Prison

I went to prison today. I still do not know what to say because I feel all heavy inside as it is still sinking in, so I’ll try to offer some under-developed thoughts and initial reactions, and leave it at that.

-All of the men that I talked with came across as normal, everyday Liberian people, in a good way. They were considerate, hospitable, humble, and people of dignity. They shared their stories, and wanted to know about mine.

-Every person that I talked with said that they did not have a trial, did not see a judge, and did not ever talk with a lawyer, that they were sent directly to jail. No one knows how much longer they will be in prison.

-Two men gave me names and phone numbers of relatives to call to inform them that they were presently in jail, because their family did not know where they were. When I called this afternoon, one was surprised, said that this was news to them, and that they would go there immediately on Monday morning when the prison would allow visitors. The other number was out of service so no contact was made.

-One man said that he had been in jail since January 2006 for being accused of stealing a cell phone, and that 1500 Liberian Dollars (25 US) would be enough to pay the guards, to then pay the court, to set him free.

-I sat in a cement cell seven feet long by four and a half feet wide that currently holds five men. Some of these cells hold eight men. Some of these cells hold men that are not mentally stable. Each cell has a plastic bucket with a cover that functions as a toilet that the inmates empty once a day. I did not see any signs of electricity in the cell block.

-I later noticed that the men had taken their flip flops off before entering their home (the cell). The three thin blankets laid next to each other on the floor had been carefully brushed clear of dirt with the remnants of a hand brush sitting in the corner. I still had my sandals on. When I apologized for wearing my shoes inside, they were completely understanding and gracious.

-The toilet buckets (for 600 people) are emptied by the edge of the property. The hand pump well is located about 150 feet away. Many of the inmates are constantly sick…

-Some inmates had long pants and a long shirt to wear, some had just shorts or just a shirt, one had only boxer briefs to wear.

When I was first debating if I should really go, I was anxious about security, and incredibly unsure of what to exactly do upon our arrival. Do I just simply walk in and sit down and talk? Do I listen? What in the world am I doing?!? I only found comfort in two things. First, that I was going with 18 others from Mercy Ships, many whom have gone multiple times and speak highly of it. They have also shared about innocent inmates who they assisted in liberating and about helping to open up sealed windows in pitch black cells to help the inmates. The second, and primary thing that I found comfort in, was the long history of follower of Jesus visiting those in prison. Some of the early church leaders directed the intentional communities to visit, help, and be an advocate for prisoners.

I did not want to go for my sake, as if I was going to a zoo to look at the animals.

By the time I left, I felt that it was a good thing. The words ‘warm, fuzzy, pleasant, and fluffy’ do not come to mind to describe it. It must be miserable to exist there. However, it seemed to be an encouragement to the people, to listen. It seems to have been helpful to contact one family as to the whereabouts of their son, to relay to two families to visit their now sick relative, and to call Big Momma (he assured me that this was her name) to tell her that her son wanted her to come visit and get him out of prison. This is how it all seemed.

I continue to ask myself “What do you do with all of this?” I purse my lips, shake my head slowly from side, and in the end, gently shrug my shoulders. I do not know. I will pray. But I do not know. I do not know. And for the present time, this is ok.