Life is Fragment - Inside Cavite Provincial Jail in Philippine

In 2016, I brought my daughter to visit the Cavite Provincial Jail in the Philippines. We hadn’t thought too much about it. We just brought some unwanted clothes and things for the people inside. I thought it might also be a way to show my daughter how choices can shape lives, but none of us were really prepared for what we saw.
​
I was told there were around 1,200 people inside. Many were accused of crimes such as drug use, bribery, rape, or assault. Yet many had not received a final sentence. Without money for a lawyer, cases stalled, sometimes for years. In overcrowded conditions, those without support slept on the floor, or stacked together in tiny spaces. A corner with a window felt like a luxury.

Still, people tried to live. They cooked, cut hair, played games, painted nails—trying to build a kind of family inside. When we gave out the clothes, some laughed and tried them on, fooling around with one another. In the open areas, many looked almost cheerful.

But not everywhere. I passed a narrow gate marked with a sign: Isolation cell. At least seven people pressed against the bars, standing or sitting in the dark, looking at me with no expression. I was warned not to get too close.

There was an older woman sitting by herself, with an oxygen mask, jailed for drug use. She didn’t speak. She just sat silently, staring into space. Two years later, I learned she had died in jail. Her name was Maria.

Elsewhere, a woman imprisoned for bribery laughed and talked with her husband, children, and friends who came to visit her. For a moment, it felt almost like home.

I wasn’t allowed to speak directly with anyone. My daughter and I simply followed the guide, moving from space to space, absorbing fragments of lives behind bars—joy, despair, resilience, and hopelessness.

All the photos were taken on my phone—the only permission I was given.