Its now a few moments shy of 11am and I finally got my voice back. Im sitting on this really uncomfortable, out of character purple couch trying to contain my angst. We are given strict instructions on proper conduct and interactions with the prisoners. My boss looks at me and whispers "Are you still comfortable with taking the lead?" I force another reassuring nod and whispers back "Absolutely..."
The first man I met, was named Joshua. He was from Sierra Leone. He had a very quiet way about him, but a very radiant and confident smile. I found that hard to believe especially because of his current location and just as I thought it, he said to me" I know it may be odd, me smiling so much, but if I allow this place to take my joy, I will have nothing to give back to my family when I am set free....." I swallow hard, and shake his hand, the first ( but not the last ) time I break a rule (No physical contact). After flashing my own set of pearly whites, I am reminded that I only have 30 minutes with each person, so I get right down to the questions.
Turns out Joshua, is a married father of 3 "but only two are living". His first born was killed during a small uprising between waring rebels fighting over drug control for that region. He worked as a crate operator at a ginger exporting factory.But since the exports became fewer and fewer, Josh did not always have work. The ships would come to collect the cargo every 3 months, so every season or so, he was without a job. Making very little money and having very little education ( he did not complete anything higher than the 3rd grade) he felt that there was no way for him to support his family on his very meager income. He pauses for a moment to reflect on his story, then he starts to cry. He speaks of his wife and how they are both devout Christians and wanted biblical names for their children. All boys, their names are Moses, who would have been 8 yrs old this November, Joseph, who is 6yrs old, and Paul, who is 3 yrs old. His wife is named Annette and she has no idea if Joshua is still alive. After a bit of nastalgia, Josh goes right back to the day he decided to become a stow away. It was announced that the factory would be closing for several reasons. Not safe, NO MONEY. And since he had limited work experience and education, a few of his coworkers decided to stow away on the last cargo ship to the Americas. There were 8 of them, none of them had much money between them, very little food, and even fewer of them spoke English. He went home that night and told his wife their plan. After hours and hours of tiresome rebuttals, he finally convinced his wife that this was the best route to go. Having packed a half a gallon of water, a loaf of bread and a box of crackers, he set out for work. Kissing his wife goodbye and holding his two boys he whispered to them, "Daddy loves you so much, and just know that everything I am doing and will do, is all for you. Take care of your mother, hold on to Christs promises, and brush your teeth!!" And without looking back, for a fear he'd change his mind, he set off to chase the misguilded "American Dream".
This was January 19th, 2009. Middle of winter. He was dressed in sandals and overralls with a short sleeve t-shirt underneath. This was his attire he was to arrive in Philadelphia in, during the middle of winter. Eight of them set out on the 29 day journey, hidden under boxes and boxes of ginger. When the boat docked in Philadelphia, only 5 of them crawled out alive. The other 3 froze to death. Upon leaving the ship, he was spotted by a police officer, who mistook him for a "crackhead" (Joshua laughs at the thought). Because of his ratty clothes, or the lack thereof, he is placed under arrest and is questioned in the police car. He was asked question after question, but afraid to answer because he still does not know what it means to be a "crackhead". He looks at the female officer and tells her that he "just got off a boat and wants a job, can she help him get a job so he can send for his family. "
Joshua then tells how he had to show the police officer and the now very angry ship captain ( they are fined heavily if its proven to have housed stowaways) where he was hiding as well as show the bodies of his friends who unfortunately didnt make it. He is taken to a small holding cell in South Philly, then transported the next morning to York County Prison in PA. He says that night, in his holding cell, was the first time he had a meal, shower and warm bed for he had not eaten in 17 days. He was not allowed to call his family, not that they had a phone, but his church had a phone and could get word to his wife. It took another 5 months before he was finally interviewed by an INS officer. They asked him questions to try to determine if his life is/was in danger and if returning him to his home country would bring upon his imminent death.
