Lies of a Real Housewife (17 page)

my handcuffs, affording me the honor of holding my newborn child.

“Emani Messiah,” I whispered in her tiny right ear. I had already

cho
sen her name. Emani, also spelled Imani, means faith and Messiah signifies the chosen one. She was chosen, and she did give me faith. Emani blessed me with enough faith to endure the road ahead, and make it back

home to not just to her, but to all of my children.

I did not get to sleep a wink after the birth of my baby. It seemed as

if I watched the big round black and white clock on the wall every minute it ticked. It was the same type of clock that hung on the wall in the many schools that I got expelled from. I sat there hoping and wondering if I could slow down the hands of time just this once. I held my baby close to my heart, sang in her ear, and told her how much I loved her. I told her that mama was going to come home soon. Hopeful that my voice would soothe her, and tide

her over just as my mother’s voice did for me.

The more I held my baby, the more I cried. All the nurses, doctors,

and other patients walking by my room could hear my cries. I was tol
d several times that if I didn’t calm down, they’d take the baby back to the nursery. I heeded their requests every time, but as soon as I calmed myself down I

started back up again. I just couldn’t help it. The harder I tried to hold it in,

the worse it got. I was pitiful.

No one came and took her from me even though they had threatened

to do so. Most of the staff members on duty that day were made up of women. Deep down inside somewhere, I believe they understood what I was going

through. I did the o
nly thing I could. I prayed, cried, and held my baby. I was feeling hopeless and helpless. I watched the clock while closely holding my baby. I performed my motherly duties and changed her pampers. I kissed her often, in an attempt to soothe my precious infant. For the entire night I’d keep my eyes on the clock. I had to treasure every second, every minute, every

hour. I had no idea how big she would be the next time I laid eyes on her.

It had been twenty-four hours, and it was time to call my mother

aga
in to let her know she could come to the hospital and pick up the baby. She must have snapped her fingers to get to the hospital. Twenty minutes later, she was standing outside my hospital room. My mother was excited to see me,

but more excited by the pre
sence of her granddaughter.

Our visit was short and sweet. It was about ten minutes to be exact. Once the time elapsed, my mother picked up the baby then was instructed to leave. I too would be leaving, but I would be handcuffed, and escorted to a

patrol car. My mother had only one simple request.

“Please let me leave before her, I can’t stand to see her in handcuffs”

she begged the officer. They granted her request, and let her leave first before

putting me in handcuffs.

With tears dripping from my eyes, I silently watched from the back

window of the patrol car. Seeing how my mother took caution in strapping my beautiful baby girl into the back of her car brought me some relief. I could breathe a little better now even though I was still in captivity.
There was a

sense of reprieve.

I was headed back to jail, not going home with my baby girl, and as

a mother, my situation made me feel like I was a complete failure. At least my baby girl was in my mother’s care. There was some sense of satisfaction watching my mother’s car driving away. She was the one person who could love my baby, and she now had her
. My mother would love my baby girl just like she loved me. Tears were still welling. I felt like sobbing aloud. Without uttering a sound, my heart kept beating fast and with hope. Thank you sweet

Jesus!

Chapter Seven

“Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.” Jeremiah 6:16 (NIV)

Thinking of going back to the cold, hard, dark, loud dungeon

brought me back to the real world. The vacation was over and I really wasn’t in any hurry to return to Clayton County Jail. I would soon miss the comforts of warm covers, and the plush mattress of my stay at the hospital. And I definitely could not forget the luxury of the warm, tasty meals that most certainly didn’t get me nauseated. I mean their food actually looked like food

should be looking. No mystery meat!

Reality check finally bit me in the ass as soon as I returned to my

housing unit. My room was taken because the jail was overcrowded. I was issu
ed a thin mattress, one sheet, and a thin blanket to make do with on the concrete floor.

I had just given birth and we were only allowed three pads a day. The pads were soaked and heavy from the blood caused by afterbirth. I was wearing three pads at a time. Since I had to get up and down off of the concrete floor repeatedly, the strain caused me to hemorrhage. I begged for

more pads, but was denied any.

Blood was everywhere. In order to avoid bleeding on everything, I

took one of my white T-shirts, an
d turned it into a pad. I had no other choice.

Otherwise it would have looked like a crime scene. That was my only option.

I hand-washed the bloody white T-shirt inside the toilet. The water

had enough chlorine in it to make my blood-soaked T-shirt white again. Stop turning up your nose. I just want you to know that at the time, there wasn’t any other choice. It wasn’t like I could send them out to the laundry. I did

what I felt had to be done about my situation.

My breasts were sensitive and swollen with milk, but I had no baby

with me to enjoy nature’s nourishment. A mere breeze across my susceptible chest would cause extreme pain. The jail doctor had prescribed ice to help with the pain. One day, a guard walked by my cell, and caught me eating the ice. So she called down to the infirmary and cancelled my ice order. What a miserable bi**h! It was just another moment meant to destroy me, but I still couldn’t understand how people could be so hateful. I was in my cell, not out in the open. Here was something she clearly could’ve overlooked. She didn’t have the heart. I mean for heaven’s sake I had just given birth!

My baby’s crying tormented me every night. I kept hearing her tiny

voice and that was pure torture in my head. I would caress my empty womb

while milk oozed from my breast. It felt like I had just given birth to a stillborn child. I cried. Screaming, I hollered for my baby. I was locked up inside of a double prison. It felt like I
was serving two sentences. I was inside four

concrete walls and surrounded by the stockade of my own darkened mind.

I had lost everything important to me. Freedom was no longer mine

it had been taken away. My possessions and children were all gone. The
devil immediately began playing tricks with my mind. Fortunately, I knew that losing my mind was not even an option. The more I prayed, the stronger my mind became. I made a promise to myself, and I was going to weather this

storm. Once more I was determi
ned to make it.

Having given birth to my baby, the next thing to happen was getting

shipped off to prison. I was impatient for that to happen because prison was much better than the jailhouse. Prison was more like an all female college campus. We all wore the same uniforms, but on this college campus we were surrounded by barbed wire fences, and under constant, strict surveillance. Freedom was not an option, but it was as close to a free living that a convict

could ever experience.

At the all female prisons, the biggest difference was contact visits. This meant no more looking at my mother through a glass window, and most of all, I would be able to hold, and smell my baby. I longed for her. I begged my mother to contact the parole board, and get me shipped to prison. She did. Two weeks after giving birth to Emani, I was packed up, and shipped to Metro State Prison.

On the first day, the correction officers had a field day with me. The

moment I stepped off the bus, the correction officers constantly call
ed me a repeater, and a clown. Perhaps that was all true. They did the name-calling as loud as possible, making sure everyone knew that this was my second trip

to prison.

Little did they know that I wasn’t fazed one bit. I was completely

aware of their
routine. The way they would get all up in your face, yelling and screaming. Correction officers would do everything in their power to provoke inmates into an ass-whipping. I just laughed at them and it would

piss them off.

Finally, when they had enough of my contempt, they ordered me

not to laugh. I stopped laughing, but kept that same sneer on my face. I wore the smirk just to let them know that I could care less about their nine-to-five.
The fact was that I knew they were making pennies-a-day compared to what I had made.

From the same rules, to the same guards, same counselors, and the

same routine, hardly anything had changed about the prison system. Before I was allowed to have visitors, I had to undergo diagnostics tests. This meant it would be at least four weeks before I could see my baby. That was cool because life was a little easier now. Three times a day during yard call I was able to mingle, and move around a bit. I could find out who was who. I was able to determine if I had any partners in here from the streets, and figure out who was affiliated with what.