Remembering those we sometimes forget

Four years ago i set foot inside my first prison, the walls were narrow and the gates were high.  I remember the smell of stale air, a sense of hopelessness and the looks of the people saying the same thing. 

I walked in, filled with a bit of fear and a tinge of excitement because i have always wondered if South African prisons are like the ones in movies. It was nothing like the movies; the reality was far worse.

Even though I got to go home after every session, to this day I remember many of their stories.

Some there for crimes that they committed some for the sins of other and many silenced by gangs and the false sense of brotherhood it provides. There I witnessed how fast innocents can be stolen and easily freedom can be forgotten.

The youngest boy was 9, there for murdering someone with a butcher’s knife after being beaten countless times. The oldest 18 there for rape and murder after being so high, he had to prove a point of being “the man” to his friends.

Many of the stories i have heard resonates with me as i look around my surroundings and see the daily fight for survival. Many of them did not ask for the hand that they were dealt, some abandoned to a life on the street with no food or shelter. I am sadden when i think how many of them had their first encounter with the law for taking a bread without having the money to pay for it. Whenever i walk by a child on the street homeless and alone my heart bleeds because i remember the stories of how it began for many of them.

In my four years i have worked with hundreds of young men and women in conflict with the law and sadly many of them will never know true freedom because in prison a different death occurs. It is not the kind known every day by you and me, it is a death of the soul, a death of dreams and hopes because they go to jail as innocents, as children and there they learn a life of gangsterism.

My plea is simple; the next time you see a child on the street begging a hand out give them a meal. The next time you see a young man slipping through the cracks lend them a hand.