Chapter Eight - A City within a City
With a swirl of dust the white truck passed us as we drove along the track leaving El Doradito. A shriek chortled out from the bed of the truck as it flew by. The three passengers bounced and jolted along and I recognized Enrique who waved and hollered at us, his chop of black hair flopping in the wind. We caught up to the truck. "Where are you going?!" Enrique hollered over the sound of the engine, leaning as far out of the truck bed as he could manage as we passed them again. We turned off the dirt road onto cement and fell in line behind a small blue Ford pickup whose bed and cab were loaded to the axles with 15 some odd men returning from work in the cane fields.
Arriving at the stop sign before the highway he leaped from the bed of the truck and ran alongside Debora's car, tapping on the windows. "Where are you going?" He repeated.
We gave him a ride to La Lima, dropping him off alone at a corner so he could walk the rest of the way to visit his sister. They mature so quickly here.
We continued on to San Pedro Sula. Debora parked us just in front of the truck gate, and I scanned the yellow wall as I exited the car. It reached approximately twenty feet in height with rolls of barbed wire encasing the top. Thievery is common here and any valuable property is typically encased in walls and wire, so the prison didn't stand out to me. The gate opened to let a truck enter, and we darted inside.
The courtyard was full of men and women in military uniforms, various civilians, trucks and delivery and passenger vans. Most pretended not to be watching us, but I could feel the eyes when we turned our backs.
We signed in, and followed our leader inside the prison. As we walked through a dark corridor I felt the snake of trepidation slither up my spine. Steeling myself, I said no. No! I will not allow my nerves and insecurities prevent me from loving those I am about to meet. I will not. I will walk in this place as daughter of the Most High God, and this time at least I will not let my shyness or nerves or reservations or whatever have any negative effect on my demeanor.
Exiting the corridor we entered a narrow market-street type alleyway. This is the prison? We walked several paces before it was confirmed. There were no bars or cells, not that I could see anyway. A plethora of shops lined the street, and there were men everywhere working and talking and meandering in and about them. They were making shoes or picture frames or fixing watches or tanning leather or cooking food. It was a marketplace. This was a veritable city within a city.
If I couldn't feel the eyes before I certainly felt them now. I struggled to uphold continuation of that resolved No of minutes before. I made eye contact with no one as I fought to maintain inner composure. We walked about fifty paces into the prison before turning into the Bible study room.
There were ten or so ladies there. About five to ten more trickled in later. They greeted us with smiles and the occasional "hola" or "hello". The message was on finding our identity in Christ. The faith of the women stood out to me; their surety in Christ.
I know what battles I would surely fight were I in their situation: depression, insecurity, apathy, hopelessness, defeatism... Their staunch resolve to fight these battles and their security in the Most High was incredible. It is a thing that I cannot put to words. Their answers to some of the questions as by the teacher was moving, for oh! That I had a faith such as this!
Afterwards we served them cake and pop. Conversations were non existent due to the language barrier, but there was a peace in the room that I felt despite the awkwardness. Leaving, we toured some of the men's prison. The women's was on lockdown for some reason so we were unable to enter that section.
I absorbed my surroundings with eagerness, lapping up as much information as I could. I was able to make limited eye contact now. Some of the eyes and smiles were kind, welcoming. Others hungry, staring deeply and intensely, a few steps from desperate. Only a surprisingly scattered few were angry or bitter. Most were curious; stubborn with an uninspired but dogged determination to live. Some ignored us altogether. I tried not to stare. I tried to exude real joy, not an elitist one. Lord knows if I succeeded.
The prison holds about 2000 inmates, but I only saw a small piece of it. They eating area is converted to a church after every meal. They have services every single night. The fire with which they worship Christ is said to be incredible. My biggest hope before leaving Honduras is to be able to attend one of the services. I'm so excited just thinking about it.
