Week 2 Impressions by Sarafina Tabrum

The air was still cool on my face as I opened the door to the outside. I exited the building and felt the quiet of the South Kensington morning. Barely 8AM, I saw a few people jogging towards the Queen’s Gate of Hyde Park. I walked the other way towards the ever-familiar Gloucester Road tube station. I mentally checked the contents of my bag for my passport, police background check, Oyster Card, heavy coin bag and most importantly: the directions to Wandsworth Prison.

On the ten-minute walk to the tube station, I planned what to say during my interview to intern at the charity organization, Prison Advice and Care Trust. I would talk about my interest in the politics of prison and my desire to focus on the ever-growing incarcerated population who are both marginalized and stigmatized members of society. Perhaps I would explain my perception on the alienation of poverty and the injustice of racial discrimination. Lost in these thoughts, I swept through the wind-tunnel leading to the Piccadilly Line and clambered onto the tube towards Victoria Station. Squashed into a carriage with mostly men in business attire, we were off.

To exit the packed subway, I crawled through the crowd, perfecting my British accent with each ‘Sorry’ that I muttered. I left the Victoria Underground Station for the Victoria Train Station and felt waves of people brush around me as they exited the station for central London. The train station was even more crowed than the tube. I stood my ground and gaped upwards, looking for signs to Grindsfeld East. Bustled by the crowd and slightly right of my original position, I headed towards Platform 14. Worse than the Picadilly wind tunnel were the hundreds of early-riser Londoners intent to get to work on time by any means necessary. Everyone pushed their way through the mob. Shockingly, I saw one woman who had fallen down the stairs on her way through the forceful crowd. She lay at the bottom of the stairs with several women trying to help her up. Thankfully, I found the train in one piece and boarded the train (ignoring the first-class only sign) and sat in peace (if only for a few minutes).

Fifteen minutes later, I was off the train searching for the bus. I asked a lovely man at the ticket counter if he knew of Bus 77 or 219. “Where are you going, love?” “Wandsworth Prison!” He looked at me oddly but drew a detailed map complete with stop names and directions. He also informed me that he had been in the prison for seventeen years. He held my gaze for a moment before elucidating, “The good side.” I thanked him and walked towards the bus: the last leg of the trip.

I rode the bus. I missed the stop. I rode the bus in the other direction, got off, and finally arrived at the destination most people do not desire. I headed towards the visitor’s center of one of the largest men’s prisons in Europe. Eager to interview for the position and begin my internship, I sat and observed the action of the prison’s visitor’s center. I watched as women shed their coats, hats and belongings. To meet with their partners, boyfriends, fathers and husbands, they simply took their ID cards and loose change. While I anticipate the challenges of working in the prison, I am anxious to begin this meaningful work. No longer lost on the journey of the public transit, I sat and began to anticipate the possibilities of working with this charity.