Today is Tuesday, September 29th, and Joshua is still waiting to hear if he will be granted immediate/emergency asylum. Almost nine months later, incarcerated yet still hopeful. He says, even if he is sent back home, one thing will be better. He has been allowed to take some education and trade courses. He know has the equivalence of a 10th grade education and has greatly improved his English.
When he was getting up to leave, he asks a very small favor. I clear my throat, wipe my eyes and ask what it is he needs. In a very tiny and meager voice he says" Can you call my wife? Please? Tell her I love her. Tell her Im still alive. Tell her.....Im Sorry..." I look to the guard and he shakes his head vehemently " No" Joshua said he knew the answer, but just wanted to try...
As we are leaving, the same guard pulls me to the side and said, we cannot take any information from them, but we can put money into his prison account so he can buy things from the commisary, i.e phone cards to call Africa. Without hesitation, and without question, we all fumble through our wallets and come up with a total of $127.36. We write a small note to Joshua, simply saying, "Tell her yourself..."
I am really overwhelmed from that first interview and am not prepared for the next. so my associate producer takes over. He finishes the next 3 interviews and asks me if I am okay to do the last one. I am.
In walks Peter, a stow away from Ghana. He has a slight limp to his walk and is missing a few teeth. He looks at me with his deep brown eyes and says with very clear diction" Do you know how lucky you are pretty girl? So many are dying for what you have been born with. Treasure the gift of which your parents have given you. And do not look at me with pity, for I am not ashamed. Im not even ashamed to be here, where I am right now talking to you through half glass in this prison. I have no shame at all...."
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Beyond the Bars.
Its a sunny and breezy Tuesday morning. As Kate (our intern) and I make our way towards the elevator of the Doubletree Hotel, we are both silent. Not because either of us have nothing to say, but because of the task that lay ahead of us. We are on our way to York County Prison in York, PA. Our assignment, is to interview the warden, prison guards and staff and a few of the inmates that are being held as illegal immigrates. Now, York County Prison doubles as a holding facility as well as incarceration facilities for those who have been convicted of crimes and are due to serve five years or less. Those charges can range from burglary/robbery to homicide.
So, as we continue our walk to the elevator, minds lost in the days tasks, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like if I were in our subjects shoes......
Its 9am and we pull up outside this large gated, well guarded facility. We are asked to step out of the van and submit to pat downs and metal detector searches. Our van is searched thoroughly by very big and burly men holding Mac10 weapons and dressed in all black. They dont necessarily make eye contact with you, but the authoritative commands are enough to make you answer "Sir yes Sir". There are german shepards sniffing around you and the base of the van and we stand there, no longer having free will, but submitting to the strong arm of the law, so to speak, and we are just the visitors. After about 10 minutes of security checks, we are barked at by lead commanding Officer Jenkins. Poor Kate asks if he has a first name and he retorts, "Officer" will do just fine!" We are told to park our van in the visitors parking lot and make sure the display tag is visible on dashboard. We are reminded that camera/recording equipment is not allowed inside and if we are going to take area shots, we must do so now, because we will not be allowed to do so upon exiting. I look over at my boss, for a bit of reassurance, and I notice he too has a slightly somber expression on his face. We motion to our cameraman, the different type of shots we should get and I pick up the hand held and start to take random shots of the outside. This is home to so many people. A gated, concrete wall with flood lights and armed guards, all for my better benefit Im told. After about 20 minutes of photos and shot angles, we make our way towards the entrance. Once inside, we are subjected to yet another search, but this time we are separated. Our cameraman Chris, our Associate Producer Brian, and my boss Mike are taken to the left and Kate and I are taken to the right. Simply because women are checked by female guards and the men are checked by the male guards. Now this search got very familiar. I was told because I was very "endowed in the chest area" I would have to have a more, intense search of my