Kajang, Malaysia – Behind the cold steel bars of Kajang Women’s Prison, the smell of butter and vanilla wafts through a small pastry workshop. Here, inmates like Ros, 42, and Ema, 28—both serving long sentences—are kneading dough, shaping cookies, and tasting fleeting moments of freedom. When my family eats these biscuits, they taste my love… even if I can’t hug them, says Ros, her eyes glistening as she pipes golden pineapple tart filling.
A Taste of Freedom
Ros, sentenced to 30 years for a crime she insists was unintended—killing her stepmother in 2012—now spends her days crafting buttery suji cookies and peanut crunch bars. With no prior baking skills, she joined the prison’s pastry program in 2017, desperate to do something good. Her voice cracks as she shares: I tell my kids to buy these cookies during Raya. It’s the only way I can… be there.
Nearby, Ema—a four-time drug offender serving a five-year stretch—sifts flour for coconut fruity biscuits. Before this, I never even fried an egg, she laughs, her hands dusted with powdered sugar. Now, I dream of opening a bakery when I’m released. Prison gave me purpose.
From Despair to Dough
The workshop, part of a rehabilitation initiative, trains 30 inmates annually in baking and business skills. Many, like Ema, entered with zero experience. I used to think jail was just punishment. But here, I learned I’m worth more than my mistakes, she says. For Ros, the program’s eight-month pastry course became her lifeline: Baking lets me forget the walls. For a few hours, I’m free.
This Aidilfitri, Ros’s family received her cookies via the prison’s sales program—a bittersweet tradition. They texted me, ‘Mak, your tarts taste like home.’ I cried all night, she whispers.
Critics vs. Compassion
While some argue prisons shouldn’t coddle offenders, advocates say programs like this slash recidivism. These women aren’t just baking cookies—they’re rebuilding self-worth, says warden Norhayati Ahmad. Data shows 60% of past participants found jobs post-release.
But for Ros, the stakes are personal. With parole possible by 2032, she scribbles recipes in a tattered notebook, dreaming of a shop named Ros’s Delights. Maybe one day, my grandkids will know me as the cookie grandma, not… the inmate, she says, rolling dough with scarred hands.
A Second Chance, One Cookie at a Time
As Raya festivities fade, the workshop hums on. Trays of semperit and tart nanas cool on racks, destined for market stalls. For outsiders, it’s just a snack. But for inmates like Ros and Ema, it’s a lifeline—a shot at redemption through sugar, flour, and second chances
