Never in My Life Would I Have Thought!
By David S., on mission in Senegal
I would like to share more about our apostolate at the prison, Camp Pénal de Liberté VI. I think it’s never a good sign when something has “penal camp” in its name, and this case is no different. We visit every Thursday after breakfast. We usually begin by praying the Rosary, then read the Gospel and the other readings for the day. We discuss them together, sharing what was especially meaningful and connecting it to our own lives. All of this happens in the chapel.
The chapel sits right across from the main gate, separated by a large parking lot filled with imposing SWAT vehicles. The space itself is quite small—maybe four hundred square feet—but it is one of the most beautiful chapels in all of Dakar. Most people, I think, would find it objectively unattractive, little more than a shed compared to the chapel at our parish. It is a square room of cinder block and concrete, painted a slightly off-putting shade of pink that contrasts with the white floor tiles. A little natural light, splintered by heavy metal bars, filters in through the few small windows near the ceiling. The room is sparsely furnished, with a few rough, handmade wooden pews and a table that serves as the altar. Strikingly, it is decorated with dozens of paintings, either hung on or painted directly onto the walls. These are all the work of inamtes over the years. They vary in style and subject matter but are all depictions of Jesus or the Blessed Mother—and they are so beautiful! Each one is an encounter with a person, because each one holds the unique suffering and story of the man who made it. Many of them depict the Passion of Christ, so that both the men’s own suffering and Christ’s suffering are present together, and you can see how the one is redeemed by the other. Because of this, I find that chapel to be one of the most remarkable places in the world.
The room, though, was only part of what I found there. At first, I was extremely intimidated by these men, with their difficult pasts and current circumstances. I felt, and often still do, completely out of my depth. In the beginning too I was a little afraid for my safety, and had absolutely no idea what to expect. I have nothing to offer them except my presence. I have no life advice to give, no similar experiences, and a completely different background; I can only sit beside them, listen, and be united with them as a fellow child of God, showing them their infinite dignity and worth as human beings. For although they are in prison and have had unimaginably difficult lives, they are still human beings who suffer, and who can be saved. And just by being there, giving my attention and my presence, even though I have nothing else to give, I am loved by these men. It’s incredibly humbling to hear our friends tell stories and give testimonies with a kind of childlike faith I have never seen before.
One example of this is a good friend I made in the prison. William, who is forty-three, speaks perfectly fluent English. He graduated from the University of New Jersey some years back. He and I talk about all kinds of things: the NFL, the military, books, politics, and more. I think I am like a little brother to him; every time, he tells me he hopes I’ll come back next week, and that he’s been praying for me every day. For my part, I look forward to our conversations each week. We are also hoping to find time to play chess together sometime, since that’s William’s favorite game. Never in my life would I have thought that one of my closest friends would be an inmate in Dakar. That’s incredible!