The Walk...

Six A.M. is early, but we had a ways to go before the Sun really showed up and slowed us up.  Walking and talking with the young adults and a couple of youth made me forget the thoughts of guards and guns and unfriendly ones...

After an hour or more we came around a bend and there it was!  The prison of Fogo.  I looked at the wall.  In places, it is the height I dreamed of jumping over on field day when I was in 5th grade.  I loved field day...the  last day of school, the ONE day of the year when we could wear 'slacks' to school, and run and jump, and win ribbons, and have our very own package of Hostess Twinkies.  WHAT?  A Prison wall the height of an average 11 year old?  I have got to see this!  Just then,  Paulino cut his foot on a rock, so Pres. Benedict took him back to Sao Filipe about the time they opened the front gate of the 'Prison'. 

An English Garden gate would be more decorative... and perhaps more secure!  I looked around, was it just me or...

I might have giggled a bit...but the guard at the front gate told us not to take any photos inside the prison and the men and women were separated and things took on a serious tone.  It makes sense that they would scan us for dangerous materials, and I did a quick personal pre-scan hoping that I did not have keys, or any pins holding anything together underneath.  The woman were asked, a few at a time, into a room.  Two young wide-eyed sisters pressed toward me for confidence.  I couldn't let them down.  "Come on," I said, "we'll do this together!"   The guard apologized that they did not have machines, and so she would have to do a pat down.   I was in a movie, right?

I mentioned to her that the only things that I had carried in were the Liahonas (Ensigns) and Livro de Mormons and I placed them on the dusty cockroachy type table as I spread my arms in the air.  "You are welcome to have one of the Liahonas!" I tried to lighten the mood and much to my happiness, the warden lady decided that yes, perhaps, she would like one!  I gave her a choice of April, last November, or the January edition.  "My husband and I would like to come to your home some evening and talk with you if you'd like." I said.

Next, we were lead to a place in the middle of the courtyard where we sat on wooden benches that formed a large circle, and we waited for the prisoners.  When they came, I had to remind myself that we were not in Sunday School.  Each one, came around the circle and shook each of our hands saying: "Bom Dia!" (Good Morning!) Como Vai?  Muito Bem, Obrigado! (How are you?  Very good, Thanks!) until everyone had assured everyone that we were all good... as was the morning.  And then...the most incredible thing happened.  We sang: "I am a Child of God."  I noticed that a couple, of the 20 or so prisoners, sang with us.  Then two of the young adults gave talks...not your normal...we are happy to be here and have a good day talks...

The talks were about heavy duty repentance.  About changing our lives and becoming a new creature. I looked around again.  Most of the prisoners were nodding their heads.  There were two who seemed disconcerted that we would give out Book of Mormons and Ensign Magazines...because we did!  Each prisoner chose what he would most want to read.   "You have time here to read!" was met with laughter.   Our young men then shared scriptures; they spoke of forgiveness and the Plan of Happiness.  Then they asked me to share my feelings.  I could hear words coming from my mouth that I know to be true.  Each one of us is loved with a specific and amazing love...and each of us can choose what we want forever.  And it is not too late.  And after we sang another song, we ended with a prayer and most every head was bowed. It's during these times and these kind of prayers that I bend down to use the hem of my blouse to wipe the tears off my chin.  It was a singular experience for me

Pres. Benedict came back soon, with Paulino and his stitches, to join in the fun.  Everyone played soccer or took turns with the one set of UNO cards that we brought from the youth center and the checkers and board (one piece missing, but we use a pawn from the chess set that no one knows how to play and so it is all good).  I took some magazines to the two men that were not happy with our visit and learned that they do not speak Portuguese, they grew up in and were deported back here from America due to drugs... and they would like to read something in English.  I promised them, in English, that we would bring an English Liahona. which we did a few days later.  The thing I remember was the kindness of the prisoners as they sincerely thanked us for our visit.

It was a hot and long walk back...but we love these young people so much. When we stopped to share some crackers, bread, and juice.  I finally had to ask.  Why don't the prisoners just jump over that little wall or open the gate?   What keeps them from escaping?  I have thought about the simple answer for 4 months now: "Everyone knows them...where would they go?"

Since our visits at the Prison, I think about the eyes of some of the people there.  I think about what they might have been through and what they are learning in the sun day after day.  At times, I wish I could go high jump over the wall or open the gate wide and shout: "I don't remember your past...you are all free...come over for soup and sandwiches on your way back home!  Let's all start over fresh."

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...We can... you know.