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Charis Around
the World
Tidbits From Ebony
by Elizabeth Carmichael
What is it like to give birth in a prison?
Women's
prisons are a hot topic for Ebony. Of course, as in any society,
there are female criminals within the Ebony population for whom the
only reasonable, safe and humane option is imprisonment. The
question remains at large, however, whether women in those prisons
should reasonably be there, whether those prisons are safe or not,
and especially whether the conditions are humane. Often women serve
prison sentences for crimes they did not commit, or for situations
that would not be considered crimes in a developed society. If there
is no other option for their children, they raise them within the
prison as well. Women are treated quite harshly within the prison
walls and live on very little food, water, heating or other
amenities. They are sometimes left alone, but there are rumors
throughout the country that women's prisons are used by police and
prison guards for brothel-like services. Women are not always kind
to each other and there are no provisions for their safety.
They are viewed as animals who will do what they will and live and
die according to God's arbitrary desire. Sometimes compassionate
visitors are allowed to visit the prisons, especially if some
incentive is
given both to the prison and to the guards or wardens personally. Through these visits, women are able to share their stories.
Zari was washing clothes for her family. To do this, she must haul
water up a hill, save some of it for drinking, and pour the rest in
the wash basin. She must beg her husband to purchase soap for her,
usually a bar of lye. He would rather spend money on himself or the
little girl he has been paying for sexual services. One bar of soap
is an equivalent monetary worth to one service from her. This is a
battleground for Zari. Her religion teaches that, if at all
possible, her family should be clothed in clean cloth. She doesn't
want to go to hell. She doesn't want her two children to go to hell. She could really care less about her husband. Hmmm. God might send
her to hell just for thinking that. Better think about just washing
the clothes.
The wash basin is outside the house. When it is filled with water,
it is much too heavy for Zari to lift, even with the help of her
children. As they run about pretending to help her with her work,
she wonders how such beautiful creatures could have come from such
sinful parents. Zari crouches on the ground, squatting with her feet
flat to the dirt and her bottom touching her heels. This is the
position of work for a woman, and we all know it's a position of
release for every human. In Ebony, men and women are extremely
flexible. They have been squatting like this from before their legs
were used for walking.
After nearly an hour of washing, Zari's husband rushed in through
the courtyard gate, out of breath and sweaty.
"The police are coming," he says.
Zari slowly stands up, her back aching.
Just then two other men burst through the door. Zari recognizes them
as men from the neighborhood. They point at her husband.
"That's him!" they shout. "He killed my little niece and put her
body in our family well!"
Zari's eyes widen with horror. She can't hear anything else going on
anymore. She glares at her husband in rage that is overcoming her senses.
Suddenly her shoulders are being tightly squeezed and her husband is
looking at her intently. She has hardly ever seen fear in his eyes
before, but she sees it now. As he begins to speak, the fear turns
to commanding control, ambition, insistence.
"You will tell them you killed her. You were jealous and you killed
her. You put her body in the well in your shame. You will tell them
or I will go to prison and you will starve to death. Think of your
children. How will they eat?? When you go to prison, the sentence
will be shorter, the judgment will be lighter. You are a betrayed wife. Of course it will be lighter. I will visit you and
bring our children and then you will be free and we will live. If
you don't do this, we will all die."
It was settled in the courtroom of his mind. The mind of a pedophile
and murderer.
When the police came, her husband wasted no time explaining that his
wife had confessed to the murder. When they asked her, she only
nodded. They took her away roughly.
To her knowledge, she has not had a trial. Ten years have passed
now. She never saw a judge, either in federal or religious court. Her husband brought her children twice. Now she hears they have a
new mother and do not live in the city anymore.
Now she is alone.
_______________
"I can't feel my legs, there is too much pain in my belly," says the
fourteen year old girl from the prison floor. The guard is standing
over her. All she can see are his heavy, black boots.
The children of other prisoners run around in circles, squealing,
and then run out the door of the room. What a relief that they are
gone. "Ohhhhh....but, I don't want to be alone with him," she thinks
as she curls up in a ball against the pain.
This guard, however, has very little interest in abusing her. He is
worried about her, but does not know if she will live or die through
this childbirth. Better not to let his heart get attached. Better
not to allow compassion to rule his thinking.
"Somebody help this woman! She is very ill! Old lady! Grandmother!!! You! Go in there and don't leave until you see the outcome of this
sickness!" he yells across the outer courtyard of the Women's
Prison.
The young mother cries out in pain and rolls on her back to her
right side, facing the wall. As the old grandmother walks in the
room, she starts shouting commands that will not end until this
labor is over.
"Get up! Get on your feet! What are you doing? This isn't how you do
it!"
The young mother hates her body and she does not believe that a
human life is coming out. It is a tree that wants to come out of
her. An ugly tree. It scrapes against her insides and pokes her in
her bottom
like a big trunk just stuck inside her, torturing her. She wants to
die so the tree will die. She is the soil of this tree and she wants
the soil to crack and let the tree out. She wants the soil to slide
away like when the snow slides down the mountains. Maybe she can become a mountain. Trees don't grow at the top of mountains.
Now the old woman has her hands on the young mother's body.
"What the heck is going on?" the mother thinks to herself.
"I hate you!!!" she yells at the old lady, to which there is no
acknowledgement nor reply.
Ugh. This tree is coming out and she can't think of anything
else. She feels a familiar sense of pain and resistance in parts of
her body she was barely familiar with less than a year ago. She
feels overtaken and consumed. Just like she felt when many men....
Why did they do that? She is nothing, that's why. She is dirt.
The stupid tree is halfway out, but now the old lady is making her
sit up higher instead of laying on her back. The young mother grabs
the pile of blankets in front of her, falls forward on her knees as
the tree is expelled and buries her face in the filthy cushions so
that she can scream as long as she wants without interruption.
Throughout the labor, other prisoners and children have come and
gone from the room, watching, saying a quick prayer over the girl,
looking longingly at the process and remembering the births of their
children--safe at home, in the context of a secure family. Where did
that life go?
Zari knows this young mother. She was brought to prison because her father tried to kill her. There is no need for that. A woman will
go to hell for becoming pregnant before marriage. Zari is glad that
she knows so much about her religion. She feels a sense of calm
because of her knowledge. There is no need to kill the girl and send
her to hell early. She can practice for hell in here.
After her rape, and her family's betrayal, the government brought
this young mother to prison in order to protect her life. She has
received no medical or psychological care. The old woman who helps
her deliver a healthy baby boy is the kindest, most attentive care
she has received in a year.
Finally, the prison of her pregnancy is finished.
_______________
Zari has never seen a woman with yellow hair and blue eyes before. She looks like a ghost. Or, an angel.
"The foreign women have come to talk to us," says one of the
prisoners.
Zari wants to talk. She wants to see these women. What are they
like? What will they ask her? What will they do for her?
"This is my son," says Zari and she hands the 10 month old boy to
Yellow Hair. She doesn't understand what the lady says to her and to
him, but the ghostie blue eyes seem pleased.
Zari tells the translator that the real birth mother of the boy is
over there. She points across the room to a very young girl with a
blank expression on her face.
The translator asks how he came to be her son and Zari, looking over
at the girl, says, "I just took him. He needed a mother. I lost my
children and he lost his mother before he was born."
Zari is encouraged by the visit of the foreign women who listen to
the stories of prisoners. But, she didn't need them. She has a son
now. This is her life.
She is happy to have warm water to bathe in this winter, though.
"Thank you, Foreign Women."
Our International Charis
Family
Your stories from around the world touch us and we pray for your
safety.
Thanks, Love and Blessings to every one of you! |
