Prison Feeding Program

I’m sitting in my bedroom thinking about the day that’s past. After getting out of the shower I can still smell the prison on me. I don’t know if the smell gets in my nose or if the memories are just so strong I remember the smell. Either way, I plan on smelling it for the rest of the day. It was my first trip to the prison since I’ve been back in Haiti. It was also our first time feeding the prisoners a hot meal.  Everything went well. Everyone got something to eat, and more importantly everyone was able to listen to a message about Jesus.

We started cooking around 8:00am. We prepared rice and beans with a Haitian sauce to pour over them. We didn’t know exactly how many people we were going to serve but we were guessing around, 130.  Haitian food takes hours to make. We worked all morning and half of the afternoon. We were cooking over a charcoal fire and making everything from scratch.  It was almost 2:00 by the time we finished. Once we were finished we started putting the rice in individual containers to pass out when we arrived. With every scoop I began to worry. “We're not going to have enough,” I thought. It looked like so much rice in the beginning, but it couldn’t possibly be enough. After we had finished we set back and counted the containers. We had, 92. It’s not enough. What are we going to do? There is no way we can make more. This took half the day to prepare!! My husband called one of the guards at the prison to get the exact number of inmates.

“Eskize m 'mesye. Konbyen prizonye ou genyen?” (Excuse me sir, How many prisoners do you have?)

“Katreven de. Ok Mesi.”

He looks at me an smiles. “They have 92 inmates today.”

No one says anything. We all just quietly smile to ourselves. Of course, there are ninety-two people. Would God have it any other way?

I didn’t say very much as we drove to the prison. My nerves started to set in. I never know how they will react to me. Will they listen? Will they riot? Only God knows. I had some notes wrote down on a piece of paper of what I wanted to say, but I was counting on God to show up once I was in there with them.

We arrived at the prison entrance. It was hot and the sun was beating down on me as I looked at the crumbling walls and faded paint on the side of the building. If this were in America the building would be condemned, but were not in America. This is Haiti.

I walked inside and told the guard my name. They confiscated all our cell phones so we couldn’t take pictures inside. It was the usual procedure. I stepped into the damp dark hallway and heard the lock of the first gate behind me. The men were yelling and fighting amongst themselves. They were dividing up the food they had just received. I walked up to the first cell door and smiled politely. As each one began to notice me the giant cell fell silent. I had a translator with me this time so I spoke in English.

“Hello, I hope you enjoy the food. May I tell you a short story before you eat?”

They agreed. I began telling them Jesus’ parable of the tax collector and the Pharisee. To help them understand, I called the tax collector a thief and the Pharisee a pastor. I choose this story because of the religious tyranny I’ve witnessed so many times in this country.

“Two men went to a church to pray,” I began.

“One was a pastor and one was a thief. The pastor prayed like this, ‘Thank you God, that I’m not like this thief. I don’t lie and steal. I always go to church and give money. Praise God, I’m such a good person.’ Then the thief prayed, ‘God, forgive me. I’m a sinner and I need your help.’

After the short story I asked, “Who do you think God blessed?”

The men were quiet for a moment. Then one man spoke up.

“The Pastor,” he said.

“Why do you think that?” I asked.

“Because God loves Pastors,” he replied.

“No, God blessed the thief because he asked for forgiveness.”

I could see this confused some of them. I went on to tell them about how Jesus gives us all second chances. How you had to do was ask. I also explained that I would be coming to visit them every Friday. I will bring food and a story. I told them if they had any questions or need prayer I would help them in whatever way I can. They thanked me and asked if I would pray for them now. They were silent as I prayed over the food. I thanked them for their time and told them I would see them again soon. I waved and walled away.

 As if a light switch was being turned on; the cell exploded again. Men began fighting and swearing. As I walked back down the dimly lit hallway they whistled and hollered at me through the bars. Some men reached their arms out trying to grab me. I walked out with my head up, unafraid.

The gospel was given. Now it’s up to Jesus to change their hearts…