The Rustic Farms Where French Prisoners Wrap Up Their Sentences

After a decade behind bars, it wasn’t the fields that stretched for kilometers around him that struck Nicolas when he first set foot on the farm. It was the smell.

“I’ve been through six different jails and they all reeked. But you get used to it and forget it ever smelled bad — until you get out. Here, you can breathe in and out fully,” he says, gesturing to the light-stone buildings and tractor parked in the courtyard.

Located in Coucy-le-Château-Auffrique, a small village in the north of France, the Moyembrie farm hosts inmates through a detention program run by a small nonprofit. Along with nine others, Nicolas came to spend the last stretch of his sentence beyond prison walls.

Since the early 2000s, the European Court of Human Rights has condemned France’s overburdened prisons more than 20 times for inhumane conditions of detention and severe overcrowding. France has the third highest prison density rate in the European Union, worse than both U.S. federal and state prisons. 

At Moyembrie, time is served differently. There are no bars, no cells, and inmates can go into town during their time off. All staff are social workers directly employed by the farm — the first facility of its kind to receive a contract from the Ministry of Justice to host inmates.

Residents work four hours each morning. They tend to vegetable plots, lead goats from the barn to the field, or cook meals shared in the common room.

Foreign nationals make up nearly 25 percent of France’s incarcerated population, despite accounting for less than eight percent of the overall population. According to a report by the International Prison Observatory, foreigners are more likely than French citizens to receive prison sentences for the same offences.

Mahamady did not speak a word of French before arriving in detention. 

“I used to cry when I received judicial letters because I couldn’t understand what they meant,” he says. 

The 51-year-old took his first French lessons in detention, then continued with bi-weekly classes at the farm — after which he was able to pass a test certifying his level of French. 

Like Mahamady, all inmates at the farm are able to pursue classes and training programs. Some are even run on-site by volunteers, like lessons for the driver’s license written exam. Nicolas, who has never had his driver’s licence, attends these every week, hoping it will help him secure a job after his release. 

During the men’s nine to 12 months at Moyembrie, a few hours a week are dedicated to preparing their lives beyond incarceration. With the help of Émilie Yverneau, an on-site social worker, they search for housing and prepare job applications.

“Since the people at Moyembrie will soon be released, it’s better they make mistakes here, with support, rather than when they’re out and facing potentially more harmful consequences,” says Jérémie Claude, the farm’s probation officer. Incidents are typically managed internally, without judicial intervention. 

“If it’s more serious, like for a fight, the decision belongs to the judge,” says Desesquelle. Escaping, however, results in an immediate return to prison. Still, only one out of ten inmates is sent back to prison. 

In France, over 60 percent of inmates reoffend within five years, partly due to difficulties finding employment and housing. Although there aren’t recidivism statistics available for inmates who pass through the farm, over half of the inmates who go there are working or in training three months after release and all leave with stable accommodation. Those who have completed their sentence can stay at the farm until they find housing. Mahamady, who was officially released in February, is one of them.

“I’m not sure what I would do if I couldn’t stay here,” he says. Despite having a full-time job lined up, he hasn’t found a place to live close to Paris, where he wishes to relocate to be closer to his family. In the meantime, he visits them on weekends.

For those still incarcerated, family members can come and stay for the day — a far cry from the tightly monitored 45 minutes allowed in prison parlors. This was a game-changer for Olivier Christophe, who arrived as an inmate in 2017 and later joined the farm’s staff as a counselor.

Other forms of outside placement include rehabilitation centers, which house and support inmates nearing the end of their sentences, though they typically do not offer paid work. Electronic bracelets, considered a cheaper alternative, receive the bulk of the budget. But for Mahamady, the experience is “completely different.” 

“With bracelets, you’re on your own with your problems. Here, we get support every step of the way,” he said. But interest in the farm far exceeds its capacity, with fewer than one in 12 applicants accepted. 

Emmaus, the social justice movement behind the initiative, is working to open three more farms in the coming years, but its efforts have been slowed by difficulties in securing adequate funding. Although running Moyembrie costs around €70 (about $82 U.S.) per inmate a day, the state only covers a €45 daily fee for each occupied bed — much less than the €130 spent in conventional prisons. 

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As administrative delays leave rooms empty while staff and infrastructure costs remain fixed, the farm has to turn to private grants and regional funding to bridge the gap. But these funds are difficult for structures in the early stages of development to access. 

“Each project requires an initial investment of around €1.5 million ($1.75 million U.S.) to purchase the building and the land. After that, it still takes four to six years to create a new farm,” said Armelle Dubois, the Emmaus project lead.

As a result, less than two percent of people incarcerated in France are able to finish their sentence in outside placements.

“If you leave prison with no job, no home, no family — you’re not free,” Christophe said, his voice turning quiet. “This place is what gave me back my freedom.”

None of the inmates’ last names have been published, in keeping with efforts to protect their privacy and allow for rehabilitation.

Scrolling photos courtesy of Juliette Fekkar.