Original subtitles

Bogota, Colombia.

Capital of the world's largest producer of cocaine.

Behind the towering walls of its District Prison

lie criminals from every layer of this blood-soaked industry.

An assassin who kills more than three people,

some say that they become tormented.

It's a world fueled by addiction and barbaric violence.

They took a machete and decapitated him.

My name is Raphael Rowe.

I'm going to spend a week locked up inside this Colombian prison.

But it's not my first time behind bars.

I served 12 years for a murder I didn't commit.

Now I'm traveling the globe to discover what life is really like

inside some of the world's toughest prisons.

Bogota, Colombia.

I'm now in the back of a police truck,

being transported to Bogota's District Prison.

This vast concrete lockup

is home to some of the city's most violent criminals,

many of them caught up in the country's endless drug war.

For over 50 years, Colombia has been famous

as the world's biggest exporter of cocaine.

With a murder rate over five times higher than the United States,

drug violence here is the second largest cause of death.

For many, the image of a Colombian drug lord is Pablo Escobar,

who became one of the wealthiest criminals in history.

But the inmates in Bogota's District Prison

aren't billionaire cartel bosses.

They're mules, hitmen and low-level pushers.

I'm going to spend a week here to find out what it's like

for those serving time at the very bottom of the drugs food chain.

Like any other inmate,

my journey to the prison begins in a police car.

And my destination makes for an intimidating sight.

This place looks like a fortress.

I can only describe it from what I'm seeing.

It looks like a concrete tomb. Somewhere where you bury people.

Only, in this case, it's living people.

New prisoners like me

are one of the easiest ways to get drugs into the prison.

It means that my first ordeal is a very thorough search.

I need you to take off all of your clothes.

Leave your underwear on.

You want me to take off my clothes down to my underwear?

What's the gloves for?

To prevent any contact with bodily fluids.

What you looking for?

Mostly drugs.

Marijuana, cocaine, basuco.

Even more addictive than crack,

basuco is one of the most popular drugs in Colombia,

a toxic mix of cocaine paste, brick dust and sulfuric acid.

And with no internal search, it's the kind of contraband

that would be easy to smuggle into this jail.

After a freezing cold shower, I'm given a prison uniform

and subjected to a detailed health screening.

Number 15 has slight decay.

I've never been to a jail

where new inmates are given this many medical tests.

The authorities are clearly used to treating prisoners

with serious health problems.

60% of the people that enter here are homeless.

Are these drug addicts?

Yes, there are a lot of patients that are addicted to drugs.

Does the addiction problem here cause behavior problems?

Are prisoners more violent?

Yes, the prisoners become more violent,

but not only when they are under the influence of drugs.

Also, when they have withdrawals.

Listening to the doctor,

I'm worried about what sort of inmates I'll be doing time with.

Once prisoners have cleared processing,

they're brought to one of the jail's six pavilions.

I'll spend much of my time in this jail caged in this single concrete pit.

And having heard just how violent this drug-fueled world can be,

I'm nervous about what comes next.

My heart's racing and my head is uncomfortable,

and then there's the prisoners to contend with.

Drug traffickers, drug dealers, drug users.

I've got all that to face in just a few seconds,

and I'm not feeling comfortable if I'm honest.

As the guards release me into the pavilion,

I'm left to fend for myself.

How you doing?

Hernan? Raphael.

- I'm Hernan. - Okay.

The first inmate I meet

gives me the lowdown on my fellow prisoners.

Who are all these men? I mean, are they all in here for different crimes?

I'm here for robbery.

We're all in here for different crimes, but they put us all together.

Hernan offers to give me a tour of the block's very basic facilities.

Bathrooms.

That's to pee in?

Urinals.

We get infections because of this.

You have to be careful.

And this is the toilet?

This one, I don't know if it works.

It doesn't work.

You have to throw water in there to make it clean.

In the cell, it looks like I'll be sharing with Hernan

and another inmate awaiting trial for murder, Alexander.

Okay.

As a new prisoner, I know I need to fit in with my cellmates.