person. So I am groped and squeezed and fondled by this woman, who seemed to have enjoyed the search a tad too much for my taste, but again. I am imagining myself in an inmates shoes, so dare I complain. After Kate and I are cleared, we re-adjust our clothes and head back out to the main forum and await the wardens arrival. To my grand surprise, its a very lovely and warm woman whos first name is all I can give you. Her name is Mary and she has a very maternal and warm look to her. But her handshake revealed a very stern and tough woman. As we are led to the communications/public relations room, Mary goes on and on about the facilities, when it was founded, where the original facilities were located, how long she has been there, and all the while, you hear in the background, the slamming of bars, dogs barking, and commands, constant commands. And a chill runs down my spine. The hallways smell of pine sol and bleach and once you are inside, there are no more clues as to what awaits in the outside world. No windows, no sunlight, not even the sound of the brisk wind blowing about the leaves on the trees. Mary rattles on about the number of male and female inmates that are currently housed in "her" facility. Most on misdemeanors, the rest awaiting deportation and/or court dates. We are not allowed to see the processing of inmates, but will be given a tour shortly. She looks over my wardrobe very carefully, which consisted of a charcoal gray sweater, white collar shirt underneath and a pair of black dress slacks. She stares at me for an uncomfortable 20 seconds and then proceeds to compliment me on my smile and teeth. She tells me I am very pretty and would be very popular here. I dont know if she was trying to make a joke but I didnt find her funny. I, of course, retort in my usual smart ass tone, oh, am I to assume you arent? You know, popular? The room goes silent for a brief moment, all air is sucked out of poor Kate and my boss' color slightly returns to his face. Mary doesnt respond to me in words, but she gives me a look that briefly shows me her inner bitch. Well, I have ones of those too, but just as she pointed out, mine is prettier!!! She speaks commands to a few of the guards and introduces us as part of the production team from PBS/Thirteen and not by name, shes says its for our own safety and we get a tour of the prison. Kate is holding onto me as though at any moment she will just tip right over and wake up 3 days later. I try to comfort her and let her know, we are fine and she begins to loosen up a bit, until we hear a whistle. A few of the inmates are hanging around the bars to the infirmary and one of them says in a Creepie McStalker type of voice" Hm Hm Hm , I would do all kinds of dirty things to her ass right now!!!" The warden stops and one of the guards turns to address him, but not before I turn and say "Careful, thats how you ended up here in the first place, Im sure..." The guard laughs and Mary gives a nervous smile, but poor Kate starts to tremble. She makes it through the tour, but cannot go into one of the empty mock cells that we are allowed to sit in for a few moments. To be in the shoes of the incarcerated, I wonder, so I am the first one who volunteers. I was fine sitting on the flat, hard mattress with the stale smelling pillows and obvious chill in the air . But when the bars are slammed shut, I began to slightly hyperventilate. I notice how small the room is and how the sink and the toilet kinda bleed into one another. I start to worry that maybe I should have lost 10 more pounds before this assignment because I am afraid I'll get stuck in between the wall and the bunk bed when I try to get up. No window, no air, no room, no freedom, no privacy, no sanity, NO MORE!!!! I hop off the bed and say okay, please open up, please. And even though it takes 4.5 seconds for the bars to open, I swear I had spent an eternity behind them. I run out and the guard hands me a glass of water. My boss asks me if Im okay, and I give a reassuring nod for I have no voice as of yet. My mouth is still closed and my throat is still tight. No one else wants to see what its like "on the inside" but constantly looks to me for a description of life beyond the bars. I cannot speak for another 3 minutes, which worries my coworkers, because I am usually, always verbally and vocally inclined to lead the conversation. As our tour comes to an end. We are heading back towards the Public Relations room where I am told we will be interviewing 5 illegal immigrants. I start to pull myself together and prepare for the next phase of this mind altering day.
So, as we continue our walk to the elevator, minds lost in the days tasks, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like if I were in our subjects shoes......
