Costa Rica late 1970’s. To the East of San Jose is a district called Montes de Oca. I am not from there, but that is where we boarded with a local family while our father traveled on missionary work. My favorite pastime as a curious teenager was hiking to the foot of the Irazu Volcano nearby. We took fruit as snacks, one machete to cut through the brush, and took turns carrying a small two-person inflatable kayak. We would walk upstream through a narrow high ledge trail that lined the rocky river at the foot of the volcano. Once we reached the fastest part of the river, two of us would take turns rafting down to where the river opened. Those were good times.
On a Saturday morning, we embarked on the same journey. The night before had been raining as it usually did; the forest was wet, and the trail was barely visible, “mostly washed up by the rain that slid down from the mountain above.” As we walked in line, holding on to branches to keep from slipping down the muddy trail, we occasionally cut small branches that had fallen. Today, I was at the front of the pack holding the machete and alerting everyone when the trail was hard to walk. I hacked a small tree branch to make way for the rest of us, and just as I took one step forward, “I froze.” Right there, around 12 inches from my foot, was a Coral snake ready to attack. Coral snakes are venomous and deliver a deadly bite.
I could hear my friends approaching from behind, still not moving. I slowly raised the machete and said to them, “Stop, don’t move.” One of them said, “What’s going on?” I said, I got a Coral snake right next to my foot! The forest sounds seemed to go quiet for a few seconds, my eyes were focused on the snake. One sudden move and I would have been bitten several miles from the nearest road, not the best outcome. Quickly analyzing the situation, I looked around. to my left was a steep embankment about 50 feet down. I could see the rocks and the river raging below. To the right is the vertical edge of the mountain, . nowhere to go in that direction. Running back was not an option; I thought, what if I slip in the thick mud and fall and get bitten by a snake? I was in fear!
At that moment, the only plan I had was to “Survive!” I slid my left foot backward slowly without moving my right foot, I needed the right stance to strike the snake. I raised my right arm and swung the machete! The snake jumped out of the way as my machete hit the mud and quickly slid down the ravine towards the river. I managed to cut the tip of its tail. I yelled, “Got it!” Feeling safe, I was able to finally breathe. My survival plan worked.
Fast forward to today, I was arrested in September 2020 and spent 21 days in a county jail while waiting to post bail. I felt fear and uncertainty about the unknown. However, being placed alone in a cell due to COVID gave me a chance to reflect. After two days in a cell alone, while looking across the aisle at other cellmates, it dawned on me that I could overcome this new reality with knowledge; I never had a plan for going to jail. I asked my CO for one of the tablets being circulated to other inmates and started researching on the law library tab to get familiar with the process. Using the back of the legal papers from my arraignment, and a short pencil the CO gave me, I started writing my observations and planning how to tackle this new experience.
A few days later, I was placed in a cell block with the general population. On day one, I analyzed my surroundings to learn the lay of the land. By day two, I knew there were 22 inmates in the block, and two others had been sent to solitary for fighting; of those 22, nine had murder charges, the remainder had a mixed bag of crimes ranging from gun charges, drug dealing, conspiracy, parole violations, attempted murder, and two were serial burglars. On day three, I asked the CO for five sheets of paper, sat at one of the metal tables, and invited two of the lifers, one drug dealer, and one of the burglars. They seemed surprised that the new guy was asking them to talk. I offered them some of my powdered instant coffee and asked them to sit with me for a moment to talk about business.
I asked them one question: “What do you guys want to do when you get out?” Each took turns replying, I motioned for them to write their answers on paper. Once they were done, I asked them to share their answers. Junior, who was the youngest and killed someone at 17 years old, was now 20, doing a life term. He said he wanted to work as a barber and open a barber shop. David, who was 31 and serving 25 years, was in for shooting his wife, and was appealing his sentence based on new evidence; he wanted to be a contractor and open a remodeling business. Terry was a farmer before and wanted to own a pig farm, raise chickens, and sell eggs, he was in for theft. Devonte, who was now 32 years old, was serving a four-year sentence for dealing drugs; he was by far the most analytical of the pack. He said, “I’ve been in jail for two years, and they don’t have a lot of things for us to buy in the commissary.” He was going to live at his mom’s house and use her garage to invent products to sell to the commissaries of the BOP. I was impressed by how hopeful they all were under the circumstances.
We brainstormed, and I showed them how to create their business plans to use once they were released. To make a long story short, during the next 13 days, my little business round table of four became two tables, and 10 inmates would join me every afternoon to work on what I now understand could be part of a release plan. The day before I left, the inmates all pitched in from their food stash and made me a prison pizza, and thanked me for the business lessons. Grateful, I thanked them for helping me survive. I felt happy to be leaving the county jail, but sad they had to stay. Given the opportunity, I would hire those men for my next business.
My final thought here is that we all need a survival and release plan. With just paper and pencil, we can start planning and shaping better outcomes and a better future.
“He who fails to plan, plans to fail.”
-Benjamin Franklin
M.E. Lluberes