Okay, that's mine, right?

All the same, I wasn't expecting what comes next.

Two hundred until you leave.

I have to pay to sleep in this cell?

When I arrived, I had to pay.

Since I am here for some time now,

now it is my time to charge you what I had to pay.

It is worth 200 or more.

Undeterred by the presence of the camera,

Hernan makes an astonishing threat.

And If I don't pay?

You cannot tell the guards.

If you tell them, we will attack you with a knife.

You want to charge me to sleep on my prison cell bed?

And if I tell the guards, you will attack me with a knife?

I am a drug addict, and I like to take drugs.

For all those years that I am here, I have always liked marijuana.

That is why you need to pay me 200, so I can take drugs.

To begin with, I can't work out whether they're actually serious.

And if I don't pay?

How can I put this? We can deal with you.

Do you have a knife?

I have this, and I have this.

- Only fists? - That's my weapons.

Here, we use a knife.

I survived...

Fists are for the streets.

I survived prison in England.

Fists are for the streets.

- Here there are no fists. - No?

Only knives.

Unbelievably, it seems like Hernan's threat is for real.

If you do not pay me what I am asking for, you will have a problem with me.

I'd rather take my chances, get my weapon and fight.

That is why you need to pay me 200, so that I can take drugs.

I don't know how, but you have to. You have to.

It looks like standing my ground

has been enough to prevent a fight, for now.

But with Hernan's threat ringing in my ears,

it's clear I need to find out fast how life on the block really works.

What other rules are there

that I would need to know about as a prisoner?

You're in here for one thing, I'm in here for another.

If you want to stay on your own, it's fine.

At least you will avoid problems this way.

You mentioned that you are a drug addict.

Are there many other prisoners in here who are drug addicts?

In every pavilion, most of them take drugs.

But who controls the drugs?

I am the one who controls the drugs.

I am the one who says where they take it, how much and when.

Despite the authorities' best efforts,

drugs are clearly finding their way into the prison,

either via inmates or their visitors.

And with Hernan now claiming to be the block's chief dealer,

I'm not looking forward to my first night behind bars.

If there's one thing I'm most concerned about,

it is going behind the door with these two guys who use drugs.

They could become very violent and dangerous for me.

They could be uncontrollable.

I don't know what effect the drugs will have on them.

I'm just hoping that when I'm behind that door with these two guys,

they're not going to take drugs tonight.

At 5:30, prisoners prepare to head to their cells for the night.

Once the guards are out of sight and we're locked inside,

it doesn't take long for my worst suspicions to come true.

What are you doing, Hernan?

Rolling a joint.

I smoke two spliffs in a row, and my head gets like a bomb.

You smoke all the weed in one joint?

You don't put no cigarette in with it?

You just smoke it pure like that?

Yes, pure. I don't mix it. Just pure.

If the guards smell that, do they not...

As long as I have loads, it's not a problem.

If this didn't exist in prisons, there would be a lot of problems.

Smells very strong.

Even he's choking, a seasoned marijuana smoker,

and probably avid drug-taker.

He's taken a couple of puffs, and he's high.

Hernan may only be smoking weed, but as the block's chief dealer,

I've no idea what else he might be taking.

Either way, his mood starts to change.

And now, he's shouting out the window. He's high.

And he's shouting out the window to other prisoners.

So if I wanted to sleep now, I couldn't get sleep,

and how quickly could that turn into an argument?

"Shut up." "No, you shut up." "No, you shut up."

Before you know it, we're fighting in the cell

and almost killing each other.

With prisoners shouting from cell to cell,

there's an intimidating atmosphere.

And with me banged up with a murder suspect

and an armed robber high as a kite, sleeping's not an option.

When that door is banged up, when the lights are turned off,

it's a very, very frightening experience.

My concern is that, after the threats they gave me,

you could get very paranoid.

Whilst on the weed, I don't know how he will react to that drug

or whether he has the intention to take something even stronger,

like cocaine or crack.

I have to be very careful.

And I don't think I'm gonna be able to sleep.

At 5:00 a.m., prisoners are released from their cells.

