Behind the wire

We were two 24-year-old girls leaving Sydney with a couple of visas and a one-way ticket to the world. This trip was about doing anything that came our way. Carpe diem! While the option to visit a prison in a third world country does not generally top the list of activities in South American guidebooks, it was definitely on our agenda.

The word on the street among backpackers was that there was a very unique prison in downtown La Paz called San Pedro Prison, which tourists used to pay to tour. At one point, up to 60 backpackers per day had visited the prison, but due to a tourist “accident” (no lurid details available) three years previously, they were no longer allowed inside.

We arrived in La Paz from a desert oasis called Huacachina in Peru. We had been sandboarding, and stayed at a hotel where we were served dinner by stoned transvestites at a table with a 100-year-old tortoise underneath. We had endured endless bus rides climbing thousands of metres above sea level at 30 kms per hour armed with crates of chickens and quite often, Peruvian babies. We had experienced altitude sickness, and had been awed by the great Inca civilization on our trek to the majestic Machu Picchu. After two months of travelling, we were beginning to get used to the weird and wonderful aspects of South America.

Despite this, nothing prepared us for our arrival to La Paz in Bolivia. The city sits 3,000 metres above sea level, is surrounded by desert and sandy mountains, and is only gradually becoming tourist friendly. There is also a high degree of anti-American sentiment floating around La Paz due to socialist attitudes and the American War on Drugs campaign. But while poverty is rife, the people are warm and willing to help young travellers find their way.

We had heard of a book called Marching Powder written by young Australian novelist, Rusty Young, a law student from Sydney who rented a room in La Paz’s San Pedro Prison and spent four months learning all he could about the prison and its inmates. Over a boozy lunch in La Paz one day, we became convinced that despite the tourist ban, we could also experience San Pedro so we devised a plan to get in.

Within fifteen minutes, two blonde and tipsy gringos were standing at the gates of San Pedro Prison listening to the prisoners yelling out through the bars.

Chances we’d make it in were slim, but egos were high. I had a stab. “Soy abogada de criminales! Necessita hablar con mi cliente.” (I'm a criminal lawyer! I need to speak with my client.)

The guard pointed to a sign stating strictly “No touristas”.

After explaining that we lived in La Paz and were not tourists, we were asked whom this “client” was.

“He's English speaking.”

I didn't think I would get far with that one, but the guard asked if it was a prisoner named James.

“Si! James!”

We had a name. He pulled out a crumpled note written in scrawled writing.

“Hi friends. My name is James Olu from South Africa. Greetings from “San Pedro”, one of the oldest downtown jail houses in Bolivia. HELP. Please kindly help me and the boys in here. May God bless you in Christ Jesus. Best regards, James Olu. Can call me up if you want to know anything about this place or will like to visit us, anytime.”

I called the number from a pay phone over the road and asked for James.

“I saw you through the gates and told the guards to give you my note. I will pretend you are my relatives. Come back tomorrow at 10am and bring chocolate, cigarettes and money to bribe the guards. Speak in English so that they don't understand,” he said.

“Is there anything else you need? Warm clothes? Books?”  “I only need cigarettes,” he assured me.

The next day we found ourselves safely inside Bolivia's most notorious jail. James told us that the guards would not accept the $20 (US) bribe openly, but to give it to him to divide between them at a later stage. There were no iris scans or weapon checks as there would have been in an Australian prison. We were simply told not to take photographs.

In San Pedro, men buy their own cells, which can cost over $5,000 (US). Some are equipped with satellite TV and Internet, others have eight beds crammed into a small room with only a picture of the Virgin Mary on the wall.

The note that led to our adventure

within the walls of San Pedro.

There are shops and restaurants all around the prison, but those with no money sleep on the street and eat the food provided by the Government, which James described as “not good enough to feed your dog.”

We sat down to lunch at one of the restaurants in the prison. A friendly Bolivian woman welcomed us and told us about her life inside. She lived in a little room with her husband and son, but was allowed to leave daily to buy supplies for her restaurant. She served a Peruvian speciality, ceviche (raw fish pickled in lime and chilli) and we sat quietly sipping lemonade and listening to James as he told us animated stories about life in La Paz.

James was a towering 53-year-old, black South African who had been caught trafficking half a tonne of cocaine from Bolivia to Brazil. He only had about six teeth - all grey and yellow - and his hair was black and curly. He spoke five languages and had been in seven other prisons around the world including one in London, but said San Pedro was the best jail he had ever been in.

“Eighty per cent of the inmates are in here for drug related crimes,” he told us. “But ask them if they are guilty and they will say no, everyone in here is innocent.”

According to James, the prison was the best place to get the most pure drugs in South America. Cocaine was produced on the premises, and it was clear from the milky, dazed eyes of the inmates that the smoking of ‘base’ (crystalised cocaine) was common.

James took us through the prison and most of the inmates and some of their families greeted us warmly. It was a clean and organised place divided into four sections. Guards do not enter the inside as the inmates themselves run it and the hierarchy is very strict, with chosen leaders for each section. Despite its occasional presence, violence is infrequent.

“It is quite safe because of the women and children,” James said. “They are too poor to live outside if their husbands are in here.”

James gave us detailed accounts of some of the inmates, including a lawyer named Jose who was convicted for the murder of his wife. When we went to visit Jose's room and found him with a client. He was still working as a solicitor in the prison despite his murder conviction!

James also told us about a rich politician who had been convicted of fraud and money laundering, but was still able to perform renovations on his three-storey apartment within the walls of San Pedro.

We were the first tourists inside the walls of San Pedro Prison for over nine months, and the two hours we spent within those six-metre walls were unlike anything we had ever encountered. As we walked through the gates and back into our tourist lives, I remember thinking “we are the lucky ones”.

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