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Renee, 33

Renee, 33

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Meet Renee…

I might not feel the healing at the moment, but I feel the trust to talk about things that I wouldn’t have the space to in any other area.

Renee, 33

Incarcerated: 3.5 years

Housed: Itagui, Colombia

Diane: Tell us about you. 

Renee: I’m from Itagüí and have been here all my life. I don’t like to talk much about the crimes I committed because I’ve had a lot of issues in the past. I’m a musician and a composer. I play the guitar and that’s what I love the most. I’d love to be in touch with people around the world, perhaps through letters with people in jails in other parts of the world. I love that this interview will be seen by a lot of people. I’m also a poet, and that’s one of the things I love the most. I traveled through Brazil just selling poems. I’ve spent a lot of time in Cartagena selling poems and going to events with poets. When I was young, I used to sell poems to my friends that were having fights with their girlfriends. They’d pay a penny for a poem to give to their girlfriend who was really mad. 

Diane: Do you have a poem memorized that you want to share?

Renee: Yes, it’s a poem I wrote for my girlfriend. I have a lot of poems, and this one is one of the biggest ones. 

I don’t know why you’re in my path. 

I don’t know why I met you. 

I don’t know why God put you in my path, 

but when I hold your hand, 

I know God brought you into my life 

because you are my destiny.

Diane: It makes me cry, I feel that.

Renee: That’s the first poem I wrote to my girlfriend. She’s 59 years old and I’m 33. I was 13 when I started dating her, and she was the wife of a very rich man. With poems and ice creams I won her heart. We’ve been together for 20 years. I had a foundation for animals, so I know a little about ethology.

Diane: What kind of animals did you take care of?

Renee: Cats and dogs because people in the neighborhood knew I took care of animals. Some people left an almost dying, skinny horse at my door. Some people left some dying chickens with their babies. One time someone left a pregnant dog. It’s because people knew that I had a big heart about animals. They’d always leave them at my door. I mostly had cats and dogs, but I always had my house open for any animal that needed a hand. 

I want to tell you the most important part of my life.

Diane: I want to hear it.

Renee: The most important part of my life was my childhood. My mother was pregnant by this guy from Africa who refused to recognize me. In the old days with my grandparents, if one of the girls got pregnant, she had to marry. Because the guy was from Africa, he denied the child and didn’t show any interest, so she couldn’t get married. Her grandfather threw her in the street pregnant, and she lived on the streets. She went into labor and some paramedics helped her give birth in the street. I lived all my childhood in the streets. We used to live under bridges, eating from trash, waiting for the restaurants to close so we could dig in the rubbish. Then I went into foster care, and lived from house to house. I never had my own house, watched TV or did anything like a regular kid. Throughout my childhood, I worked informal jobs selling candy or asking for money in the street. I spent my teenage years in foster homes. Then, when I got to prison, my mom told me I have double nationality: African and Colombian. I have the possibility to go to Africa, but I have to talk to my father to do that. I don’t want to. My father was never there, so I don’t feel comfortable reaching him right now and telling him to sign the papers for me to go to Africa. 

Diane: Have you had any contact with your dad whatsoever?

Renee: No, never. I’ve never told anyone this before, just you: Sundays are one of most difficult days because it’s a busy day, and everyone gets to see their dads. Every time I hear the word “dad” it feels like a stab in the heart. Last Sunday, there was this guy who was super excited for his dad’s visit. He said in a full sentence the word “dad” four times, like, “Hey, how’s it going, dad …dad…dad…” It was so hard for me to feel the absence of my own dad that I had to go to the bathroom to cry. When I was in the streets I never actually thought about my dad, but being in prison has made me think a lot about him and the roots I have of him that I don’t know about.

Diane: Talking about it, and talking about it with us today really helps healing.

Renee: I might not feel the healing at the moment, but I feel the trust to talk about things that I wouldn’t have the space to in any other area. To come here and to see both of you and feel like I can let it out. Also, I dream about going to North America to sing with the highest of the highest like Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre… because I think I’m on the level of rap and music that they do. Because I’m here in this situation, I’m unseen, but I think I have what it takes to be in the highest of the highest. I dream about being in North America and being seen as a musician.

Diane: Humans of San Quentin, we can be your platform. We can put up your poetry, we can put up your rap… anything you want to send us or put on tape we will put out there on the internet for people to see.

Renee: I’d really really really like to receive letters and the dynamic of sending and receiving letters. Like “I don’t know you, I don’t know your crimes… but I love you.”

Sequoyah, 28

Sequoyah, 28

Meet Sequoyah…

There have been many times in my life that the road forked and someone saved me before I went the wrong way. One person in particular was the director of the Robinson’s Scholars program.

Sequoyah, 28
Incarcerated: 3 years
Housed: Lexington, Kentucky

Do you ever wonder what your life might be like if you’d never crossed paths with certain people? I do. There have been many times in my life that the road forked and someone saved me before I went the wrong way. Some were just brush encounters, but there were others whose impact changed the entire course of my existence. One person in particular was the director of the Robinson’s Scholars program I was a part of. I met him when I was a sophomore in high school, during a time when I was lost within my trauma. I think he sensed that from our first conversation because every time we talked after that, he showed genuine interest and concern for me. Over time the fortress that I’d built around me for my protection gave way and a bond forged between us. I had never had an active father to nurture me and most of the men I’d been around were predators who made me feel very uncomfortable. He was different though. Kindness, safety, love, and support radiated off of him. He took me under his wings with the goal of seeing me fly on my own one day.

