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Smell — 11/12

North America Women South America Asia Europe Long-term prisoners
Published on November 6, 2020 Inside Outside
Table of contents
  • Bertrand talks to the participants
  • Argentina
    • France, Arles
      • France, Arles
        • United States of America, Schuylkill (Pennsylvania)
          • Japan
            • Japan
              • United States of America, Lake Placid (New York)
                • Italy
                  • Guatemala
                    • France, Roanne
                      • Colombia
                        • Switzerland
                          • Ukraine
                            • ++
                              • Space — 12/12
                              • Taste — 10/12
                              • Touch — 9/12
                              • Hearing — 8/12

                            Table of contents
                            • Bertrand talks to the participants
                            • Argentina
                              • France, Arles
                                • France, Arles
                                  • United States of America, Schuylkill (Pennsylvania)
                                    • Japan
                                      • Japan
                                        • United States of America, Lake Placid (New York)
                                          • Italy
                                            • Guatemala
                                              • France, Roanne
                                                • Colombia
                                                  • Switzerland
                                                    • Ukraine
                                                      • ++
                                                        • Space — 12/12
                                                        • Taste — 10/12
                                                        • Touch — 9/12
                                                        • Hearing — 8/12

                                                      Each month, the photographer Bertrand Gaudillère creates an image or chooses one from his archives. Prison Insider sends it to a dozen participants, prisoners around the world.They are in Argentina, in the United States of America, in France, in Switzerland, in Guatemala, in Ukraine, in Colombia, in Lebanon, in Italy, in Japan, and in Belgium.

                                                      io_image11_odorat2.jpg

                                                      Bertrand talks to the participants¶

                                                      It is a two-bedroom apartment in a certain building. She lives there with a dozen of cats, birds and guinea pigs. The first time I got into the apartment, the odour overwhelmed me. It was sickening!
                                                      The odour was so strong that I managed to breathe through my mouth. I could no longer stand the smell of cat’s urine… She apologised. I smiled at her.
                                                      I am making a report on negligence, when people do not live up to their personal needs. When it comes to our homes, it is expressed in the form of Diogenes syndrome, an irrelevant accumulation of objects that litter everywhere and reduce the living space. Her neighbours filed a complaint.
                                                      Bertrand

                                                      Prison Insider invites you to freely express what you feel, when, in prison, you look at this image about the sense of smell.

                                                      Argentina

                                                      Authors : — Pablo, 36 years old, male. / Translated by Jennifer Lee & Shannon Kirby.

                                                      It is an indescribable odorous image accompanied by what Bertrand shares…
                                                      There are many scents in life that transport us to places and times, but personal hygiene starts with yourself.
                                                      I don’t want to imagine the cleaning that this lady will need.

                                                      France, Arles

                                                      Authors : — Pascal, 45 years old, male. / Translated by Maura Schmitt & Rebecca Neal.

                                                      Otherwise, it must be said that prison is an enclosed space and odours do not enter here: there are no scents of flowers like in the spring, nor those of cut grass.

                                                      I adore cats – I have one, he lives with my parents and shares their large garden with three dogs. I found him in the street a good fifteen years ago now. He sleeps almost all day and goes out practically all night, if it’s not raining! That’s Minou! When I found him, he was desperate, he had been following me closely for quite some time, so I adopted him, and since that day, he has lived the life of a country cat! Magnificent, the life of a cat.

                                                      When I was twenty, I lived with my girlfriend in a little apartment under the eaves in the Pink City (Toulouse). One day, a pregnant cat came and meowed at our door: she was looking for a place to give birth. We took her in and she had five kittens. It was astonishing – the downstairs neighbours must have wondered what could be making all that racket! Every day, I took a roll of wallpaper and put a big piece of it under a table so that all the little ones could do their business. The mother really had a head for hygiene: one by one, she took each kitten in her mouth and carried it to the edge of the wallpaper to get it accustomed to being house-trained, and it was a job well done, because the little ones kept clean, and as soon as they learned to walk, they knew on their own where to go to the toilet. I threw out rolls and rolls of wallpaper, but it was worth it. We had five kittens that were in great shape, and they let us know it: starting at seven o’clock every morning, it was party time. We opened the glass door of our bedroom, and suddenly everything that moved – especially our toes – was bitten by these tiny devils who had needles in the place of teeth. It became a game and a ritual because if we were late, they took turns leaping at the glass door until we opened it! Seven o’clock sharp!

                                                      This is not on the theme of odour, but I enjoy talking about it, as it’s an excellent memory. There was quite a bit of work in exchange for this little moment of happiness, but it could have become a cesspit like in the photo.

                                                      Animals are clean by nature if we give them the means; it’s humans who are not always clean! When they are ill, unmotivated or idle, humans can be dirty, but they sometimes find themselves in a cesspit against their will: three inmates in nine square metres, with a sink and a toilet to share, that can lead to regular clashes.