I'm relieved that, so far,

Hernan hasn't followed through on his threat of violence.

All the same, I'm still finding it hard to adjust to my new surroundings.

When you enter this place, it sort of closes in on you. It's small.

And it must get smaller and smaller the more time you spend in it.

Even when it rains, inmates are locked out of their cells

and are forced to spend all day on this single patch of concrete.

Inmates can go for years

without seeing anything of the outside world but the sky.

Luckily, there's a way for some prisoners to escape for a few hours.

Those admitted to the jail's work scheme can take jobs

ranging from simple cleaning duties to working in the textile workshop.

Today, I've been assigned a job in the prison kitchens.

Here, we are frying potatoes, and then we will give them to the inmates.

- This is the mask. - Oh.

Okay.

I'm on the job with Ramiro,

an inmate awaiting trial for fraud, from the Nasa tribe,

one of Colombia's many indigenous groups.

It's a status that comes with some unusual benefits.

How long have you been sentenced to imprisonment for?

I'm not yet sentenced.

My community will sentence me according to the law in our village.

The Colombian authorities cannot sentence me according to their law,

because I am native.

Really? So, what, your community doesn't recognize the law of Colombia?

Native tribes are autonomous.

They exercise their own law, government and lifestyle.

At his trial, Ramiro hopes he'll be sent back to his village for sentencing.

His people have other privileges that seem at odds with the war on drugs.

We produce coffee and coca.

The coca is only for traditional use.

For tribesmen like Ramiro,

chewing the coca leaf is an ancient part of Colombian life.

The Colombian government allow that? It's not against the law?

The government has said we're allowed to grow 1,000 plants of coca.

It has to be only for fully medicinal use.

We have other indigenous friends that are in prison for drug trafficking

because they have ignored the Colombian laws,

and they have planted more than 1,000 plants for narcotic use.

They were making basuco.

There's a huge difference between chewing the coca leaf

and taking its more toxic form, cocaine.

So it's depressing to hear that even Colombia's ancient tribes

are now playing their part in this criminal industry.

There's no dining hall in the District Jail,

so my next job is bringing lunch direct to the pavilions.

Prison grub is never appetizing.

But all the same, the food this lunchtime seems to be going down well.

Yeah, you know, it looks cooked. It looks well-cooked.

And it's presentable, I must say.

It's, you know, white rice, a kind of bean soup,

very delicious potatoes baked by me, of course.

After lunch, many prisoners are on lockdown in the block

for the rest of the day.

Luckily, as in any Latin American jail,

there's one favorite way for inmates to fill the time.

Today's match is a face-off between two rival teams in Liberty Block.

I'm on the subs' bench for the team led by my cellmate Hernan.

After he threatened to stab me on my first day,

I'm hoping that if I can prove myself on the pitch,

it might be enough to clear the air.

All these guys want to win.

Even in these friendly games, they want to win.

And the most challenging is not the football itself.

It's making sure you don't turn someone.

You kick someone by accident,

they say you kick him deliberately, there's a fight broken out.

With a player down, it's my chance to get stuck in.

That is a foul.

The dramas of tackling.

Are you going to play?

You want me to come?

Let's play.

They got an injury, so my moment has come for me to shine... or flop seriously.

This might only be a friendly,

but there's no doubt these inmates are playing tough.

And after 20 minutes of play, I'm feeling the heat.

You know when you have that burning dry sensation in your throat?

Well, I haven't got that.

I've got something worse than that right now.

After showing a few silky moves, I seem to win the respect of my teammates.

Your new name is Pirri.

You've now been baptized with the name Pirri.

Okay.

Most importantly, even Hernan seems impressed.

Pirri. So I'm now Pirri.

The one thing I feel confident about, just by taking part in that game...

is I'm not just a new face on the wing.

I've added a little bit of color, a little bit of character to who I am.

And that's what prisoners do.

For me, it's all part of the survival strategy

in whatever prison you go to.

My performance in the game

seems to have broken the ice between me and Hernan.

After the game, he even invites me to join him for a game of chess.

