Fried chicken, rice and vegetables; the beginning of what was to come

BY SIMONE J. SMITH

As I sat there, I tried to figure out what to do next. Women were walking back and forth through the room, and I took that time to take in my surroundings.

I gazed at the colourful displays that I saw in front of me. Each bunk was dressed with pictures; artwork, personal affects, sheer material, and some even had plants. I could see that in some way, these women had found a way to make this building a home. The thought terrified me. Would I end up in one of these bunks with only pictures reminding me of my past life?

I tore my eyes away from the decorative displays, and decided to pay attention to the rumbling that was happening in my stomach. I made my way back to the kitchen looking for Andrea. As I walked through the small house, I saw some of the women looking at me curiously. I will tell you this; it was not at all like they show in prison shows. Women were not leering at me. They were not shouting profanities, or doing anything to make me feel uncomfortable. They just stared at me, trying to figure out who I was.

As I was walking, I heard laughter, and dialogue coming from behind me. My nose caught a whiff of something savoury. I turned the corner, and there was Andrea, frying chicken.

“How are you doing Simone,” she asked. “Feeling a little hungry?”

“I am actually,” and I was. This was the first time in days that I actually felt hungry. I am not sure if it was the smell of fried chicken, or the fact that for some reason, I was beginning to feel comfortable in these strange surroundings.

“Well,” Andrea said. “Give me a few minutes and I will make you a plate. They usually serve dinner around 6:00 pm, but I don’t eat it. It is not very good. Most of the girls here cook because they know how terrible the food can be. Don’t worry! You will see what I mean when the time comes.”

I looked around the makeshift kitchen and saw some of the other women cooking and chatting. I was curious as to how they got food into the prison, but I would learn all about that in the next couple of weeks. I noticed that women were starting to line up by the door that I had entered in earlier.

“I guess it is almost 6:00 pm.” Andrea’s words jolted me from my thoughts. “You are going to have to get used to that. Lining up I mean. We have to line up for everything: to eat, to use the bathroom, to take a shower, to get searched. We are also going to have to get you a cup, plate and utensils. Don’t worry girl. I got you.”

I was barely listening to Andrea. I was too busy watching the busyness of the room. Many of the women who had been outside were now coming in, and the once empty main room was filling up. Everything seemed so systematic. There was an established routine that I knew that I would have to learn. I have always been an observer, so this was my crash course into living in a Panamanian prison. It didn’t seem so bad.

“Here Simone.” When I turned around, Andrea was handing me a plate that had two small pieces of fried chicken, some white rice and what looked like vegetables.

“Thank you Andrea,” I said smiling. “Girl, eat up and enjoy because tomorrow, you are going to have to eat whatever it is they are serving. I don’t want to tell you not to get used to this, but cooked food is a luxury around here. Most of the girls can’t afford it, so they eat what they can get.”

I found a corner on the floor not to far from the kitchen and sat down to eat my first meal in prison. I have to say, I enjoyed it thoroughly. I savoured every morsel, and for a moment, I put all thoughts of tomorrow away.