                                                      In the remand centre, I sometimes fought for cleanliness in the cell, and frankly, I was right, but even so, it’s a thorny situation to have to tell someone you barely know to clean up after himself. If he doesn’t do it and leaves his mess when you want to have a wash after him, it starts to irritate you. But it is still necessary to point out the dilapidation of prisons and their insalubrious nature.

                                                      However, today I can no longer complain about that – the place where I am now is new and it has all the necessary infrastructure: clean and individual cells, the facility is like new. Basically, it’s an appropriate place for long sentences. The odours here are often neutral, and they are very few. As an assistant in the rehabilitation unit, I sometimes come across cells that the inmates left because of an emergency (psychiatric hospital or isolation), which are in unimaginable conditions. It’s sometimes intentional, but often it is the mentally ill inmates who leave behind real rubbish tips that are comparable in odour to the photo of the cats.

                                                      Otherwise, it must be said that prison is an enclosed space and odours do not enter here: there are no scents of flowers like in the spring, nor those of cut grass. It’s very lacking on the olfactory level. Sometimes, there’s the smell of perfume or eau de toilette, but that’s all.

                                                      France, Arles

                                                      Authors : — Christophe, 43 years old, male. / Translated by Tanya Solari.

                                                      A heroic heart battling solitude: this is the guard that kept the dark times at bay when oblivion turned my soul to ice. This is what the image evokes, the turning point of the lonely soul. A prison inside a prison, like those dreadful and destructive Russian dolls that embody isolation. Alone among others, we just might slip into our inner cell and remain there a prisoner.

                                                      United States of America, Schuylkill (Pennsylvania)

                                                      Authors : — Eric, 45 years old, male.

                                                      Let me open this window… in my mind… will that help let out this stench?

                                                      Mental hygiene¶

                                                      I have concluded that my mind can sniff out trouble, which means that my troubled thoughts cannot hide. Likewise, my cluttered thoughts reek, in the same environment where my doubts creep in like a cat.

                                                      If my thoughts are meant to be as free as a bird then why do I
cage them? Why do I experiment with them like guinea pigs? I don’t know… I guess for show?

                                                      I will place… THIS thought here… THAT idea there… THESE boxes of memories… somewhere. I will deal with them later. Right now, I don’t care!

                                                      Ughhh! I can’t bear this anguish! I can’t think, I can barely breathe. I have to clean up this mess. I feed my doubts and my thoughts, but I neglect to clean up after them. When they relieve themselves, they leave a thick, putrid and pungent stench in my mind.

                                                      My doubts usually bury their droppings, but my caged thoughts do not. Have I grown used to this smell?

                                                      Oh, why me!? Everything has become so cluttered here; broken in such disarray. How do I fix this? How do I clean up this mess; and with what? Here! Let me open this window… in my mind… will that help let out this stench?

                                                      Ohhhhh, I am so ashamed. Look what I have done! I cannot invite anyone here. I have created a mess. I cannot share my thoughts with anyone. I cannot let my doubts be found out. They are so cluttered, so foul, so rancid! I cannot, no, I will not open my mind to anyone. I will shut this window and hide behind these closed curtains and live quietly amongst my own filth… in my mind.

                                                      Japan

                                                      Authors : — HV, 60 years old, female.

                                                      The room is a total disaster. Foul smelling and hazardous. Unable to move because of the clutter. Putrid, rotten, disgusting, rancid, bad.
                                                      Makes one want to vomit.
                                                      Sympathy I feel for the person it’s sad.
                                                      Urine and faeces smell.
                                                      Reminding me of the prison factory toilets.
                                                      The overpowering stench.
                                                      This cannot be forgotten.
                                                      Makes me want to retch.
                                                      This person’s life must be really rotten.
                                                      To be taught how to live in a new way.
                                                      Clean and tidy I say.
                                                      So help and be kind don’t push it from mind…

                                                      Japan

                                                      Authors : — Caladel, 28 years old, female.

                                                      They are unloved, untended, and unhygienic with bird droppings and discarded smokes.

                                                      A cluttered room overcrowded with junk and a life’s debris, a stench of stale urine and felines left to their own devices. The stench is no doubt akin to that of persons, I’m sure.
                                                      Unwashed bodies turned sour with the reek of old sweat and a build-up on skin, confronting all they walk by, filled by an oozing testosterone musk that turns one’s stomach and gags the throat as heaps of discarded rubbish and punctured bags of filth perfume the corridors.
                                                      They are unloved, untended, and unhygienic with bird droppings and discarded smokes.

                                                      Overwhelmed by an ungodly odour, I am left to hold my nose and pray for a breath of evening’s lavender and lemons condensed into wine on days where the world is better fragranced and I am not assaulted by the miasma of scents within these stone walls which so closely resemble the fool of less. Ack, here they come, the men in their tracksuits.
                                                      “Welcome back to England” they seem to say, “don’t mind the stench.”