It's my chance to see if we can resolve our differences

and for me to find out more

about why so many young men like him end up dealing drugs.

Where do you come from outside?

What community do you come from? Is it a poor community?

Bolivar City is very poor,

and, unfortunately, I spent my childhood there.

Why do you think people get involved in the drugs trade?

People get into drug trafficking because there is a lot of money involved.

They have to commit crimes

to provide for themselves and their family.

Crime is... It comes with poverty.

You see a lot of hunger, and you see a lot of poverty.

They turn out bad

because they have nothing, not even education.

Check.

Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on.

Checkmate.

Here.

No, no.

- Here. - Oh, no.

Oh, yes.

When I first met you, you came across as quite a tough, intimidating guy,

demanding money with menace.

But today, you come across as a slightly different guy.

Who is Hernan? Which of those two characters are you?

The only way to survive in here...

is to take something from people.

The truth is that I left my kids with nothing.

I have to find a way to try and send them something.

I have no other way.

I don't have any other way in here. Do you understand?

There's no way for me to tell if Hernan's attempt at extortion

was meant to feed his family or just his drug habit.

Either way, it seems jail has done little to change his criminal career.

Poverty drives people in many directions.

And here in Colombia, in the slums where Hernan comes from...

many people turn to selling drugs

because it's the one way they can make money.

You know, people struggle on a daily basis to feed themselves and their families.

I would always argue that there is another avenue,

but sometimes there isn't.

If I was in that predicament, I'd probably do the same. Wouldn't you?

It's a new day in the District Jail.

After several days inside,

the claustrophobia is really getting to me.

With nothing to look at but the same four walls,

I can see why so many inmates turn to drugs as an escape.

The jail's restricted city site

means there's limited space for rehabilitation facilities.

Crammed into the middle, however, is a small area for workshops.

And this morning, I've been allowed out of the pavilion

to help in the textiles unit.

So what are we making here?

We're making sleeves

to cover the arms on a jacket, so they don't get dirty.

Do you need me to iron flat some more pieces of fabric?

You can do this one.

I've been assigned to work with Mexican inmate Jose.

Why are you here, Jose? Why are you in this prison?

Well, I'm here for drug trafficking.

Forgive me, but you seem a little bit old to be a mule.

How did you get involved in becoming a drug mule?

The problem was that...

Well, I am a mechanic.

I was a mechanic in Guadalajara.

So I fix two, three cars

and this client invited me to Mexico City

to fix some cars.

They were a drug gang called Los Zetas...

and they took me to their house.

They took me to a basement.

There was a friend, a boy, in front of me.

He was told to fly to Colombia to smuggle drugs. He refused.

They decapitated him with a machete.

They took away his body, and his blood remained on the floor.

That was Monday. On Tuesday, they told me,

"You are traveling, or we'll do the same to you."

I said, "I'll do it."

The Los Zetas gang who recruited Jose

are one of the most ruthless drug cartels in the world,

notorious for using extreme violence,

including mass executions, cannibalism and terror attacks.

Today, I'm in the hands of the Colombian prison system,

and I feel at peace.

Have you heard anything from the cartel since your arrest?

I haven't heard anything from them.

I just talk to my family. They are fine.

Do you miss your family?

Of course I do. A lot.

Most inmates can't wait to get out of this prison,

so it's shocking to find a prisoner so scared of the cartels

that he's relieved to be inside.

If his story is true, and I have no reason to doubt what he told me,

it's got to be one of the saddest, horrifying stories I've heard.

And this is a consequence of drug trafficking. This is what happens.

He's a mule, and there are many, many, many stories like his.

Coping with the hopelessness of a long sentence in here is tough.

While some get by watching TV or just sleeping,

others turn to a higher power.

For two to three hours every day,

this free church group meets to sing and pray.

And I'm surprised to see

that one of their lead preachers is my cellmate Alexander.

When I first met Alexander, who's leading this group,

he was threatening to cause me physical harm.

He was threatening to stab me.

Now look at him. He's there... clapping hands and singing to Jesus.