Its 9am and we pull up outside this large gated, well guarded facility. We are asked to step out of the van and submit to pat downs and metal detector searches. Our van is searched thoroughly by very big and burly men holding Mac10 weapons and dressed in all black. They dont necessarily make eye contact with you, but the authoritative commands are enough to make you answer "Sir yes Sir". There are german shepards sniffing around you and the base of the van and we stand there, no longer having free will, but submitting to the strong arm of the law, so to speak, and we are just the visitors. After about 10 minutes of security checks, we are barked at by lead commanding Officer Jenkins. Poor Kate asks if he has a first name and he retorts, "Officer" will do just fine!" We are told to park our van in the visitors parking lot and make sure the display tag is visible on dashboard. We are reminded that camera/recording equipment is not allowed inside and if we are going to take area shots, we must do so now, because we will not be allowed to do so upon exiting. I look over at my boss, for a bit of reassurance, and I notice he too has a slightly somber expression on his face. We motion to our cameraman, the different type of shots we should get and I pick up the hand held and start to take random shots of the outside. This is home to so many people. A gated, concrete wall with flood lights and armed guards, all for my better benefit Im told. After about 20 minutes of photos and shot angles, we make our way towards the entrance. Once inside, we are subjected to yet another search, but this time we are separated. Our cameraman Chris, our Associate Producer Brian, and my boss Mike are taken to the left and Kate and I are taken to the right. Simply because women are checked by female guards and the men are checked by the male guards. Now this search got very familiar. I was told because I was very "endowed in the chest area" I would have to have a more, intense search of my person. So I am groped and squeezed and fondled by this woman, who seemed to have enjoyed the search a tad too much for my taste, but again. I am imagining myself in an inmates shoes, so dare I complain. After Kate and I are cleared, we re-adjust our clothes and head back out to the main forum and await the wardens arrival. To my grand surprise, its a very lovely and warm woman whos first name is all I can give you. Her name is Mary and she has a very maternal and warm look to her. But her handshake revealed a very stern and tough woman. As we are led to the communications/public relations room, Mary goes on and on about the facilities, when it was founded, where the original facilities were located, how long she has been there, and all the while, you hear in the background, the slamming of bars, dogs barking, and commands, constant commands. And a chill runs down my spine. The hallways smell of pine sol and bleach and once you are inside, there are no more clues as to what awaits in the outside world. No windows, no sunlight, not even the sound of the brisk wind blowing about the leaves on the trees. Mary rattles on about the number of male and female inmates that are currently housed in "her" facility. Most on misdemeanors, the rest awaiting deportation and/or court dates. We are not allowed to see the processing of inmates, but will be given a tour shortly. She looks over my wardrobe very carefully, which consisted of a charcoal gray sweater, white collar shirt underneath and a pair of black dress slacks. She stares at me for an uncomfortable 20 seconds and then proceeds to compliment me on my smile and teeth. She tells me I am very pretty and would be very popular here. I dont know if she was trying to make a joke but I didnt find her funny. I, of course, retort in my usual smart ass tone, oh, am I to assume you arent? You know, popular? The room goes silent for a brief moment, all air is sucked out of poor Kate and my boss' color slightly returns to his face. Mary doesnt respond to me in words, but she gives me a look that briefly shows me her inner bitch. Well, I have ones of those too, but just as she pointed out, mine is prettier!!! She speaks commands to a few of the guards and introduces us as part of the production team from PBS/Thirteen and not by name, shes says its for our own safety and we get a tour of the prison. Kate is holding onto me as though at any moment she will just tip right over and wake up 3 days later. I try to comfort her and let her know, we are fine and she begins to loosen up a bit, until we hear a whistle. A few of the inmates are hanging around the bars to the infirmary and one of them says in a Creepie McStalker type of voice" Hm Hm Hm , I would do all kinds of dirty things to her ass right now!!!" The warden stops and one of the guards turns to address him, but not before I turn and say "Careful, thats how you ended up here in the first place, Im sure..." The guard laughs and Mary gives a nervous smile, but poor Kate starts to tremble. She makes