                                                      United States of America, Lake Placid (New York)

                                                      Authors : — Tewhan, 39 years old, Male.

                                                      Italy

                                                      Authors : — Giuseppe, 40 years old, male. / Translated by Tanya Solari.

                                                      There is always a window at the back

                                                      Do you smell those animals? The odour is somewhat reminiscent of the smell of loneliness. And everything is out of place, precisely because the chaos can protect you from that feeling:
                                                      Is “protect” really the correct verb? Perhaps we should start being a little proud of our own tiny world, even when it is a bit deranged, which might be easier to accept if it was not for the “hardened whistleblowers”, those who bother with everything. Those who are bothered by disorder. And in any case, whether or not you can smell the animals, whether or not you can smell the hoarded objects, there is always a window at the back.
                                                      For you but especially for us, there is an “outside”.

                                                      __

                                                      Read the original version (in Italian)

                                                      Guatemala

                                                      Authors : — Carlos, 67 years old, male. / Translated by Martha Díaz & Jennifer Lee.

                                                      When they were almost finished, an agent with a pained look on his face came to speak to the prosecutor and they all ran to the back of the house.

                                                      Today we go to trial¶

                                                      Dorkas asked me to take her home. The place stank. Thousands of police officers and the federal prosecution were carrying out massive raids in search of extortionists and corrupt former officials.

                                                      Dorkas invited me in and it was a disaster. Fetid odors wafted from inside the house. It was full animals and things.

                                                      The bell rang. Dorkas went out to see – it looked like the gathering of a protest. The prosecutor showed me the warrant to search the property. We called the lawyer. They waited a bit and then they came inside. When they were almost finished, an agent with a pained look on his face came to speak to the prosecutor and they all ran to the back of the house. They came looking for us. In a room there were three female corpses in an advanced state of decomposition. They requested that we identify ourselves — the prosecutor indicated that we were under arrest for triple homicide. The lawyer said: “This case is very complicated. I will do my best to defend you, but I can’t promise anything.” Today we go to trial.

                                                      France, Roanne

                                                      Authors : — Anne-Marie, 59 years old, female / Translated by Lynn Palermo & Tanya Solari.

                                                      The living space is tight. A photograph that expresses the mess and stench. It makes me think of certain police custody cells that reek of urine.

                                                      Colombia

                                                      Authors : — Ricardo, 57 years old, male. / Translated by Vivian Durmis & Jennifer Lee.

                                                      In times like this, prison can be compared to a disgusting place.

                                                      When I first arrived at the prison, I was “lodged” in an overcrowded and dirty cell, where you sometimes find rats around. This situation led me into utter desolation and deep depression.
                                                      Besides all that, I had to restrain myself from speaking with the other inmates in order not to tell them so much about my legal situation. So, walking into a prison ward to occupy a cell can be quite traumatic whether it’s an individual or shared cell.
                                                      In times like this, prison can be compared to a disgusting place. This is what this picture and its caption awake in me.

                                                      Switzerland

                                                      Authors : — Inmaculada, 36 years old, female. / Translated by Jennifer Lee & Tanya Solari.

                                                      This is how my life was after my incarceration,
                                                      As if a violent hurricane had destroyed everything.
                                                      Everything was out of place. Everything lost its order.
                                                      The chaos, the confusion.
                                                      Waking up without knowing how or where.
                                                      Waking up paralysed by the cold,
                                                      So rough, so dry, so bitter.
                                                      With the smell of desolation, abandonment, and death.
                                                      I wake up naked, lying on ashes and
                                                      I realise that life has escaped me,
                                                      Like a sigh, as the night progresses.
                                                      I embrace distant memories for fear of losing them,
                                                      For they are all I have left.
                                                      I wander from one side of my head to the other,
                                                      Trying to reconstruct the landscape.
                                                      Vases are solitary places
                                                      Where spring rots.
                                                      There are things that no longer exist,
                                                      Just like I will cease to exist on the day I die.
                                                      With this image as an epitaph,
                                                      Like a witness to this shipwreck,
                                                      In the corners of my cell.

                                                      Ukraine

                                                      Authors : — Denis, 37 years old, male. / Translated by Ukraine without Torture

                                                      After all, this woman does not care about all this seemingly chaos. For her, everything lies in its place

                                                      I’m standing next to the hostess…Yes it stinks in here, terribly… Yes, mess… But it’s her world.
                                                      I tried to understand her… After all, this woman does not care about all this seemingly chaos. For her, everything lies in its place, everything in this apartment reminds her of something pleasant or not very reminiscent of it, and this dozen homeless cats and little animals that, besides nobody needs them, it warms her soul…
                                                      Therefore, let’s better help her to put everything in order in accordance with sanitary standards and leave her alone in her unique and cozy “world”.

                                                      –

                                                      Read the original version (russian)

                                                      InsideOutside

                                                      ++

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