I gave the Friday sermon. It was the first time in over a year that our pod was able to pray the
Friday prayer together. I spoke about forgiveness and found joy in the smiles of satisfaction on
everyone’s faces—they were finally able to pray again.
It has been over a week now, and I’ve continued removing graffiti from the walls, moving from
inside the cell to the corridor. I wrote my first letter to my kids. I also realized there are no special
or halal meat accommodations here. And it is very loud in jail.
Inmates shout to each other across the unit, and others have to talk over them. It feels like an
ego thing—who can be the loudest. The constant yelling is exhausting. Then, when the doors
lock at 10 p.m., the correctional officers come in every two hours throughout the night. At 1:15
a.m., they might bang on the windows with a rubber hammer to check if they’re secure. At 3
a.m., they come for a pill call, delivering medications. By 4 to 4:30 a.m., they’re handing out
toilet paper and changing uniforms. And by 5:30 a.m., breakfast is served.
Waking people up just to announce a cell check, then laughing and walking away—that’s
considered merciful here. The COs’ walkie-talkies never stop chirping, filling the air with
constant noise.
The first month was nothing but banging and screaming. After a while, you just start to go a little
deaf to it all.