Despite his efforts, I stumbled many times before I began to find my footing. When everyone counted me out, he dug his cleats in and coached me through the storms. I was ready to give up on myself and probably would’ve without his unwavering encouragement. Very often, I found myself questioning why. Why did he care? Why did he try so hard? What was so special about me? I mean he was a stranger; he had no obligation to help me. My own family didn’t even do these things, so why was he? I could never understand what he saw in me that made him think I was worth investing in. But he did and never faltered in showing me how much he wanted me to succeed. When I graduated high school, he stood in those stands proudly like a father would for his daughter. His presence continued on when I went to college too. When I started making reckless decisions again, he swooped in and got me back in order. He was determined to keep me from self-destructing. After a while, he became the voice of reason and my most trusted confidant. Nearly seven years after we met, I walked across the graduate stage once more. The stadium was packed full. When it came time for me to receive my diploma, there he was standing with honor as my father.

Marshawn, 37

Marshawn, 37

Meet Marshawn…

What gets me through each day is my family and hope. It’s hard but I constantly tell myself it could be worse.

Marshawn, 37
Incarcerated: 15 years
Housed: Stateville Correctional Center, IL

What gets me through each day is my family and hope. It’s hard but I constantly tell myself it could be worse. I haven’t always had hope. Prison is a very dark place and can suck the life out of you. For the majority of these 15 years, I’ve dwelled on my past, wishing I had listened to people. That I’d done things differently. Constantly thinking of my past has held me back from progressing  and has led me to make some poor decisions. Today, I try to take it one day at a time focusing more on the things that can make me better and have a more positive future! I now see light at the end of the tunnel. So many things are changing in the prison system. People are going home now, which I didn’t see as much in the beginning. It helps me visualize being freed, as well as my family, who have stuck by my side. They have given me the push when needed, this place is hard and distractions are everywhere. God is still giving me the opportunity to breathe, for that I put my best foot forward and continue to fight this fight to the end! 

Derrick, 22

Derrick, 22

Meet Derrick…

I went from stealing from my own family, to stealing from others, to car hopping, to breaking into people’s houses, taking what they worked so hard for, to robbing drug dealers and stores.

Derrick, 22
Incarcerated: 6 years
Housed: Cummins Unit, Arkansas

I went from stealing from my own family, to stealing from others, to car hopping, to breaking into people’s houses, taking what they worked so hard for, to robbing drug dealers and stores. Then things got worse. Each crime I committed was for the same reason: to provide for my people and survive. I’ve spent my life in and out of the system. At 14  I moved in with my grandmother, thinking my problems would slow down, only to realize they followed me and got worse. At 15, I ended up getting my sister’s friend pregnant; she was 14. I was addicted to the powder and messing around with older women, so I left her to get my mind right, only to be locked up again. My son’s due date was on my birthday. Eight days after he was born, I was released. That day, I was completely done with the life I was living, wanting to provide for the lil one. I soon gave up and went back to hustling. I was told to knock on his door, which almost caused him to lose his life, all for drug money.

This was my life, starting when I was eight., not because my mother and father weren’t good parents, but just because it was. I caused a police officer to be killed. I was in county jail for three years before I finally said forget it and I took a deal for 20 years with another 17 on a Y felony to keep my other homeboy from doing the time. I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. My family and many others fought me on it, even my child’s mother.  My parents gave up on me, and I started to feel like there wasn’t anything left in life for me. I started causing problems in prison. My big bro in here, Rufus, has been a big influence. He’s been tough on me and helped me find the “better me.” Recently, he’s tried to keep me focused on positive thoughts and pursuing education. For all of you going through ups and downs, obstacles, heartache and pain, remember you ain’t alone. Keep pushing until things get better. I gave up on so much over the years, but now, I’m trying to rise and better myself. I haven’t given up on chasing my dreams:

Mohammed, 43

Mohammed, 43

Meet Mohammed…

I live in a box. This reality is made tangible every time I open my eyes.

Mohammed, 43
Incarcerated: 19 years
Housed: Sing Sing Correctional Facility, New York

I live in a box. This reality is made tangible every time I open my eyes. This wasn’t always apparent to me until I took my first outside medical trip. The transport officer asked me if I was ok, which was weird because small talk is not normally encouraged. I wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the fact that he and his back-up officer asked me several other times while I was being handcuffed and shackled if I was “OK.” At this point I started to ask myself, “What’s going on here?” The reason became apparent when we pulled up to the outside gates: this was going to be my first time outside of these prison walls in 15 years. I can still remember the day. It was raining and everything had that clean mineral smell, like a freshly washed chalkboard. As we pulled away from the gates and onto normal roads, I was assailed with new images. Cars were different and everyone had a smartphone held to their heads. Within ten minutes we were on the highway and the world that I have been living in for over a decade became a thing that grew smaller the farther we drove away. I felt small. All the problems and concerns I had about my environment became small as well. It was at that moment that I realized I lived in a small microcosm of reality, a place that had almost no impact on the people I saw living their lives around me. I was made painfully aware how removed I am from the real world and how unprepared I am to rejoin it.

As I get closer to my release date, I’m reminded of that day. I try to let petty things go while I’m in here, because I know that, besides my memories and experiences, I won’t be taking anything else with me. I now see this box my fellow brothers and I live in as a place so small when compared to the expanse of the world. My hope is that as I get farther away from this box, my world will expand and I will be able to take my place in this world that has so many beautiful things to offer. Until then, I have to lock in…