Trip to the desert: Visiting my nephew in prison

OK, it's been awhile, but yesterday we went to see my nephew in prison. Last year, he was sentenced for 25 years-to-life, so he and we are at the beginning of this journey. He is 25 years old with a 3 year old daughter. And he's locked away so far in the desert, if he even tried to escape he would be toast in five minutes.

For a half hour, we drove through beautiful scenery then through majestic Forest. For the next three hours, we wound our way through mountains of boulders, then hills of rock, then more rocks, smaller rocks and finally sand. We passed Indian reservations, and wouldn't see a house for tens of miles.

Now off the freeway, my sister remarks "Wow, the weather is actually nice." She has been before when it was 123 degrees in this place, which is 51 miles from Arizona. It can get up to 130. She said "When you are walking, it feels like a wall of heat takes your breath away. My nephew, who is only allowed out of his cell for one hour a day, said he felt as if he is baking alive. There is no airconditioning and no electric fans are allowed.

In the parking lot, its hot and bright, but bearable. My sister does a check of her daughters. "No metal underwires in your bra right?" Last time, she had one on and they refused to let her in so she went back to her car and with her cigarette lighter, burned the fabric to make a hole to slip the underwire out. That is now her "prison bra" she wears each time.

"Take off your belly ring, lip ring and nose ring , now!" she snaps at her oldest grown daughter. "It's not allowed! And put on this t-shirt. That top won't get you in."

When we step inside the intake area, we join the line of other hapless souls visiting their loved ones. Getting in is a trip. You are allowed a plastic bag or see-through pouch, up to 31 single dollar bills, up to 10 photos, one car key (no alarm) and your I.D. You can wear glasses, a ring and one pair of earrings. That's it. No blue, no denim, no khaki, no see through anything and what will get you in one time may not the next.

One niece was rejected because you could see her bra strap through the neck of her oversized T-shirt. The other had on a bra that had metal strap adjusters. They both had to go out to another facility, have the metal cut out and the straps retied, and my other niece was given a smaller shirt to conceal her bra strap. If that did not work they could not go in because you have to have a bra on. I said "What about the ittie bittie tittie people?" The guard dryly looked at me and said "every woman must wear a bra or she is not getting in."

Everything you have on is counted and recounted 5 times by 5 different people: when you arrive, when you leave to go see your loved one, when you enter the visiting area, when you leave the visiting area, then when you leave for good. And still, my nephew talked about guys smoking weed. How can you get anything in? Even if it was inserted in a body orifice, you can't get it out. And inmates are forced to strip with a body cavity search after each visit. Makes one wonder: If we, the public are screened, and the inmates are screened, that leaves...


Finally, we all pass muster. We walk down this long colorless, shadeless road. My nieces, who are beautiful twenty-somethings, hear someone rapping on the windows as they pass. They think it is their brother. I think it's just guys who see a mirage in the desert.

We go inside and are screened again. Once inside, we are instructed to go to Table 10. That's where we wait at this table that makes us feel like we are back in kindergarten. And still no nephew. Well, word is he is looking for some shoes. Apparently, they have prison issued shoes and his white chucks are not allowed in the visiting room, so he is desperately trying to borrow some. (Weeks ago he had complained that the big ugly brown shoes he was now wearing hurt his feet so he was issued the white chucks.)

When he comes, in he spots us, but his eyes continue to survey the room. We all embrace as he approaches and then he holds court with us for the next few hours. He is so happy to see us because even though he calls collect often, he hasn't had a visit since June and it is October. He laughs uncomfortably and says he feels like he is on a first date with butterflies and all. After all, it's his Mom, his sisters and his aunt, the women who love him best.

We ask "why do you keep looking around the room?" He says "it's because I need to know what other homies are in the room and who can see me." He explains that he is fasting for Ramadan and since we are there and he can eat out of the vending machines (that's why the 31 dollars) he wants to know who will go back and tell.

His conversation was understandably from his experience. Run-ins and beat downs from guards (early on), news about his cellie, and how he got in trouble with the black inmates for sharing something he had with a Latino inmate he had known outside.

As he talked and reminisced, I observed the other families at other tables playing checkers or connect four, drinking Gatorade and eating chicken wing parts out of the vending machines. We are mostly black and Latino with a smattering of whites. There are three seats in front of glass to visit those who cannot come out into the waiting area for more serious infractions.

Some couples are in constant motion, walking in circles around the fenced in courtyard, walking and talking and walking and talking. Others get their photos taken by an inmate with a polished shaved head.

We buy him a soda, and he takes our picture with the little state issued Polaroid and we marvel as we come slowly into focus.

Nephew flirts across the room with his eyes at the sister of another inmate. He asks his sisters to get her number, which they flatly refuse.

I long for my video camera to capture the scene. My nephew is telling some pretty raunchy stories of his life on the streets and in prison. I send him books but somehow even with the long days, he doesn't read them through the end.

His hair is neatly cornrowed. His sister asked "Whose legs did you sit between to get your hair braided?" He swore "the homie did it standing up." My nephew is handsome, chiseled face, red brown skin, neatly trimmed goatee and pearlwhite teeth. He doesn't look like he should be in for 25 to life. And he shouldn't be. But his crisp denim blue shirt and his blue jeans are printed with huge letters that say "PRISONER."

The scene I cannot get out of my mind is the final scene when it is 3 p.m. and we have to go out and they have to go back in. Everyone couple jumps up and begins this mad tongue kissing! I have seen kissing on TV with the young and the beautiful, but to see old couples, misshapen people --some with their hair not done--kissing and tonguing each other down to the adenoids, I am fascinated. My eyes turn away from one couple only to rest on another. I don't know where to look. No excessive touching is allowed, but this last parting kiss I guess is allowed because no one yells at them, while they line us up and corral the prisoners. It goes on long and deep.

We just hug our nephew, son and brother and release and let him go. We have to wait in a long single file while the inmates are locked out on the courtyard. The guards check our paper work and as we file past the courtyard, the inmates hover around the slim openings in the covered chain links, peering out. There is this cacophony of call and response : "I love you!" "Keep ya head up", and other things until we are out of earshot and view.

Then, in the hot sun, we are herded into pens, 40 people at a time while our ID's are checked one last time. When that group dwindles down, the gate opens for the next. Then we emerge, one by one.

Strangely, there are few tears. Everyone is drained. It is a routine we are all locked into for the duration, for periods of time so long your mind can hardly wrap around the concept. I feel for my sister because that is her child and her only son. She works long and hard to get him the things he needs: the collect calls are exhorbitant and MCI has the monopoly, then he needs food, toiletries, tennis shoes, and when the inmates take pictures she has to pay for those, too. If she wants him to have a TV, she must send it (of course, it will have a see through case.) And people think they are 100% supported by the state.

My future podcast will actually show you more than my words can tell...at least up to the parking lot...no cameras, or even cell phones were allowed after that.

And that was my trip to a place I hope you will tell your sons and daughters they never need to go.