Outlaw Unchained

I walk into the prison feeling like I know what I’m walking into this time. The guards are very pushy about me not having my phone this time around. They tell me I have to leave it or I am not allowed inside. I look at the guard and say “I will be walking inside This prison and I will be walking in with my phone.” He doesn’t seem to appreciate my straightforwardness and walks toward me to take it. Another guard steps in and tells him to leave me alone. Thank you Jesus. I have to get more pictures and hopefully a video. How am I going to pull this off? I walk through the small alleyway with the prison bars to my left and the overwhelming stench of urine and feces fills my nose and lungs. Hands reach out and the prisoners yell out my name “Kati Kati! Do you remember me?!” 

 I feel a lump in my throat. “Keep it together” I tell myself. I look to the right for a moment and when I turn back towards them I am all smiles. I shake their hands and encourage them as best I can. I act joyful and hopeful as I make my way down the line. They tell me they thought I was never coming back.  I tell them I won’t ever leave them and they are on my mind daily. I tell them their stories have moved people in the states and changed lives. I make my way to the last cell on the left where my favorite prisoner is. He is still beautiful and smiling.  We talk and discuss life. I tell them about the states and all the dezod (wild) that is happening. They laugh and I tell them they better behave themselves or I’m going to have to come and whoop them. They laugh and we joke together. I am unable to get my phone out because guards are breathing down my neck and watching me carefully at every corner. I walk over to the cell full of kids. There is a young boy sitting half up being held up by his arms by another young boy. He is sweating profusely and can barely breathe. Another little boy is fanning him trying to keep him cool. He is nothing but a skeletal frame. One of the boys comes to talk to me at the cell door. I ask him why everyone is in here and he shares with me. I ask what is the matter with the dying boy and he said the sick boy has asthma and can’t breathe and that he will probably die soon. The nonchalant manner in which he gives me these facts makes me sick to my stomach. This is his reality and so he lives it like he would live any other life. I ask the guards why they aren’t doing anything for this boy and they say “he doesn’t have an inhaler.” I ask a guard if it bothers him to see what he sees in here everyday. He says, “not really.” I’ve had enough of watching and tell the guard to unlock the door. He does and Jacques and I pull the dying kid out of his cell along with his mat to give him some air. I adjust a sheet on his mat and try to make him as comfortable as possible. Jacques and I speed away on my motorcycle to get an inhaler. I am expecting it to be expensive. It is 500 gourdes which is a little over 4 American dollars. Jacques and I rush back to get it to him and he is puking in the corner while a few other young prisoners hold him up. We give him the inhaler and he gratefully inhales it and curls up. His little 15 years old frame resembles that of a ten year old. His young prison mates stare at me through the bars. I try my best to encourage them. What do I say? Hey kids, try and play some games? Let’s be real.  I have nothing to say. These conditions are horrendous and no animal, let alone a human being should have to endure them. I am appalled. I leave him to rest and make my way over to the cells on the right. I tell Jacques my plan of getting my phone out and he goes over to distract the guards. I know that if I get caught with my phone I will not be allowed back into the prison and Jacques might not be allowed in either. I also know that if I don’t get pictures and videos, I won’t be able to raise awareness. I decide to risk it. I tell the prisoners to act normal and I carefully unzip my purse and take out my moushwa (headwrap) and phone. I start recording on my phone and wrap my phone in the moushwa. I slip the moushwa wrapped phone through the prison bars and I tell the prisoners to take it and video the inside of the cell. After a little bit the moushwa and phone are returned to me through the bars just as guards are walking over. I stuff my things back in my purse and tell the men to not lose hope and that a meal is coming soon. They tell me that since the Corona happened they haven’t even been able to get soap to bathe. What if we were in a cell with 60 other men or women sitting in filth without so much as a clean pair of underwear or a bar of soap. I say goodbye to them and tell them I will be moving back for good in September and I can’t wait to visit them more. They are elated. Jacques and I walk out and I drive him home. I am once again overwhelmingly reminded of how utterly helpless I am and yet and more driven than ever before to make a difference. While we complain about quarantine. While we complain about not being able to go out to eat and to the movies. While we complain about being “stuck at home,” let’s remember that we have the ability to look outside and see the sunshine and smell fresh air. Let’s remember that we are stuck in the comfort of our own homes with a bed and underwear and bars of soap. 

For those of you who have been donating to the cause, I can not thank you enough. I never feel I am able to express my gratitude to the level I feel. Many of you have expressed feeling useless and that “all you’re doing is donating.” I may be boots on the ground in Haiti but you are boots on the ground in the states, working and sending what you can. I am extremely thankful and grateful that you donate, without experiencing it or ever seeing it with your eyes. YOU are the reason we have been able to feed these men. YOU are the change. So, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you. I would also like to thank Jesus for blessing me with you and for blessing me with the opportunity to be a small part in a bigger picture. 

Here is to faith. Here is to Outlaw Unchained. Here is to change.