I mean, the two just jar, don't they?

Today, Alexander might be a man of God,

but on the outside, he was a member of a brutal drug gang.

Police regularly clash with gangs like these to round up dealers.

Yet the street pushers are only the most visible part of the problem.

Each gang also employs dedicated teams of hitmen, or sicarios,

who protect their territory with lethal force.

Alexander himself is awaiting trial for a murder

allegedly committed while he was a member of a drug gang.

He's reluctant to speak about the charge on camera,

but he has agreed to talk about his life in one of Bogota's most violent cartels.

What was your position in this drug trafficking network?

I was selling for a while, and I was packing large quantities.

What drugs are we talking about?

Basuco, cocaine, marijuana.

You know of guys that have committed murder

in the name of the drug trafficking gang they work for?

Yes, of course. I met plenty of them,

and you always hear about the murders they committed.

What kind of person are they?

They prefer being alone or only with other sicarios.

An assassin who kills more than three people,

some say that they become tormented.

That's their lives. It's not a happy life.

How much do they earn for every murder they commit?

Whenever they killed someone, they would get a bonus.

They'd get two million pesos or a motorcycle as a gift.

They would get a paid holiday or something like that.

You were involved in the drug trafficking.

What were the rewards like before you ended up in prison?

When you're involved in it on the outside,

all you think of is drinking, women and taking drugs.

And you believe it's great like that.

But in reality, this left me without my family.

I'm now on my own.

To think that this is now my life.

There is nothing to be gained from drug trafficking.

I destroyed lots of families, simply by selling them basuco.

I realized here that, in fact, what I was doing was worse

than what the sicarios do,

because I was killing people slowly.

For the poor, drug trafficking may seem to offer a way to a better life.

But for Alexander, it's a false promise.

Everybody I've met so far are small-time drug dealers.

No one here I've met has benefited in any way, shape or form

from being involved in drug trafficking.

These are not even the foot soldiers.

I would say that these are lower than the foot soldiers.

These are the ones that the cartels, and even middle dons,

are prepared to sacrifice in order to profit from their drug trafficking.

After almost a week inside,

I'm starting to understand the devastation caused by Colombia's drug trade

on the lives of its poor.

But the influence of the cartels doesn't stop at the prison gates.

I've seen for myself

how narcotics are clearly making their way inside the prison.

So today, I'm swapping sides to see what life is like for the guards

in this endless game of cat and mouse.

Officer Ochoa is one of the trainers

leading the prison's new team of sniffer dogs.

What is the dog trained to sniff out? Is it just drugs? And what kind of drugs?

Among these narcotics, we have LSD, marijuana

and all the cocaine derivatives.

Today, the guards have received a tip-off

that there may be narcotics in an inmate's cell.

Officer Ochoa and her dog, Waco...

- Let's go, boy. - Get to work.

The introduction of these dogs

has dramatically reduced the level of drugs found in the prison.

Nothing has been found.

But as I've seen with Hernan,

many inmates are clearly finding ways to get around the system.

I'm curious to find out for myself

just how easy it might be to deceive these new sniffer dogs.

The sniffer dog didn't find anything during the genuine cell search.

So what they've suggested is that they will give me a bag of marijuana,

I will plant it in the cell,

and the dog will go in and see if they can find it.

Just to stimulate and demonstrate how the dog finds drugs.

Having spent 12 years in prison myself,

I know a thing or two about hiding contraband.

So what I'm going to do is take this weed,

I'm going to actually wrap it up in this piece of tissue paper...

and then I'm going to put this tissue paper under this bar of soap

to try and put the dog's scent off of the weed.

Okay, senora, you can go in now. You can go in.

During my time in prison, you know, I smoked the odd joint.

So I had to hide it from the sniffer dogs and the guards.

So I've got some experience with this.

After a few minutes of searching,

it looks like my years of experience have paid off.

I've not made it easy for the dog, put it that way.

And he's really struggling.

But just when the search is almost called off,

it looks like the game may be up.

The dog is right near where I planted it.

I think it's found it.

