CAIRO: Twenty years ago journalist Nawal Mostafa set a goal for herself after visiting Egypt's Qanater prison for women: to do everything in her power to help the children of inmates who were not only born behind bars, but grew up in confinement through no fault of their own. Mostafa set up the Prison Inmates' Children Society in 1988 to lobby for the rights of pregnant and breastfeeding women prisoners as well as help those who have recently been released to assure that they do not revert to crime. Earlier this month, the Police Club in Gezira saw the annual Ramadan meeting of some of ex-convicts and some of the children of those still serving their jail sentences as well as a large group of charity workers, businessmen, high-ranking police officials and legal experts. In her opening speech, Mostafa, the chief editor of the monthly Kitab El Youm, issued by Al Akhbar, recalled her life-changing experience when she visited Qanater and saw the inmates' children for the first time. "I was shocked to know that some of these children are born and brought up in jail. Since then I decided to devote part of my time to alleviate their suffering, she said. Throughout the past 20 years, her conscientious efforts bore fruit with the society becoming the springboard of many desperately-needed reforms. Adel Talaat, the society's director, outlined one of the suggested reforms to be discussed in the next parliamentary session in November, related to the incarceration of pregnant and breastfeeding women. "The amendment to the law aims to defer prison sentences given to female criminals if they are pregnant. When the child completes his/her second year, the mother will then start to serve her sentence, explained Talaat. The amendment also suggests that inmates who have already delivered in jail should be entitled to have custody of their kids until they turn four. "Regrettably lawmakers fail to take into consideration the social and psychological impact of imprisonment on these families, said Abdel Hady Mesbah, professor of microbiology and a member of the society. "For pregnant and breastfeeding criminals other regulations should temporarily replace the direct jail term. The convict could be confined to a hospital or be required to sign in at the police station on a daily basis. We don't have to worry about temporary punitive procedures because there are many alternatives, argued Mesbah. Some participants noted that those inmates are victims of severe global policies that have overtaken them unawares. They believed that many of these inmates were left destitute when their families' breadwinner lost his job and failed to find an alternative in a fast-developing market economy or because newly privatized businesses decided to downsize. "This is why we're attempting to emphasize the post release care, noted Talaat. "Most of the inmates learn a craft in jail and become qualified for jobs. The problem is with those who serve short terms and with the teenage children left behind by longer-term convicts. He added that the society is in the process of setting up a large textile workshop to provide on-job training. For others who cannot do factory-type work, they are given LE 15,000 worth of merchandise to help them start a home business. With the support of a number of businessmen, the society is also pressing ahead with establishing a special fund of LE 500,000 to help free some 50 prisoners who received jail terms for signing bad checks or IOUs. Former intern Omaima Zaki Ragab, 26, was victim of her ignorance about market rules and financial dealings. "The problem began when I agreed to be my father's guarantor when he took out a loan to buy furniture for my sister who was getting married, recalled Omaima. "But my father suddenly fell ill and couldn't pay the installments. When he died the creditors started knocking on my door. Month after month I failed to pay and so they reported me. Omaima was sentenced to four years in prison while she was pregnant. "What made my suffering worse, she recounted, "was that I lost touch with my other daughter who I left with my neighbor. Not only did her husband divorce her immediately, but even the sister for whom the father fell into debt in the first place turned her back on her when her husband warned against staying in touch with a prisoner even if it's her own sister. With a stroke of luck Omaima was released four months later when her case was publicized on a TV program about the women's prison. Several charitable viewers volunteered to pay off her LE 5,000 debt. But the case of Samah Adel, 23, was different. Samah, her brother and two sisters were left in the lurch when both their parents, who traded in electronic appliances, were jailed for failing to pay for a shipment of merchandise. They were sent away for 15 years, leaving Samah to shoulder the responsibility of her siblings. Unable to find a job, the society became her only means of support. As for Mervat, who asked for her family name to be withheld, she recounted how both she and her husband were jailed for drug-trafficking. Her 18-year-old daughter Mahitab was adamant that her mother was innocent and was framed. "Following my mother's release, we were enabled with the society's support to set up a small grocery shop in our neighborhood in Moqattam. We're counting down the days for the release of my father. He was the victim of so many misfortunes.
