Some days she can still hear the keys jangling and the harsh summons of the bell marking the dreaded check-off hour. The haunting memories don’t leave. Neither does the bitter taste of regret in her mouth.

She says she wants more than anything, a clean slate. A chance to start over and keep going, perhaps without tripping up again.

But like most deported drug mules have come to know, the possibilities for a fresh start are dim, and life in Jamaica after incarceration overseas is harsh and unforgiving.

The mother of five says she was steeped in financial problems and when a friend who knew her situation introduced her to a “man who offered her a trip to the UK”, she took it. From his explanation of what would happen when she got there, it appeared fool proof, she says.

“He told me everything, that there was no prison involved or so, it seemed to me like in England there was no prison there, so I agreed to take the offer of £2,500 (to deliver the drugs),” Maisie recounts for the Sunday Observer.

But there are prisons in England as she later found out and she was given a four-year sentence. Luckily, she only spent half the time. But during that time, her five children – four boys and one girl – were left unattended, adding to her anguish.

“While I was in prison, my children weren’t getting any care.” she relates. “My little girl was neglected, my mother didn’t come around, everybody was forsaking them because I went to prison.”

For Maisie, the two-year period was ‘wasted’, even though while in prison she was allowed to work and even save some money.

“That two years I spent in prison was wasted time because although I was working I still waste it because I couldn’t see my children. Sometimes I’m there and I’m having a meal and I’m wondering if they are eating as well. They give you everything – food, underwear, toiletries – but at the end of the day that is not all, because when you have it (the children) don’t have it at all,” she says.

While she could write, call and sometimes send money, Maisie says it was not what she had envisioned.

“I could call, and I could write; sometimes I could send money but that wasn’t really enough for my children; I wanted to do more but it didn’t happen.”

When she returned to Jamaica, things were worse than when she had left. She says she had not only lost her good name and her peace of mind; she had also lost her family.

Maisie says her two eldest sons now want nothing to do with her.

“Right now, my biggest child him don’t talk to me, the other one him talk to mi sometimes; the other two talk to mi alright, but the two first ones don’t talk to me,” she says.

Her mother also wants nothing to do with her. “My mother, I don’t see her either, she don’t come by me. I’m home now almost two years and I don’t see my mother and if I see her, it’s on the road… Right now, I really don’t have a family; it’s just mi children and the first two ones they don’t really associate with me,” Maisie says.

“Right now, I’m just left alone, mi really don’t have any friends you know because the lady that introduce me to the man, I don’t see her from I come,” she adds.

“I feel left out (with the children’s attitude) sometimes I wish that I could rub my name out and start all over again, but it can’t happen,” she admits.

Then there is the guilt which eats at her night and day.

“I really feel like I neglect my children; sometimes I don’t feel as if I’m worthy to be a mother. If I had gone and made that money then maybe things would be different… but for me to go there and end up getting caught with drugs, and for my children to neglect me, it’s like I’m not worth it,” she confides.

For this woman, regret is a daily companion.

“It’s like I’m not myself. Sometimes I say if I had said ‘no’ to this thing I would be better off today; I would have more love for my children and they would love me more, but you know, they say you can’t turn back the hands of time because it already happened, nothing much I can do right now, but I am really sorry about it,” the 43-year-old admits.

Coming back into the Jamaican system after her incarceration, she says, she thinks persons charged for murder are given a better chance at being reintegrated into society.

“Going to prison now for killing a man, I think you have lesser penalty, because when you come out of prison for drugs is a lifetime thing because nobody naw employ you, you name just messed up all the way,” she argues.

With help from Hibiscus Jamaica Limited, an arm of the London-based Female Prisoners Welfare Project which caters to women incarcerated in London as well as female ex-prisoners and their children, Maisie is fighting her way back.

“When I came back, I put things back on track for a little while but I was still battling because I didn’t have a job, but Hibiscus assisted me, they gave me food and they had a programme here and I went on it and I got a little funding, so I put it together and I have a little business at home,” she discloses.

Things will change, she believes, but now she must fight the memories.

“It’s like even sometimes when I am at home I still hear the bell in mi ears and the keys (of the jail) because the officers walk with a lot of keys and I can hear the keys rattling in mi ears, I can hear them shouting out “Ladies, roll check…”

For those who might be sucked in by the promise of wealth in return for delivering one package, she offers a word of caution: “Mi woulda tell them try nuh baddah get into it because it nuh worth it.”

“I messed up all over for this thing named cocaine; it nuh worth it for no one at all, even if you have a million dollars today, tomorrow it don’t worth nothing because it nuh something you work honestly for. It’s just a little quick money and it nuh meck it.”

Acting co-ordinator at Hibiscus Sanya Ellis tells the Sunday Observer that the number of Jamaican women incarcerated in London’s penal institutions have been dwindling steadily since 2002.

“In June of 2002, we had about 507 women who were incarcerated and in June 2003 we had about 423 remaining in prison. So that would have meant about 84 of them returned home from prison,” says Ellis. “In September 2003, we had a drastic decline to 369 from the 423, suggesting that quite a few would have been back that year.”

She says the numbers as at January 2004 have shown a further decline to 314. “It dwindled down until we are at 150 currently incarcerated in the UK,” Ellis says.

Hibiscus, she adds, has records of all the women who have returned home, even though some have not come into the office for assistance to date.

At present, the office has a client base of 600 women and children.

Ellis says that while the main purpose of the project is to deal with women incarcerated for drug trafficking, it caters to a few who have been incarcerated on murder charges and who were specifically referred by the London office.

While lobbying efforts for lesser sentences and the ultimate release of the women have been met with some success, it’s the psychological effects in the aftermath which trouble her most.

“A lot of them come back so disoriented they are unable to relate to the 15- or 16-year-old daughter who they would probably have left at the age of 12. They are unable to deal with the parenting issues as it relates to adolescence, and the children, on the other hand, are very rebellious, sometimes because of the abandonment by the parents. So that’s really traumatic,” she points out.

Many of the teenagers become pregnant during their mothers’ absence while some are physically abused.

Some mothers, she says, are also truamatised because of the institutionalisation; often becoming reclusive upon their return to the island.

“Because of the institutionalisation that they were faced with in prison, they are unable to operate in this free and open society, so you find them exhibiting some really strange behaviours,” Ellis explains. “Some of them are withdrawn, they don’t want to come out, some of them you will hear them say they need a job but they are afraid to actually get up and leave their communities and get a job because they fear they won’t be able to fit into society.”

There is, however, a way for those with a will to change their circumstances.

“We have kept close watch on a few of our clients because we have assisted them from day one in helping them to find jobs or whatever it is that will help them to move on and elevate themselves.

“We have a number of stories of some who came back and were so depressed they didn’t want to come out of the house and because of our gradual assistance to them they were able to find jobs and are now doing well,” Ellis beams.

Hibiscus, she says, continues to monitor the progress of all who have used its services since their return.