Well done, champion.

This time round, it's a win for the sniffer dog.

But the drug use I've seen with my own eyes

tells me that the guards are ultimately fighting a losing battle.

I admire their tenacity in wanting to reduce

the consumption or smuggling of drugs into this prison to zero.

Do I think they will be successful? No, I don't.

Searching for drugs isn't the only challenge facing the guards.

Colombian jails also have a dire reputation for prisoner violence.

In the worst cases, the prison's riot team

are prepared to take down mass disturbances with force.

To limit smaller outbreaks,

the best method is to extract and isolate inmates causing trouble.

So I'm now being shown the solitary confinement area,

the punishment cells where prisoners are taken and kept on their own

for breaking the rules.

And it looks quite stark.

If the pavilions feel like graveyards,

these cells are coffins.

It's down to officers like Hurbey Marin to police this bleak world.

This is a very different space to the cell blocks

where most of the prisoners are held.

What is this used for?

When a prisoner is breaking the rules in the blocks

up to the point that his life and health,

and also of other prisoners, is at risk,

we have to use this place to separate them,

so that they do not harm themselves and other prisoners.

Can they have luxuries and privileges like they have over in the normal blocks,

or are those privileges taken away?

They still have the right to make a phone call.

They can go out to do sports.

Officer Marin seems to be painting

a relatively rosy picture of life in solitary.

The reality, however, may be different.

Convicted thief Luis is on lockdown here for his own protection

after a run-in with his cellmates.

How often do you get out of the cell

to go on exercise or recreational activity?

I don't have any recreational activity here.

I'm just allowed to go out two or three times a day

for 15 minutes to make a phone call.

So two times a day to make a telephone call,

otherwise you're in that cage for the rest of the day?

Yes, sir.

But you have the choice to take part in sport

or other activities that would get you out of your cell?

We're not allowed.

Which must put you under extreme pressure, mental pressure. How is that?

I feel safer here, in this place.

In the pavilion, I have to coexist with 150, 160 people.

So living together is impossible.

There are problems for everything: a phone call, even over a snack.

There are all kinds of confrontations here: fights, knives...

It's chilling that life in the drug-fueled pavilions

can be so violent that Luis actually prefers to live in a cell this size.

There's very little natural light in here.

Just at the top there, there's a little bit coming in.

But otherwise in here, it's very claustrophobic.

I can't imagine spending time in this cell.

And I've done a lot of solitary confinement,

and the cells I was in were bad,

but I've never been in anything as bad as this.

But, boy, what a small space.

I'm already beginning to feel like I need to take deep breaths...

just to make use of the space.

But when that door's shut and you've been breathing for hours,

I can imagine that it closes in more and more.

But that's what these places are designed to do.

They're designed to make you not want to spend time in here.

So why prisoners would want to come here voluntarily...

They must be in a really bad place or feel really threatened.

Until the prison gets to grips with its drugs problem,

the violence here will continue.

But the prison has made a start by inviting a very select group of inmates

to therapy sessions that tackle their addictions.

Take a random card. I want you to take it, each of you.

And after taking it...

think about how this card relates to your life.

This particular exercise uses picture cards

to help inmates confront the damage caused by their drug addictions.

With this, we see how many people suffered because of drugs...

how many died.

Because of drugs, I have made mistakes that destroyed my life.

Because of drugs...

I have killed people,

not only by shooting them

but also by hurting their hearts...

and harming them.

I'm impressed by the willingness of these hardened criminals to open up.

And before long, it's my turn to step up.

My question is, "How is your life related to what you see in the picture?"

So, my card shows a person...

lying in the middle of a very open space.

I have experienced the confinement of a prison cell for many, many years.

So this is where I am now.

I'm free, and I'm living in an open space.

It's useful having guys in a tough environment like a prison

talk about their emotions and feelings and reflect on their past.

But it's sad to think that, still, 50-60% of prisoners in this prison

are addicted to drugs.

And that tells me that they're failing. They're failing to tackle the problem.

Twenty guys attending sessions four or five times a month is not enough.