it through the tour, but cannot go into one of the empty mock cells that we are allowed to sit in for a few moments. To be in the shoes of the incarcerated, I wonder, so I am the first one who volunteers. I was fine sitting on the flat, hard mattress with the stale smelling pillows and obvious chill in the air . But when the bars are slammed shut, I began to slightly hyperventilate. I notice how small the room is and how the sink and the toilet kinda bleed into one another. I start to worry that maybe I should have lost 10 more pounds before this assignment because I am afraid I'll get stuck in between the wall and the bunk bed when I try to get up. No window, no air, no room, no freedom, no privacy, no sanity, NO MORE!!!! I hop off the bed and say okay, please open up, please. And even though it takes 4.5 seconds for the bars to open, I swear I had spent an eternity behind them. I run out and the guard hands me a glass of water. My boss asks me if Im okay, and I give a reassuring nod for I have no voice as of yet. My mouth is still closed and my throat is still tight. No one else wants to see what its like "on the inside" but constantly looks to me for a description of life beyond the bars. I cannot speak for another 3 minutes, which worries my coworkers, because I am usually, always verbally and vocally inclined to lead the conversation. As our tour comes to an end. We are heading back towards the Public Relations room where I am told we will be interviewing 5 illegal immigrants. I start to pull myself together and prepare for the next phase of this mind altering day.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Row house lullaby
Mother never allowed me to play outside. I suppose she wasn't too keen on me being used for target practice. So I often played by myself inside our three room box, peering out of a window that hadn't been cleaned since Nixon was impeached. But yet I am content to press my nose against the dust filled screen and daydream of the world my mother promises. Just before bedtime, she would sit next to me, smelling of peppermint and jasmine. Her breathing would be softly labored, as though her pulse and heartbeat were creating a soundtrack to my daydream. And then she would close her eyes, rock back and forth and slowly open her mouth to speak. Every word was saturated with the warmest of melodies and harmonies that made my soul sing. She filled my head with such delicacies that always left me hungry for more. I was a descendant of kings and queens, a true princess in my own right. She said that explained why I had such regal tendencies and sometimes warranted a sarcastic" Your Highness" response. My world was engulfed in soft hues of pink and lavender and everything smelled like strawberries and bubble gum. My loyal subjects were a variety of exotic birds that fluttered lightly about as though they were filled with air. They had lustrous strands of hair instead of feathers and cotton candy for eyes. And instead of chirping, they had big, bellowing voices. Much like Marian Andersons voice on Easter Sunday. And they obeyed me out of love, for I was a just and kind ruler. Everyday, they would sing for me and I would dance and dance until my feet no longer touched the ground, like I too were filled with air. And we would float about together, singing and dancing and mocking about. We would make such a glorious and joyful noise. That world kept me safe inside of my own cocooned imagination. My world of mysteries and things that could never be. The possibility of us leaving behind our Section 8 palace would remain just that, an impossible possibility. So I lay here, content, in deep realm, rocked to sleep by my mothers row house lullaby.....
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The origins of me....
Passion is constantly flowing through my veins. I guess that would explain my frequent hot flashes. Love is my favorite stalker and I dont mind it when he climbs through my window just after dusk but right before dawn. I fell in love with love when I was 6 years old. His face constantly changes from George Duke to Morgan Freeman, but the level of devotion to my amorous and sometimes quixotic behavior never falters. It never fails. Love and my desire to continue loving freely is my everlasting constant. Much like water to my lips and warm sand beneath my feet. My heart is like the deepest of oceans and holds a many secrets. Some are mine, Most are not. Many can undo the most solid of foundations. Which is why they will forever remain tucked behind my eyes, anchored in my heart, guarded by my soul. What an intangible fortress I can be. Sometimes I can be unapologetically sarcastic while pretending to be empathetic. I am happiest when I am awake but most alive when I dream. I refuse to flatline before the sunsets, but not for a lack of trying. Such is the soundtrack of my world and my hearts beating. My lifes bio rhythym. My eccentric, whimsical being.....
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