52 Weeks of Impact

I mirrored S‘s actions, approached the guard station and traded in my Green Card i.d. for the prison pass that I hung around my neck. We silently moved to the bank of small locker boxes and stowed away everything except a pencil and a few sheets of paper. Led by a young prison guard, we turned left, then right (or was it right, then left?) down narrow passages. We passed another guard office enclosed in glass, along a wall of one-way surveillance mirrors, through a series of locked heavy metal doors, into a secured elevator and down to a prisoner area. To relieve some of my tension, I asked S questions, but oddly, only dared to speak in whispers. I tried to act nonchalant, but I was nervous. I’d been in a prison once before, many years ago when working on a documentary film. But that time, I was surrounded by a bevy of camera- and sound-men and a producer. This time was a lot more intimate and “real.”

Some weeks ago, when S (a woman I know through a local women’s organization) said that she did prison visits to teen and young adult Nigerian immigrants, I jumped at the chance to accompany her. I though, “that could be a good 52 Weeks of Impact effort.” I didn’t know why and it wasn’t clear to me what Impact I could actually bring, but it felt right. As we approached the prison meeting room, I admit I felt just a bit uncertain over my enthusiasm.

Altogether, S and I met with four young men. Though no specifics were discussed, it was clear that these fellows had gotten involved in some “questionable business practices” (my interpretation and quotes) which led to their incarceration. One of the fellows was completing his sentence and is scheduled to be released next week; the others were still awaiting trial. But the conversation about why they were in prison was brief. That wasn’t what this visit was about.

Yes, these fellows had allegedly committed crimes and if so, must face the consequences. But, along with being prisoners and alleged criminals, they are also human beings. Because they are illegal immigrants (it was clear that at least three of the four fellows were illegal), they don’t exist beyond the walls of their prison. Their current best friends are ones they share prison space with, their families are some 3,000 miles away in Nigeria (and in some cases, their families have no idea where they are), any friends on the outside are likely illegal as well, so couldn’t possibly consider visiting. Add that most everyone else around them doesn’t speak English, and their isolation is increased manyfold. S and I are likely the only visitors they have had or will have.

We talked a bit of their homeland, and the new Nigerian president. S is knowledgeable of the country’s geography and social structure, and she conversed naturally with the fellows about traditional and modern tribal differences and the importance of the Ibo (one of the largest ethnic groups in Nigeria). I certainly learned a lot. And, we talked of chapters in their lives: One young man spoke of his travels (assumedly smuggled aboard a ship) from Nigeria to a still unknown destination somewhere in Europe, then via ground transportation where he ended up, as he said, “by providence” in Austria. Another fellow said he had not left Nigeria by his own choice and as soon as his “personal problems were solved”, he would do everything he could to return to his country.

And, of course, we talked about one of the the most popular world news subjects. Though Nigeria is out of the running, these fellows remain fans of the World Cup competition and we argued good-naturedly over who would make the final match and who would be 2010 champs (I, personally, have high hopes for Germany, but my expectation is either The Netherlands or Brazil). We laughed and teased at each other’s predictions. It wasn’t unlike the exchanges I’ve had with Nils and friends across a dinner table or at a bar.

Perhaps for moments during the hour, these young men were able to forget that they are imprisoned in a country where they don’t yet speak the language, where they are (a surprise to some on arrival) required to have work permits and green cards, where the food is strange and where they feel people look at them with suspicion. Perhaps for moments, they remembered that they are human beings with opinions and ideas and dreams and hopes just like everyone else — that they exist.

I hope I was able to leave something behind because I went away with a lot. Though I am naturally empathetic to the challenges faced by immigrants seeking better lives elsewhere (my grandparents  immigrated to the U.S. at the end of the 1800s with visions of sidewalks paved in gold), I admit that this visit certainly changed — for the better — some of my preconceived notions about illegal immigrants and young offenders.

And that’s the Impact that occurred this week.