After spending 10 years in prison, I embarked on a 600-mile journey from Fort Dix, a federal prison in New Jersey, to a halfway house in Detroit.
Early on the morning of my release, my name was called over the PA system to report to the receiving and discharge area of the prison. I was placed in a cell with four other men who were also being released. I didn’t know their names or who they were; we’d been divided up by the regions of the country to which we were being released. No one really talked.
Our first stop was the Philadelphia International Airport, where three of us were dropped off. Initially we were all silent, then we looked at each other. “I have never been in an airport before,” one man said matter of factly. Everyone else nodded in recognition.
When I was first arrested, I found myself aboard a prison airplane. I was securely bound with handcuffs, belly chains, shackles and a connecting chain. These restraints were mandatory for all passengers, regardless of their level of threat. Traveling without these restraints felt surreal.
Inside the airport, we must have looked lost because an elderly employee rushed to our aid. Despite being in regular street clothes, she could tell we were freshly released from prison. She must have worked at the airport for a while and could spot people who are more mesmerized by the airport than hustling to their destination. The Philly airport is a common through-point for released federal prisoners in the area; the sweatpants and gray mesh bag are also indicators that someone has just been released from prison.
The excitement of freedom led all of us to rush to an airport bathroom. Several other people walking by could tell that we were newly released and wished us good luck.
After freshening up in the restroom, the three of us decided to locate our gates. One man was heading to North Carolina. The other man and I were going to Detroit and still had five more hours before our flight. Once we located the gates, all three of us stopped at Smashburger for a meal. Funds left in our prison accounts when we were released were added to a prepaid debit card. I ordered a chicken sandwich and a drink, which totaled $19 and some change. I left a $2 tip, prompting one of my companions to question my generosity. I insisted on showing gratitude.
After we ate, we decided to explore the airport. Being a coffee enthusiast, I opted to try a cappuccino, which cost $6 plus tip. Once again, my decision to tip was met with skepticism. They looked at me like I was crazy. Despite giving less than $5 in total tips, I felt it was important to show appreciation. I believe that you have not thanked God until you have thanked people.
We were now down to the two of us headed to Detroit. With 45 minutes until our boarding time, my companion spotted someone with pizza. Together, we decided to locate the pizza place. Despite our best efforts, we couldn’t find it. Then a woman on the phone overheard us and inquired about our search, pointing us in the right direction.
I purchased a slice for about $4.50, while my companion opted out due to the cost. When I asked about pork in the pizza, an employee confirmed there was none and mentioned that about 90% of the staff at the pizza place were Muslim men, like myself. When I encountered issues with my card payment, he graciously swiped it for me. Once I received my food, we turned and walked away.
After walking about 30 feet, we were called back. I thought there was a mistake, but instead they asked if we’d just been released from prison. After I said yes, they asked, “Is your friend hungry?” I didn’t want to assume, so I called him over. They reassured us, saying, “We understand how it is. Today, we’ve got you covered.” They gave me an additional piece of pizza, gave him two slices, and fries and drinks for both of us. We chatted a bit before parting ways. Pretty soon, we were on the plane.
Outside the airport in Detroit, we had to hail a cab, and once again I was clueless. Other than on TV, I had only once seen a cab while being driven to Metropolitan Correctional Center in Manhattan. It took us about 15 minutes, but I eventually got a cab to Cherry Health Community Treatment Center, where I would begin the rest of my life.