MyTimeToBlog
The prison population has a diverse group of incarcerated men at Nottoway Correction Center. My housing unit has a Vietnamese, a Guatemalan, a Dominican, an Australian, an Indian, a Haitian, Whites, Blacks, even a Cambodian Rastafarian. We live in a small enclosure daily, and we make it work.
I sat in the day room last night, recognizing that I didn't know four of the men's names. I have spoken with them, but their names escape me. When I thought about that, I asked myself why? You see, we live together, and in a sense, they're my family, so out of respect, I should learn their names.
As incarcerated men, we spend more time with each other than our loved ones. Day in, day out. I know who gets up early and sits in the day room all day. Those who sleep most mornings. Others are extremely loud. I know all this, and it's not because some prison crap like who's dangerous that I must avoid them--were stuck in a box, so as the days progress, everything is on repeat, for years.
The Vietnamese that resided in the housing unit with me speaks little English. He is polite, but also has a giant tattoo on his forehead like a Buddha monk. He had it done since I had been in the unit with him. The crazy thing was the day he did it, it made him stand out even more. Even so, he smiled when asking us for help with getting things explained to a correction officer. I did that for him more than once. Since I did, he made me a Vietnamese dish with peanuts, rice, eggs, carrots, green peppers and a spicy red sauce that wasn't bad.
We have this Australian that is crazy as hell. He digs in the trash and removes the empty soda bottles, bowls and empty chip bags. Why? I never asked. His celly--a biker--said he's extremely rich. In the cell were laundry bags of food, but he rather eats off the discarded trays. In truth, he was homeless at one point. Now the interesting part about him was that he's the best Frisbee player I've ever seen in my life; he can launch three of them in the air, catching them as they miraculously return to him. He also placed a note on a pile of dog poop one day: My life is s#@t.
The Haitian in my unit is religious. Every time we see one another, I'm saying, "God bless you. How is your day?" He'll respond, "Blessed," then he'll ask me the same. He also wears a face mask all day. COVID-19 has made him worry about germs, which is his right...but it took me nearly a year to see what he looked like without the mask on.
We have many Latinos in my unit. A little person named Freddie always bounced around us smiling. He rarely speaks, but when he does, it's something that'll make you laugh. I live next door to him and his celly Chavez. Chavez is the leader of their community. He makes sure that if any problems show up, he'll handle it like a politician.
The Whites in the unit are Aryans, Wiccans, Bikers and young kids trying to survive. One of the Aryans is my little brother. Crazy, but true. He and I met at another prison (Augusta Correction Center), where I sold him some photos of Instagram models. We bonded due to the transfer to Nottoway, growing close because his leader of the Aryans was a former workout partner back in the day. You're like how are you socializing with a hate group? I'm Tut.
Prison is a diverse world, but learning how to navigate it is what makes me a unique person. I'm a genuine brother who doesn't judge. I learn who you are at the core, and that's where I see these men: their character. That's why an AB (Aryan Brotherhood member) can call me a friend and vice versa. We see each other on a different level. Now it has come with its controversy, but I handle that with diplomacy. Violence doesn't happen like in the movies, most time it's pulling someone aside and having a conversation.
I've lived in here (prison) for 26 years. I ran across some interesting men. As I have, I never seen color, affiliation, or sexual preference. We even have a transgender in the housing unit. I treat her as I want to be treated; do unto others as you want them to do unto you; I follow the Bible's powerful words and I always will.
Prison is a world that I thrive in. I am a social butterfly, and as such, I recognized that this is home until I get free. I am friends with Bloods, Crips, Gays, Weirdos, the Depressed, Broken, and many others. They've become a part of my life, and I'm grateful for all their interactions, because they showed me that being isolated doesn't help. Why? Weecy Wiggins.
A transgender who was afraid to go home and be around her family because they weren't doing anything with their lives. She cried to me about this issue. I shared that you fought the prison over your sexuality more than once, and won. So an enemy you know can't defeat you. She wiped her tears away, then I was transferred. A year later I received an email from Weecy. She said, "I wrote you to say thank you for your advice." I smiled. She was free, working, in love and best of all, in college not worrying about her family.
When you fear the unknown, you can miss out on what's around you: a diverse group of interesting people.