Liberia's worst prison

The large metal gate swings open into what is known as Liberia's worst prison. Inmates begin to shout for attention through small windows on the second floor of a concrete cellblock.

Francis Kollie looks up and waves at them. The Liberian man could be their only chance at freedom. He's the director of Prison Fellowship, a program that helps inmates in Monrovia Central Prison.

"The conditions are horrible," he says. "Right now, a lot of them have skin infections, skin diseases, some of them have tuberculosis, some are even malnourished."

Up to four years without a trial

The prison was built for 250 inmates, but regularly holds close to 1,000. Roughly ten inmates are packed into each small concrete room, having to take turns lying down to sleep. There's only a narrow beam of sunlight through a tiny window, and it's sweltering hot.

Most of the inmates (about 90 percent) are pre-trial detainees, which means they've never had a criminal trial or a conviction. "They've been here three to four years," says Kollie, "they are forgotten because there is no good record system."

The lack of records for tracking inmates is just part of the problem. Liberia's bloody civil war ended eight years ago and the country's justice system is still dysfunctional. According to government reports, police arrest suspects without proper investigation or sufficient evidence. Court officials are poorly trained, and often corrupt. Suspects with little money can't afford lawyers.

Legal system in shambles in post-war Liberia

Levi Morris is a 58-year-old father of ten and has been in Monrovia Central Prison for almost a year for allegedly selling another man's land. "I'm just crying day and night," he says, "I don't know what to do."

It's cases like his, and a recent prison break, that prompted Liberia's Ministry of Justice and Judiciary to set up a temporary courtroom in the prison yard. It decides whether prisoners have been held too long without due process. Francis Kollie and his team started by compiling a database. "It tells us how many of them are here, how long they're here, what kind of crime they've committed," Kollie explains.

The data is then passed on to Vivian Doe Neal, a Liberian legal aid lawyer. She steps inside the portable trailer which is being used as the makeshift courtroom. Rather than having a trial, however, the lawyer discusses technicalities and constitutional rights with the judge there.

Today, she hands the judge the papers for Levi Morris, the 58-year-old father of ten. The judge agrees that Morris has been held too long without trial and signs the walking papers. "I'm going home to support myself and get a job," says Levi Morris, visibly relieved.

"Their liberty and their dignity have been restored," says Vivian Doe Neal, adding that she gets excited every time she is able to release an accused person from jail. "If the state wants to keep people in jail it should convict them," she describes her understanding of justice, and stresses that "that conviction is through prosecution".

No fast track help for those accused of murder

In less than two years, 1,800 detainees have been released through this special fast track court. The court does not help those accused of serious crimes, however, like armed robbery or rape. That takes a special petition to a higher court.

"The rape they committed was so brutal we don't want to let them go," says Liberia's Attorney General Christiana Tah, referring to a current case. Instead of releasing people accused of violent crimes such like rape on a technicality, Tah tries to step up the prosecution and case management. It's vital, says Tah, that people accused of these violent crimes are not released simply because they have been held in jail too long.

This means some of them spend more than seven years inside Monrovia Central Prison without ever talking to a lawyer. They are also not allowed to talk to journalists.

Thanks to the fast track court system, however, it is becoming a more common sight in Monrovia these days that the prison's large metal gates open and out walks a man who may be wearing dirty threadbare clothes but has a smile on his face. He does, after all, step out onto the street a free man.

Reporter: Bonnie Allen (nh)

Editor: Sarah Steffen