
01-06-2006
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HMP Chelmsford Prison

workshops	poems
A typical day in Chelmsford

MICHAEL MATOVU

It’s six o’clock in the morning. I am woken up by birds singing at my window. They are waiting for the breadcrumbs I give them. It’s a habit I’ve got into. So I start doing what I know best: routine. I get up, open my cupboard, break up the slice of bread I’ve saved for them and break it up into crumbs. Then they all flock to my window.
Next up, I stretch and of course switch on the TV. Richard and Judy are on. “God, they’ve been together a long time,” I think to myself. As the TV goes on in the background, I do my morning exercises: 20 press-ups, 20 sit-ups and a couple of front squats while I’m imagining what my day is going to be like. At the same time I’m making sure I don’t make too much noise. I don’t want to wake up my cell mate who for some reason snores a lot more at dawn. “He’s got sinus problems,” I think to myself.
I brush my teeth and turn into my grub, in other words, breakfast. “As they say, it’s the best meal of the day,” I think to myself, again. By now, it should be going on for 7.30 – 8.00 by the sound of the keys that are loosely buckled to the officers’ belts who’ve come in for their shifts. “God,” I say to myself, “those keys make you feel like a dog waiting to be let out of its kennel.” Now my cell mate is waking up to the aroma of the cheap burn (tobacco) that I’m smoking. “God,” I think to myself again, “he’s going to play his usual morning record.” Before I get to the end of my thought the track is on and he’s still grumpily waiting for the door to be unlocked in order to get to the phone and call his girlfriend. Thank God, she really keeps him going.
Round about 8.30, roll call has been done. Some officers look happy and others give off a persona like they just come back from Iraq. 9.00 now I am in the PASRO room with the rest of the group, people trying to kick their drug habit. PASRO targets the triggers that cause cravings that lead you into drug use. The facilitator asks us to give a round of positives – how we are dealing with substance abuse, things we are looking forward to. I just crack a joke or tell them about my breakfast: “Same old Shredded Wheat.” We then talk about our issues and how to deal with them. Some inmates will really open up and then we participate in working out ways they can sort their issues out and also try to relate to what they’re saying.
At 11.30 it’s mass movement. Before we get out of the room we are given a rubdown in case we’ve left the room with items we are not meant to have. But by now no one should be taking this personally. During mass movement I bump into a few people from different workshops and we say to each other “Wha gwan?” (What’s going on?) or slang for “How’re you doing?”. Usually the answer is “Same old, same old, different day.”
When we’re back on the wing the officers open up the cell doors. It really disturbs me why they have to lock us up for two to three minutes then open up again for us to get our dinner. So back in my cell and three minutes later I hear the sound of the keys going again and my door will be opened. By now the munchies are killing me. I make my way to the kitchen queue as quick as possible in order not to queue for a long time. Back into the routine again, I will choose my food for the following day from the menu, which is not too bad compared to other prisons I have been to. Jacket potato is my usual. I look at it salivating. As soon as my plate has been heaped up you will see one of the more honest smiles on my face. Back to the cell I march thinking about my Heinz salad cream that will be a good top-up appetizer. As usual I get back to my cell and my cell mate who has one of the hugest appetites that I know will be looking at my plate trying to make a comparison of who’s got more and complaining how the inmates working on Servery have got something against him. Me being me, I will play along with the tune and end it by saying “’llow it.” (Allow it), terminology for “let it be”. While thinking in my head, “When do you have enough?”
By now the sound of people banging on their doors will let me know that this is a reminder to the officer to slip the newspapers under their door. Five to ten minutes later the papers mysteriously slip under the door. As I am reading the headline on the front page I will actually be thinking about the girl on Page Three and before I even finish the headline I am looking at the photo on page three. Within a flash, my cell mate is right next to me making his narration about the picture. For the second time that morning he gets onto the phone to his girlfriend. He will have another big smile that lasts only for a while.
At one o’clock our doors are opened for half an hour of association. I run to the phone because I have a sudden urge to talk to someone. Who, I don’t know. But as usual I end up calling my ex-girlfriend who I promise to myself almost every day I will never call again. The phone rings once, twice, thrice, as my heart starts to beat faster, hoping and wishing she picks up. Luckily she does. I say hello, trying to sound all hardened up yet deep down there is a cry for help. She realises. “Thank God she knows me well,” I think to myself, and she gives me warm, encouraging words and says she misses me. That makes me kind of melt deep down, not knowing whether I feel weak or strong or confused, but happy in a way that life goes on. With that smile still beaming on my face, I walk back to my cell, turn on my cell mate’s music, some smooth groove by Usher and I roll up a burn, tuck into my grup and pop open a can of coke. For some reason, just the sound of that can popping open brings back a lot of memories and of course the addiction to caffeine plays big part in me looking forward to that drink. With the Usher tune playing, me sucking on my roll-up and the caffeine in my coke satisfying my cravings with its fizziness, I feel free for a moment. The high lasts for the next 10 minutes and it will all come down as soon as I finish the roll-up, guilt kicks in for smoking because I have tried so hard to quit. But the struggle still goes on.
I gather up what I need for the afternoon session, stop for a while to make sure that I haven’t forgotten anything but I usually do. And the doors are opened. I chat to a couple of inmates in the exercise yard and check my name in for the magazine editorial session. It is held on Tuesdays in the library which is a kind of an escape from the rest of prison. It’s got its own quietness and calm that gives me peace of mind. There are four of us on the team and a writer-in-residence. We are preparing a magazine for the prison, doing book reviews, poems, etc. there is a lot of reading involved and group work. We learn a lot from each other because we are different in a way yet we all have something in common.
Back to the wing at 4.30 and an hour later the doors are opened for dinner. Afterwards, we are allowed to make phone calls, have a shower and play pool or table tennis. I rush to the pool table because, as you know in this world it’s first come first served. The game of pool is the peak moment of my day. I give it my all, it takes off the stress and of course I don’t want to lose a single game. Sometimes we have sessions in the gym in the evening. This is where I get the chance to take out my demons on the weights. Those sessions are like gold to inmates.
After my game of pool I make another phone call. I call my son once a fortnight. He’s in Uganda so a five-minute call costs £10 to £12 which is rather expensive. After that call we are told by the officers, known as screws (maybe because of how much they frown their faces) to get behind our cell doors which we obviously do. The doors are banged up and the day is done. Then comes the wind-down time as I sit on my bed and reminisce about the past, present and of course what the future holds. Another routine, another day done. That is my typical day in Chelmsford.