Fr. B: Jo! What are you doing tomorrow?
Me: I don't have any specific plans, Father. I will go to Mass somewhere, I'm sure.
Fr. B: But tomorrow morning? At around 7:30? Are you free?
Me: Yes, definitely.
Fr. B: Excellent! Do you want to accompany me to jail?
Me: Excuse me?
Fr. B: I am saying Mass for the inmates at the male prison in Nairobi. Would you like to join me?
Me: Umm... is it safe?
Fr. B: Oh yes, it is very safe.
Me: Then sure! Why not?
Plans were made for Fr. Andrew to collect me at 7:15, then we would pick up Fr. Bukenya at the Seminary, and we would be at the prison for 8:00 Mass. We were joined by Br. Nicholas, a young AJ-in-formation, and Steve, a videographer who is making a short music film with the seminarians.
I have never been to a prison before (though I have always been very interested in prison ministry and have tremendous respect for those friends of mine who are prison chaplains), let alone a Kenyan prison. I had absolutely no idea what to expect. What I imagined was largely shaped by tv and movies, but even those auspicious resources did give me a hint of what to be ready for in East Africa.
Nairobi West Prison is largely a transitional facility, as far as I can gather. Most of the men incarcerated there have very short sentences or are being transferred to a different facility. I did not find out how many prisoners are currently there, but Fr. Andrew estimated it to be around 500 (that is just a guess- I'll try to find out the real figure). Fr. Bukenya has been coming to say Mass for those inmates who want it for about a year and a half now. The first time he went there, it was the first time they had had a priest to say Mass in over 4 months. This really affected Fr. Bukenya, and since he has Sunday mornings free, he volunteered to continue coming every week. One of the prison guards, Francis, moonlights as a catechist. He was dressed in his civies this morning when he greeted us. The AJs were all wearing their white cassocks with the signature yellow sash of their habit, so the guards recognized them instantly and admitted us to the prison. I assume that if I hadn't been in the company of priests, I would have had to sign something, or give them my information, or at the very least have my bag searched. I hope so, anyway.
On this particular day, though, we were admitted and escorted directly to the chapel without delay. We entered through a gate into a quiet sort of parking area, which led to another gate, which opened directly onto the prison yard. As I walked through the wrought iron door, I was suddenly standing among dozens of men in matching striped outfits (pajamas is a very apt description), all bustling about the yard. The atmosphere crackled with activity. I attracted a few stares as I made my way through the throng, all but glued to Fr. Bukenya's elbow. The humble cinder block chapel stood on the other side of a towering hedge through another locked gate. Men were already standing in two lines at the gate, waiting to pass through for their liturgy. We went in first, Fr. Bukenya, Fr. Andrew, Br. Nicholas, Steve, and I. The fathers went about their preparations for Mass, Steve took some sample video of the space, and Brother Nicholas sat on a bench at the back of chapel. I was glad to sit in the back, partly because I would be able to see everything better, partly because I would be less of a distraction during church (I am a white woman in an African men's prison, after all), but mostly because it was the only bench that was solidly put together with a back to it. The other benches consisted of a long narrow plank of wood between two small metal racks, like miniature sawhorses. One look at them, and I knew I lacked the coordination to navigate the various postures of the Catholic Mass and not be on the ground.
A few minutes later, about 100 men filed in quietly and politely took their seats on those treacherous benches. Br. Nicholas whispered that you could tell who the newcomers were because they were the ones struggling with the makeshift pews. A guard entered with them and remained at the back of the church, singing along lustily with all of the hymns. Truly, I have never been to a Mass where the entire congregation participated so enthusiastically. The African Mass has a lot more singing than the typical American Mass, and there were no song books or missalettes, but no one missed a word. Inmates with bright orange sweaters dotted the crowd. I was told that these are the leaders for this Catholic faith community.
After a heartwarming and uplifting Swahili liturgy, Fr. Bukenya asked whom among the congregation would be getting released this week. He invited them to come to the front of the church, and Fr. Andrew led the congregation in praying over them. It was a beautiful moment of a community coming together to invoke the Holy Spirit to bring strength to some of their own. I was struck, as I listened to the kiswahili prayers, how much this faith community meant to its members.
At the end of the service, Fr. Bukenya invited me to share a few words with the congregants. I greeted them with the traditional kiswahili blessing- "Tumsifu Yesu Kristu!"- which garnered a long and loud round of applause. I thanked them for the witness of their faith and the opportunity to pray with them, and asked them to pray for me as I continue my travels. I shook many hands as they filed back out into the prison yard, and received many sincere invitations to come back to their community anytime.
I am continually amazed by the people I encounter here.
*I took a lot of pictures today, but I am going to refrain from sharing them publicly, at least for the time being, out of respect for the inmates. I will include just these two for now.
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| Fr. Andrew, Br. Nicholas, Fr. Bukenya |
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