BY SIMONE J. SMITH
Welcome back everyone, and I want to take this time to thank all of you for the support that you have shown me these last couple of weeks.
The outpouring of support was overwhelming, and it reminded me that telling my story is important.
I won’t lie; there are times that I was worried. I was worried because I was not sure how the community would take it. I was worried that instead of understanding that I am a human being who is fallible, they would pass judgment and ridicule.
What I learned is that when you are transparent, people are a lot more accepting than you think.
I am going to go back into the story, but I am going to fast-forward it a little. Are you ready? Let’s do this.
When I left off, I had just met my second angel Angie. She had shared her story with me, and we instantly developed a friendship. What I really appreciated about Angie is that without asking me for anything, she openly shared all that she had with me.
For the first week it was a little tough. I had not been able to speak with my parents, and I learned just how useless the Canadian Embassy was. The woman who had come to see me was very judgmental. During this experience, I learned that you are not innocent until proven guilty; you are guilty until you prove your innocence.
When she came to see me, she had this condemning look on her face. Now, could I have been hypersensitive, sure, but it was just not her look, it was how she treated me. Like, “Well, you got yourself in this mess, and we can’t really do anything for you.” She came to see me twice, and both times she left me feeling worse than when she had arrived.
The first time she came, she brought me some magazines to read. I had so many questions for her, none of which she answered clearly. She presented me with some paperwork that basically stated that the Canadian government would not be able to do anything for me. She asked if I had a good lawyer and let me know that she would communicate my concerns to my parents.
Mind you, once I came home and spoke with my parents, they also told me how unhelpful the embassy had been. On the other side of the world, my parents were calling the embassy, trying to find out some information about my whereabouts, and for some reason, they were unable to get any clear answers.
The second time she came, she brought me $50.00 US from my parents and a short note. It was my mom letting me know that she was praying for me, and that I should stay strong. I remember breaking down in front of this woman, and she just sat there stone-faced. I guess she had seen it all before, and heard the cries of, “I didn’t do this. I don’t deserve to be here.” She seemed hardened to my emotions and let me know that she would be back in a couple weeks. That was the last time I saw her.
In Panama, you had to purchase everything. The prison itself provided you with minimum essentials. Many of the prisoners worked so that they could have extra money to buy: laundry detergent, wash soap, snacks, etc. That first week I had nothing. My angel Angie shared all that she had with me, even her bed.
After about two weeks of sleeping on concrete, my hips had begun to bruise, so the first night that Angie invited me to sleep in her bunk with her, I was so grateful.
The bunks were really small, and narrow. Thankfully, I had lost about 8 pounds, so I easily squeezed myself in the bunk. Angie was not very big either, so we were both able to sleep quite comfortably.
I had to admit; I was beginning to adjust to life in prison.
