Venetia Rainey
Ululating, gyrating, smoking – the crowd of dancing women could well be a party anywhere in Lebanon. But it’s not anywhere, it’s Baabda’s Women Prison, and these women are here on charges of murder, robbery and drug smuggling, among others, with little to do but hope that those on the outside will remember them.
“Generally it’s a lonely life here,” said Dana, not her real name, as she looked on at her fellow inmates jostling and pulling each other into the small clearing that had become a dance floor.
“When I first came here I missed things, like my duvet and so on. But now it’s people I miss.”
“Things like this are nice. It’s good to have a change of atmosphere and lose yourself a bit,” she added, raising her voice to be heard over the blaring electronic Arabic music. “You even forget your case – for a few hours.”
Dana is typical of about half of the 60 or so inmates in the prison, nearly all of whom gathered Monday on the prison’s top floor for a New Year’s celebration organized by non-governmental organization Dar al-Amal (House of Hope).
She holds herself upright, her head high, wears colorful, flattering clothes, and looks glamorous, with carefully kohl-lined eyes and a glossy sheen of pinkish lipstick.
Many of the women look like this, sporting bright makeup, tight-fitting clothes and smoking cigarettes as if they are film stars from the 1950s. They dance around with confidence, playfully engaging with the staff at Dar al-Amal, the prison officers and each other.
“We don’t often get to see men in here,” whispered Dana, her eyes fixed on the male singer hired for the event. She is among those visibly enjoying the chance for some attention, a rare opportunity to act as if they are normal women at a restaurant or cafe celebrating someone’s birthday.
But even those who stick quietly to the corners of the small, airy rooftop room have smiles on their faces. They comprise the other half of the prison’s population, but their faces are bare, their clothes plain and dowdy, and their enjoyment of the event much more contained. Most are from ethnic minorities: Ethiopians, Sri Lankans and so on.
“If you have money, you will survive in here,” Dana said. “It’s as simple as that.”
For both rich and poor, however, the party clearly offers much-needed respite from the daily grind of life in a Lebanese prison, where the walls are damp, the rooms crowded with twice as many people as intended, and the idea of a timely trial process a joke.
“Humans have a right not just to education and that sort of thing, but also to recreation and entertainment, to express themselves creatively,” said Hoda Kara, the director of Dar al-Amal.
“It allows them to feel as if they exist again, that they’re not just prisoners but have the right to dance and feel happy,” agreed Ghina Yaacoub, a psychologist with the organization. “Events like this are a distraction; it’s a way to relieve stress.”
Dar al-Amal is one of the few that works in the women’s prisons on a regular basis, sourcing everything from food and medicine to clothes and hygiene items.
The organization helped build the prison a kitchen, a sewing room, the sun-drenched rooftop area where the party was held, and a small health clinic, and also provides services such as legal assistance, vocational training, psychological counseling and post-release rehabilitation.
In short, anything and everything to help the women get back on their feet and live a dignified life, regardless of their alleged crimes.
“Sometimes people ask why we support these women,” Kara said. “We answer that you have to see behind their crimes and see what problems they were going though. Most of the women here were abused, exploited, beaten and so on.”
“It’s not about justifying it [their crimes], but understanding. Anyone could end up in their place.”
To donate to Dar al-Amal or for more information, please call 01-483-508.
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