Tucked at the end of a long dirt road, framed with cacti, sat a low profile block building surrounded by a wire fence. I later learned it to be the men’s prison facility. My new home, the women’s quarters, was positioned in the open paved lot beside it. The sign read, “Phoenix Prison Camp.”
My husband, Joe, opened the chicken wire embedded glass door and led us into the administration building. Dragging their feet, my children shuffled in. No one acknowledged us. We waited, huddled together on a wooden bench, our legs and hands crossed. Levi rubbed his face. I chewed my nails. Framed photos of Barack Obama and Eric Holder hung on the wall. Guards strolled past, ignoring us.
A fit man with a shiny head sauntered over to us. “Has anyone
My husband, Joe, opened the chicken wire embedded glass door and led us into the administration building. Dragging their feet, my children shuffled in. No one acknowledged us. We waited, huddled together on a wooden bench, our legs and hands crossed. Levi rubbed his face. I chewed my nails. Framed photos of Barack Obama and Eric Holder hung on the wall. Guards strolled past, ignoring us.
A fit man with a shiny head sauntered over to us. “Has anyone