As I was looking for someone I needed to talk with, I walked into a somewhat empty cellblock area-it was the time of day when most inmates were either, doing something useful, or stupid, away from their cell area. The smell caught my attention right away. Somebody was cooking something that smelled wonderful. As I continued looking for who I came for, I came across “Raffy” in his cell. He was the one teasing everyones tastebuds with the smell of food. I have known “Raf” for years, from other prisons over the years. He was using an iron, cooking some kind of a Cuban dish in an aluminum pie plate. As I approched, I noticed he was just staring at the concrete, and not the dish he was preparing.
“hey ol’man, cooking I see” I said.
“yes my friend, come sit George” as he motioned for me to sit on his bunk. (in prison, only an invited friend may sit on ones bunk)
“how are you feeling today?” I asked
“it goes well, the best it can be here George” – he said this as he looked up to a lone picture on his wall. It was a picture of a beautiful child, hair of brown, olive eyes eyes that smiled.
“what a lovely child” I remarked as I noticed the food “overcooking” alittle
“You ok? want me to take care of the food? I questioned
“No, let it go, I am not ok George, the little one is gone” he replied
“GONE?”
“Yes, the water took her yesterday, she only 4 George, why?? I no feel good to eat, you hungry?
After hearing his sadness, I too was not hungry, I too, felt ill. We sat abit in silence, watching the food overcook. I slowly rose, walked over to him and hugged him-he began to cry-he needed to.
Those that cage us for so very long think we don’t cry. We do. They think we have no cares for the souls of this world, we do. No-one from the “staff” will come to Raf to discuss his grief. I know, I’ve been through it. A prison cell becomes more like a tomb when grieving. You come to wish that they would just come and brick-up the entrance-leaving you alone, to die, to weep no more.

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