We left about an hour and a half after we'd arrived. Exiting the prison, a truck pulled up and we stopped to let it pass in front of us. About ten men in cuffs bounced up and down in the open truck bed as it maneuvered the curb, their faces and eyes void of expression. It stopped for a moment for the gate to open for entry. I got in Debora's car and we drove away, thoughts swirling rapidly in my head.
 |
| Enrique and I |
We gave him a ride to La Lima, dropping him off alone at a corner so he could walk the rest of the way to visit his sister. They mature so quickly here.
We continued on to San Pedro Sula. Debora parked us just in front of the truck gate, and I scanned the yellow wall as I exited the car. It reached approximately twenty feet in height with rolls of barbed wire encasing the top. Thievery is common here and any valuable property is typically encased in walls and wire, so the prison didn't stand out to me. The gate opened to let a truck enter, and we darted inside.
The courtyard was full of men and women in military uniforms, various civilians, trucks and delivery and passenger vans. Most pretended not to be watching us, but I could feel the eyes when we turned our backs.
We signed in, and followed our leader inside the prison. As we walked through a dark corridor I felt the snake of trepidation slither up my spine. Steeling myself, I said no. No! I will not allow my nerves and insecurities prevent me from loving those I am about to meet. I will not. I will walk in this place as daughter of the Most High God, and this time at least I will not let my shyness or nerves or reservations or whatever have any negative effect on my demeanor.
Exiting the corridor we entered a narrow market-street type alleyway. This is the prison? We walked several paces before it was confirmed. There were no bars or cells, not that I could see anyway. A plethora of shops lined the street, and there were men everywhere working and talking and meandering in and about them. They were making shoes or picture frames or fixing watches or tanning leather or cooking food. It was a marketplace. This was a veritable city within a city.
If I couldn't feel the eyes before I certainly felt them now. I struggled to uphold continuation of that resolved No of minutes before. I made eye contact with no one as I fought to maintain inner composure. We walked about fifty paces into the prison before turning into the Bible study room.
There were ten or so ladies there. About five to ten more trickled in later. They greeted us with smiles and the occasional "hola" or "hello". The message was on finding our identity in Christ. The faith of the women stood out to me; their surety in Christ.
I know what battles I would surely fight were I in their situation: depression, insecurity, apathy, hopelessness, defeatism... Their staunch resolve to fight these battles and their security in the Most High was incredible. It is a thing that I cannot put to words. Their answers to some of the questions as by the teacher was moving, for oh! That I had a faith such as this!
Afterwards we served them cake and pop. Conversations were non existent due to the language barrier, but there was a peace in the room that I felt despite the awkwardness. Leaving, we toured some of the men's prison. The women's was on lockdown for some reason so we were unable to enter that section.
I absorbed my surroundings with eagerness, lapping up as much information as I could. I was able to make limited eye contact now. Some of the eyes and smiles were kind, welcoming. Others hungry, staring deeply and intensely, a few steps from desperate. Only a surprisingly scattered few were angry or bitter. Most were curious; stubborn with an uninspired but dogged determination to live. Some ignored us altogether. I tried not to stare. I tried to exude real joy, not an elitist one. Lord knows if I succeeded.
The prison holds about 2000 inmates, but I only saw a small piece of it. They eating area is converted to a church after every meal. They have services every single night. The fire with which they worship Christ is said to be incredible. My biggest hope before leaving Honduras is to be able to attend one of the services. I'm so excited just thinking about it.
We left about an hour and a half after we'd arrived. Exiting the prison, a truck pulled up and we stopped to let it pass in front of us. About ten men in cuffs bounced up and down in the open truck bed as it maneuvered the curb, their faces and eyes void of expression. It stopped for a moment for the gate to open for entry. I got in Debora's car and we drove away, thoughts swirling rapidly in my head.
-----
Lord, give me a childlike faith that can move mountains and courage and faithfulness to speak to You and of You. I try but I cannot do it of my own accord.
I love You Lord. Help me to love You.
Comments
Post a Comment