It's not enough to tackle the problem they face.

It's my final day in this Colombian prison.

And for my cellmate, drug trafficker and murder suspect Alexander,

it's a very special morning.

Alexander is going to have a conjugal visit with his new bride,

the woman he married only a week ago.

I'm told that Alexander will take his wife to his cell...

where they'll consummate their marriage.

It's not the ideal place, but it's all they've got.

And I'm sure they're both very excited by it.

No, I didn't think you were going to make it today.

I've been waiting and waiting.

You look beautiful.

You look like a princess. Look at you.

You are all nice and chubby.

I've got another surprise for you.

I had it made especially for you.

Alexander, how you doing?

Good morning.

- Astrid? - Good morning. I'm Astrid.

Raphael. Nice to meet you.

Likewise.

Ah, you seemed very happy when you saw your wife this morning.

Every time she comes, she makes me really happy.

Every eight days, when I get to see her, my heart is just ready to burst.

What's it like for you, Astrid? I mean, this is your love nest.

What do you feel about this place

being the place where you can get close to Alexander?

For a woman, it's frustrating and it's difficult

because you always have an aspiration for a better place.

But I suppose we just have to try

and not dwell on the fact that we are in a prison.

Do you get angry with Alexander

because he got himself into this situation?

I had always asked him to quit taking drugs.

When he'd stop doing it, obviously he'd end up in a foul mood.

We would fight a lot,

because there were certain things that I could never share with him.

Well, I am scared. I am scared that this might happen again.

What was the hardest thing for you, Alexander?

For me, the hardest thing really is not to be with her,

and also to have wasted all this time we could have had together.

I wasted it all.

But, you know, I try not to make life more difficult

by thinking about those things,

because I trust her.

I really trust her,

and I know she's not gonna let me down.

Even the hardest critic

of prisoners having anything near like a privilege

would be moved by their story.

It's hard for me to say whether she knows what she's getting into.

But do I believe that she will be able to endure

many years of him being in prison? No.

I don't think a relationship like theirs,

which is at the moment flowing in the love cycle,

will last if he ends up doing a very long sentence.

Whether or not Alexander's relationship lasts,

I'm impressed that the prison supports policies

like conjugal visits that improve prisoner behavior.

Compared to other prisons in Colombia,

there's no doubt that the District Jail is making a sincere attempt to liberalize.

All the same, there's no denying the scale of its chronic drug problem.

To find out more about how the authorities are trying to meet this challenge,

I've come to meet prison director Dr. Sonia Nino.

I was told by the medical staff and the social workers

that a huge proportion of prisoners coming into the prison

suffer from serious drug addiction.

What do we do with prisoners addicted to drugs?

We offer them special attention. They receive psychological help.

There's an occupational therapist, social worker,

even a doctor comes to see them.

They participate in all the activities

they have in the prison.

We keep them busy.

Even with the effort, one of the things that struck me more than anything

is the amount of men in the recreational area,

in their cell blocks, that are just idly hanging around

for 12 hours when they're out of their cell.

We have seven units here, right?

Two of these are for sex offenders.

These particular inmates are not released from their units,

but 95% of inmates take part in activities outside of their units.

I can't buy the fact she said 95% of prisoners in this nick

have meaningful activity outside of their block,

because that's not what I saw.

There's just not enough space in this prison

to provide, in my view, the meaningful activity

that prisoners need to occupy their time

and prepare them for resocialization and rehabilitation.

The District Prison may not be the dirtiest or most violent lockup

I've done time in,

but the desolate lives of its inmates make it one of the bleakest.

From street dealers working with lethal hitmen

to drug mules threatened with barbaric violence

and junkies scarred by years of addiction,

these are the casualties of a parasitic business

in which very few ever get rich.

I've been impressed by some of the ways

this prison is trying to reform its inmates.

But it's also a reminder of a bigger problem.

The vast majority of prisoners locked up in Colombian jails for drug trafficking

are small-time enforcers, mules and drug pushers.

And until Colombia can deal with its own drug addiction,

jails like this will continue to fill up.