Observations | Cheese, Friday night, and my brat sister!
MY APARTMENT – Today I went to prison.
No, I haven’t committed any crimes related – if anything, I’ve continued my reputation of serving the law as Kenya’s own SLT. No, my trip to the women’s prison came care of the Senior class, which had planned some Sabbath outreach programs for the inmates. I was invited to be an extra sponsor for the bus trip there and back, and I gladly accepted. All I had to do on Sabbath was sleep… and sleep more… and wake up for supper, and then sleep again… so getting out was a welcomed invitation.
We began the “MAA-Shank Redemption” at about 2pm, leaving the school on one bus (Guess who sat between the girls and guys on that bus?) and a small car. We drove for close to a half hour, turning to the left right before we reached the greater Nairobi area. After a few more minutes of driving, we finally made it to a sign that said “Ongata Women’s Prison & Gift Shop.”
Gift shop? Um, ma’am, how much is this license plate? Does it come with the steel file, or is that extra?
As we waited a few minutes before they let us inside the compound, we eyed the massive gate separating us from just under 300 female convicts. The top of the wall was covered with
nails, pointing up as to stick someone trying to hop over the fence. A large guard tower overlooked the penitentiary, and judging from what kinds of massive firepower the guards in Nakumatt carry, I could only assume the lookouts held cannons I could hardly conceive.
Finally, after waiting for what seemed like forever, the gate pulled back, and a guard stepped forward, motioning for us to enter. We stepped inside, and scattered in front of the older, not-too-well-taken-care-of buildings were prisoners. Tons of prisoners.
From the 20-year-olds to the elderly, they loitered around in their black-and-white striped garments, looking up from whatever they were doing and waving to us, full of smiles. Deeper into the prison we moved, and the sounds of drums and singing began to fill the air. We turned a corner and saw close to 200 ladies at the base of an elevated gymnasium/auditorium (standing room only), chanting something Swahili at us. The crowd split for us to pass – we were superstars.
While half of the group moved to sing and perform skits for those people, I followed the second group to a small alleyway, where 60 or 70 women and children sat on the floor, awaiting their special program. The Maxwellites did a great job of leading out in some children’s songs, performing a rousing rendition of David and Goliath, and handing out coloring sheets of Moses to the children.
I learned from a guard stationed closest to us that there were approximately 650 women at this facility, with our area filled with the convicted criminals. Also here were the 60 kids, all ages 5 and under, of inmates. While some inmates had only a little while more before being released back into the real world, most were still early on their sentences. Their kids were only allowed to stay at the correctional facility until age 5, when they would be taken away from their mothers and sent to a children’s home to receive proper schooling and supervision.
After the children were moved, the mothers could only be visited by the children once a week, for just a day.
By this time, our group had moved over to sing to another, smaller group of women without kids. They were just as enthusiastic as anyone I’d seen here, singing loudly along with the songs performed by MAA. I asked the guard who they were, and was surprised to hear her response.
“They will die. They are facing the death penalty.”
Little did the Maxwellites know they were singing to Death Row. These women, I found out, weren’t allowed to see their kids at all. They were taken away at the guilty verdict. These were the murderers, the killers, the worst of the worst.
But looking at them, smiling, singing songs about Jesus, you’d never know the difference. Whether their hearts had been changed by Christ or not was up for debate, but the Holy Spirit was definitely in this place, blessing the students’ outreach attempts.
After a bit, we ended up catching up with the first group, introducing ourselves to the throng of prisoners, and thanking them for the opportunity to visit. As we walked out, I bumped into one of our girls who didn’t know something I knew.
“Hey Brittany*, you know that second group of women you sang for? Yea, they were Death Row.”
Blank, then surprised expressions. “You’re not kidding? We were singing to the murderers? But, but, they were so normal!”
It was a bit of a wake-up call to those of us who’d never been to a prison before. I was very pleased I got the opportunity, and I hope I gained something from the experience.
Three Observations:
Ok, that wraps it about up. Later.
-cw
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent... or presumed innocent.
No, I haven’t committed any crimes related – if anything, I’ve continued my reputation of serving the law as Kenya’s own SLT. No, my trip to the women’s prison came care of the Senior class, which had planned some Sabbath outreach programs for the inmates. I was invited to be an extra sponsor for the bus trip there and back, and I gladly accepted. All I had to do on Sabbath was sleep… and sleep more… and wake up for supper, and then sleep again… so getting out was a welcomed invitation.
We began the “MAA-Shank Redemption” at about 2pm, leaving the school on one bus (Guess who sat between the girls and guys on that bus?) and a small car. We drove for close to a half hour, turning to the left right before we reached the greater Nairobi area. After a few more minutes of driving, we finally made it to a sign that said “Ongata Women’s Prison & Gift Shop.”
Gift shop? Um, ma’am, how much is this license plate? Does it come with the steel file, or is that extra?
