The Walls That Changed Me

“Good night, Yammine.” “Good night, Chief,” I reply.

The cell door closes and I hear Chief’s keys clinking as other doors clang shut further down the row. I take a couple of steps into my five-metre by three-metre cell and sit on my chair. I glance up at the window, covered in mesh, and think to myself, This isn’t a life, it’s just an existence.

Being in prison makes me feel as though I’m being buried alive. I am a puppet with people pulling strings so that I eat, sleep and wake when they want me to.

I lie on my bed as night falls and think the same thoughts over and over again. My head is full of the people I love: my parents, my brother, my fiancée, my friends.

I also think about how it all went so wrong, and imagine how I will make up for all the time I’ve lost. I’m 27 years old, serving nine years for firearm offences and malicious wounding, and after a six-year non-parole period, my parole review comes up in December.

Every day I live the same routine and nothing changes except the people. Inmates depart for other prison facilities, or get released. Others arrive from different prisons, or fresh from custody. It’s a continually revolving door.

But prison has changed me. When I committed my crimes, I was a lost young boy, but now I am found. And jail has turned from a negative experience into a positive one. I have taken control of myself, and changed my ways.

When I was first incarcerated, my reading and writing were very ordinary, as my attendance at school was limited.

Walking around the prison yard, I would notice my fellow prisoners reading books and writing letters to friends and family, and it upset me because I couldn’t do the same.

I longed for the day when I’d be able to sit in the sun, enjoy a cup of coffee and read a newspaper or book of my choice. I also longed to write letters to my friends and family, and share my thoughts and feelings.

I decided not to waste my time inside and, instead, take advantage of all the resources available to me. I started to learn and they were baby steps, but I was determined to fulfil my goal. One day, I would read and write properly.

Now, five years later, after a lot of persistence, heartache and hard work, I have achieved my goal. I’ve also just completed a course as a reading mentor and am helping others who were just like me to read and write. They are so grateful for my help, and I’m so grateful to be able to give something back.

I have also completed a creative writing workshop at Junee Correctional Centre, New South Wales, where a wonderful teacher, Jane Granger, helped me to develop insights that inspire and inform my writing. I am so lucky to have been taught by her.

Jane gave me a copy of Reader’s Digest and suggested I write my story, so I am here to tell you that no matter where you are, or how old you are, you should always have the strength to succeed and fulfil your dreams.

Someone once told me that “knowledge is power and is no weight to carry around” and I now know that to be true.

My journey of 1000 miles started with one step. I am now enjoying every moment of my success. Learning to read and write at a higher level has given me the inner strength to present myself in a more positive manner. I am also able to have better conversations with my family and friends.

And the day I’ve dreamed about has come true: I now enjoy my cup of coffee with a book in my other hand. Learning to read and write has changed my life and this article is my first piece of “proper” writing, but it won’t be my last.

Writing has helped me express my feelings and I’m even writing poetry. This is “November Rain”:

So many haters in one place

Trading war stories and pleading their case

I sit here and try to be kind

People think I am out of my mind

What I’m doing is changing my ways

Reversing the wrongdoings from back in the days

It’s time from my life I can never get back

By the time I get out, people will think I’ve cracked

I know my “sorry” can never fix all the pain

But I pray for sunshine after the rain.