother’s ancestral home, here in Morondava. Unfortunately there was a land dispute between my mother and her relatives. In a bid to gain an advantage in the dispute, one of her relatives falsely accused me of inappropriate behavior toward her young daughter. They bribed the police, leading to my wrongful conviction. I am serving a five year sentence and I have finished four. The only way I have kept sane is by continuing my teaching .career here in jail, albeit for no compensation. It would be helpful to earn a small amount to buy food and basic necessities, but in the end, I do it out of compassion for others. I collaborate with another teacher - me teaching the younger ones literacy and getting them started on their educational track, and my colleague instructing advanced prisoners in a room near the cooking pots. Recently I had to stop teaching for lack of supplies. What I urgently need is pens, pencils, notebooks, chalk and rulers…. And if you would be so kind as to buy me some soap, I would be very thankful. “

What a small favor to ask for his dedication to these kids and fellow inmates. I went ahead and bought the supplies and the soap plus a bunch of roasted peanut packets for the teens and delivered it all the next day. I asked permission from the official to give a small financial gift to each of the teachers, and apologized that I didn’t have the funding to pay them a monthly compensation for their steadfast work. The children and teachers expressed their gratitude so profusely that I felt a bit overwhelmed. In situations like these, I typically respond by saying, "The best thanks you can give me is to sing together for each other. And for me."

And they did.