As we waited a few minutes before they let us inside the compound, we eyed the massive gate separating us from just under 300 female convicts. The top of the wall was covered with
nails, pointing up as to stick someone trying to hop over the fence. A large guard tower overlooked the penitentiary, and judging from what kinds of massive firepower the guards in Nakumatt carry, I could only assume the lookouts held cannons I could hardly conceive.Finally, after waiting for what seemed like forever, the gate pulled back, and a guard stepped forward, motioning for us to enter. We stepped inside, and scattered in front of the older, not-too-well-taken-care-of buildings were prisoners. Tons of prisoners.
From the 20-year-olds to the elderly, they loitered around in their black-and-white striped garments, looking up from whatever they were doing and waving to us, full of smiles. Deeper into the prison we moved, and the sounds of drums and singing began to fill the air. We turned a corner and saw close to 200 ladies at the base of an elevated gymnasium/auditorium (standing room only), chanting something Swahili at us. The crowd split for us to pass – we were superstars.
While half of the group moved to sing and perform skits for those people, I followed the second group to a small alleyway, where 60 or 70 women and children sat on the floor, awaiting their special program. The Maxwellites did a great job of leading out in some children’s songs, performing a rousing rendition of David and Goliath, and handing out coloring sheets of Moses to the children.
I learned from a guard stationed closest to us that there were approximately 650 women at this facility, with our area filled with the convicted criminals. Also here were the 60 kids, all ages 5 and under, of inmates. While some inmates had only a little while more before being released back into the real world, most were still early on their sentences. Their kids were only allowed to stay at the correctional facility until age 5, when they would be taken away from their mothers and sent to a children’s home to receive proper schooling and supervision.
After the children were moved, the mothers could only be visited by the children once a week, for just a day.
By this time, our group had moved over to sing to another, smaller group of women without kids. They were just as enthusiastic as anyone I’d seen here, singing loudly along with the songs performed by MAA. I asked the guard who they were, and was surprised to hear her response.
“They will die. They are facing the death penalty.”
Little did the Maxwellites know they were singing to Death Row. These women, I found out, weren’t allowed to see their kids at all. They were taken away at the guilty verdict. These were the murderers, the killers, the worst of the worst.
But looking at them, smiling, singing songs about Jesus, you’d never know the difference. Whether their hearts had been changed by Christ or not was up for debate, but the Holy Spirit was definitely in this place, blessing the students’ outreach attempts.
After a bit, we ended up catching up with the first group, introducing ourselves to the throng of prisoners, and thanking them for the opportunity to visit. As we walked out, I bumped into one of our girls who didn’t know something I knew.
“Hey Brittany*, you know that second group of women you sang for? Yea, they were Death Row.”
Blank, then surprised expressions. “You’re not kidding? We were singing to the murderers? But, but, they were so normal!”
It was a bit of a wake-up call to those of us who’d never been to a prison before. I was very pleased I got the opportunity, and I hope I gained something from the experience.
Three Observations:
- #1 all-time complaint about Africa: the cheese SUCKS. So seriously, you know that I’m losing weight, but I’m sure that what’s the basis of that is my dairy intake. Or, to clarify, the lack of it.
The cows must be on drugs, because their milk sucks. The cheese tastes like vegan cheese, and chocolate ice cream has an all-natural malt taste (great if you like malt
chocolate, bad if you’re SANE). Even the milk typically has a hold-your-nose-and-drink-it taste.
But the cheese is the worst. I haven’t experienced much in life that I can literally call “god-awful,” but if it was anything, it’d be this. It kind of tastes like a moldy goose egg, covered in burnt skin and dipped in dirty engine oil (don’t ask…). It’s disgusting enough that, all jokes aside, I’m seriously thinking about going vegan. EWWWWWW! - Sabbath – a day of rest. I really can’t wait to have my own place. Confirmation of this came on Friday night, when we had a faculty family vespers instead of regular (horrible) vespers. It was wonderful to actually get something out of it, even if it was just chilling and taking it easy.We had the kids over for a short thought (by Max Lucado but presented by yours truly), and then we just hung out. Honey (and her cafeteria minions) made some brownies, and we all snacked on them while playing such classic games like “Can you make the broom dance?” and “The hat game.” Lots’o’fun.And more importantly, one of the few Friday nights ASB and the religious committee hasn’t ruined for me.
- My sister is the biggest copycat ever… MOM!!! What a little Jr. Jerk of the Week
. First, she emails me a little message that has a story, then “three interesting things that happened this week.” Sounds familiar? It’s Ariel’s version of “Three observations.” PUNK.
Then, she goes and does my “My big sister gave her lung to me and died” talk for not only her dorm, but also for the whole school! She got 3 boys crying at chapel. What a punk!
Watch your back sister, you’re going down.
Ok, that wraps it about up. Later.
-cw
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent... or presumed innocent.
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