FRIEND IN UNFRIENDLY PLACES

“Where are you from?” He asked, trying to intimidate me with his look.

“Miami.” I replied, somewhat proudly.

“Listen well…I can help you get a good place in here but you’ll need some money, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t have any right now but I can get some in a few days. Listen, is it possible to take me to Barahona?”

“You know Barahona?”

“Yeah. He’s a friend of mine.”

The man turned to Chicho, “Take this guy to Hall A.”

“O.K.”

Before I could be escorted, Caliber .45 advised me.

“Listen good…you’re going to the best place in this junk, but as I said, you’ll need money. If you don’t come up with 500 dollars in a few days, you’ll be transferred to Viet-Nam, the worst area.” He almost whispered, “Do you understand?”

“Don’t worry…I’ll get the money.”

I left with three of his lieutenants.

Daytime had already vanished, and the surrounding calm surprised me.

The country was having problems with the electrical power and the prison’s only light was coming from a single generator fed by gas that they kept outside.

As we walked through Hall A., complete darkness invaded us. It took my eyes a few seconds to get acclimated to the light that was coming from the 13 cells that were lit by candles.

Fumes from the wax were heavily concentrated and the smell was intense. The heat was enough to make my shirt stick to my sweaty body, making it look like I had double skin. I asked myself: “How could this be the best area in the prison?” And “How bad could the worse area be?”

We got to cell #7 and Chicho peeked through the iron bars to see if he could get someone’s attention. Nothing could be seen so he squatted and struck an inmate asking him for a candle. The man got up and obediently offered him one.

Chicho inserted a key into the lock and opened the heavy door, ordering me to go in.

Everything was so dark that it was hard for me to make my way through without stepping on the countless of bodies spread throughout.

On each side of the wall, there were tents called “Goletas” made out of bed sheets where the “most privileged” slept privately.

The smell of marihuana combined with the intoxicating odor of sweat made me sick but, my good sense forced me to block it off so that I wouldn’t vomit on them.

I noticed a lit candle a few meters away so I used it to guide me across the cell.

Armando, a man in his 40’s, who looked to be just skin and bones, was heating up some heroin over a spoon.

“Hey man…I’m looking for a man named Barahona. Do you know where he is?”

The man looked at me with bulging and empty eyes and signaled to a corner.

“It’s that man sleeping over there.”

Without a second thought, and in his semi-conscious state, still holding on to courtesy as a way of maintaining his humanity in that God awful place, I suppose, Armando got up and led me through the crowded space until we reached the end, where a huge body slept.

 

TRANSIT TO PURGATORY

As soon as the inmates got on the bus, a chaotic frenzy erupted.

I was hand-cuffed like the others, attached by the wrists and ankles to someone else, making it extremely difficult for any kind of mobility.

Families on both sides of the bus were calling out goodbyes, maybe for the last time, to their loved ones. Some of them were passing alcohol disguised in O.J. cartons to those sitting by the windows. The police knew what was going on but they just turned a blind eye.

There was only capacity for 40 but they managed to squeeze in 80 of us.

The heat, the body odor, the sweat, the screams, the mix of it all, created a stench and an unbearable suffocation hard to contain.

Minutes later the driver started the engine, releasing strong fumes from the diesel. Some policemen were seated in the front while others sat in the back. They were divided by a steel fence.

The bus left the city traveling along a dusty narrow road. In front of the bus, a V.W. Beetle with 5 armed men guided us through the traffic.

The island breeze coming through the half opened windows, felt good on my face.  I could only enjoy this for a split second because things got really ugly when four men managed to remove their hand-cuffs and began robbing some of the guys sitting next to them. They were able to release their cuffs and come loose with a thin razor blade, something I found quite astounding.

Once again, an eruption of confusion and ruckus ensued as the prisoners struggled with each other. The police simply ignored them, looking onward without a care in the world. To them, the spectacle was amusing and something they were used to seeing on a constant basis.

I found out later that those assaulters had not yet been sentenced, making their captivity a 3 year ordeal. It is no wonder I thought, they acted out-of-control. When things grow dim and any sense of hope is lost, the mind and spirit of a man can be broken. Intolerance is the only thing left of him.

As we approached our destination, I could see the decaying huge fort-like building. Its massive structure eclipsed the sun as it settled into the horizon.

“What’s that over there?” I asked the guy chained to me.

He smiled wryly before responding.

“That’s hell my friend. Hell.”

I knew what he meant by that: LA PENITENCIARIA NACIONAL DE LA VICTORIA.

LIVING AMONG SOUL-LESS FOOLS

How can people have no empathy, and regard themselves as humans? This is the question I asked myself when I saw two guys rape a young man who had arrived the night before. Not one guard came to his rescue.

I was living among 100 criminals full of rage and unimaginable behavior. They dare do anything to satisfy their sick and psychopathic “itch,” inflicting physical and permanent mental scars on their victims.

Sun-down had arrived when I looked through the skylight above us and everybody started to take their place around the hot floor, claiming ownership of their small territory for the night.

Angelo had found me an area that was at least 2 feet by 2 feet where I could sit and rest my head. It was hard to sleep given the “night-owls” who fought with each other over crack-cocaine. The

desperate and painful screams of another young man being raped was also a feat to shut out of your head.

Throughout the night, the intense marijuana and cigarette smoke covered us like a blanket that made it impossible to breath.

I might have slept no more than an hour when I heard the noise of the chain being pulled from the iron door.

“Tony Roca.” The Sergeant shouted as he stepped inside with two other guards.

I immediately got up. “Yeah…it’s me.”

“It looks like you’re leaving.” Angelo muttered.

I walked through the crowd until I made it to the door.

“Yes, Sir.”

“C’mon…you’re going someplace else.”

“Where?”

“You’ll be going to the best cell.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Your friend in there paid for your spot.”

At first I was kind of skeptical. After-all, trusting the police was dangerous. You never knew what they had up their sleeves.

Bu, I thought, “What could be worse than this?”

The Sergeant slammed the door behind us and we walked down the long corridor.

The concrete floor was cold on my bare feet, the humidity was suffocating, but at least I was out of that inferno.