Listen to thisIn 2001, I packed up my life here in the United
States and shifted to Cape Town, South Africa where I volunteered at two
different residential youth homes. When my own culture shock had hit
it's lowest point, I needed an escape. So, I took off for a solo journey
across South Africa, which took me to places like Port Elizabeth, King
William's Town, East London, Durban, and Johannesburg. While in King
William's Town, I was greeted with wonderful hospitality from the staff
of a youth home there, the King William's Town Youth Care Centre. Though
this story is merely one example of my many outrageous occurrences while
on that journey, it lends itself to two lessons: (1) smoking is bad for
your health and (2) youth work is more than ups and downs with youth
alone – it involves all who are somehow connected to youth, including
adult bystanders (even if they are incarcerated):
Smoking is bad for your health
The staff at the King William's Town Youth Care Centre requested that I
shadow them during a visit to the Federal Prison in town. Many have not
yet heard this story – a story forever plastered to my cerebrum and one
that would surely trouble my parents if disclosed before now.
The King William's Town Federal Prison holds both young inmates and
adult inmates side-by-side. In an attempt to make these inmates
employable upon their possible release (particularly for youth),
vocational training takes place. A group of young men from the prison,
who had recently completed a leather making training, which was provided
in part by the youth care centre staff, were receiving certificates; the
staff asked me to come along as they congratulated these young men.
A craft – any small vocational skill – is highly important to many
disenfranchised South Africans. If a poor individual is able to learn
leather making, wood sculpting, or metal work, they become employable in
a country with an enormous unemployment rate, particularly for young
people. The latest figures show that over 62% of all economically active
youth in South Africa are unemployed (about 70% African youth, 41%
Coloured youth, and 11% White youth are unemployed).
I had assumed the celebration for the leather-making group was going to
occur in a protected room, outside the prison. Nope! In South Africa, at
a mid-level security prison, I was forced to walk directly into the
prison, past cells, offices, bathrooms, and more – where there was no
glass, nor walls or bars separating the inmates from myself. I had with
me, a small bag filled with money, a passport, cigarettes, keys, a
camera, and more. I walked directly into the courtyard, where about 100
inmates sat in lined seats like church pews, facing a wall where the
certificates would be distributed. We walked in from the back. As I
walked forward directly through the crowd, heads turned as if I was the
bride of a wedding. Up to the very front we went. There in front, were
VIP seats awaiting us – one hundred inmates heads behind me – breathing
on my back. The ceremony was
quick and to-the-point.
After the show, I wanted out ... out ... out! A few of the inmates,
thinking I was an American hero of some sort, asked if I would take a
picture of them – about three of them. Before I snapped the picture, the
group of three turned into about twenty – peace signs high in the air. A
few of the inmates were seriously interested in me and two of them
wanted to be pen-pals with their new American friend. I took down their
address and quickly thought about mailing them a cake, nail file
included.
Looking around, I noticed myself, by myself. The rest of the youth care
staff were bouncing around the crowd talking to the inmates they knew,
highly unconcerned about my well-being. Piercing over a swarm of
inmate's heads, I could see the prison Chaplain light up a smoke. God
bless the Chaplain. A cigarette ... yes ... a cigarette. Nothing could
be better than a cigarette at that very moment of pure terror. I'd calm
down. I'd fit in. I'd
have an excuse to talk to the Chaplain rather than the inmates. So, I
dodged and swished through the crowd, over to the Chaplain:
"Is it OK to have a cigarette?” I asked the Chaplain.
After a quick “yes,” I pulled one out of my bag and the Chaplain kindly
lit it for me; kindly, he walked away. Still by myself, I sucked down my
cigarette as quickly as possible in the most discrete manner. I could
see a few of the youth care staff members about twenty feet away. I
decided I would move their way. One step, two steps...just then, I was
stopped by an inmate:
“Could I have a cigarette?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
SURE? I must have lost my ill-fated and disaster-prone mind. Just as I
handed him the cigarette, like a pack of dogs to a chunk of raw meat, I
had five more inmates begging me for a smoke. In my humanitarian way, I
took out my entire pack of cigarettes, put it out in front of me, and
said
"Here! But you all need to share because there are not many left.”
RIOT! RIOT! RIOT!
There was pushing, yelling, anger, and severe “nic-fitting.” The
cigarettes went flying into the air as inmates reached and dived for
them. Some hit the ground, breaking, and others were torn apart by the
inmates who battled each other for whatever was left. I could see it all
happen before me in slow motion. My body tightened up in fear. My head
was dripping wet with the pins and needles of panic-perspiration. One of
the inmates grabbed me and pushed me aggressively from the mob. He
dragged me to where the youth care staff were preparing to leave.
Calmly, we left.
We landed in a prison office where “thank you” treats were being served
to our party. The incident was never mentioned!
As the youth care staff enjoyed sweet treats and mini-sausages, I
politely cleaned out my shorts, and smoked nearly an entire pack of
cigarettes that were yet hiding in my bag before I started a riot with
my previously open, very empty, pack of cigarettes.
