Illustration by Ross Allen
Today I feel like an immigrant. After almost three decades of being incarcerated, so much is new and confusing to me. The more I try to learn things and keep up with the rest of the world, the more behind I become. For most immigrants, challenges are usually communications, housing and employment, customs, culture, and not having all the rights and privileges granted to citizens. As a returning citizen, I am not an immigrant, but something similar.
I feel like an immigrant when I have trouble with phones. I wish I could say trouble with my phone, but I don’t own the phone as much as the phone owns me. Almost every time I get a call, the device switches up on me; it plays tricks on me, and I blow answering the call. At first, I did not recognize the default musical ringtone, and it startled me every time it sounded. When I don’t answer fast enough, the person on the other end hangs up on me or the call goes to voice mail.
When my case worker sat with me and demonstrated how to access my voice mail, it was like a kindergarten teacher explaining grammar to a kid. I explained that my ineptitude was due to the fact that I never used a cellphone during the 28 years I was in prison. Though many inmates managed to get them, cellphones were forbidden. When I asked the warden to let me practice with a cellphone before being released on parole, the look I got was as if I had asked for a gun.
I feel like an immigrant when I go out in the North Side neighborhood where I live, shop in stores or ride public transportation. The neighbors, bus riders and clerks are usually familiar with everyone. They do not have the camaraderie with me because I am new, like someone entering the country for the first time. I’m sure the thoughts I project are mostly in my head.
I feel like an immigrant because I live in transitional housing. My housemates are all looking for permanent housing and know that though we live together, we are all looking to leave soon. Our situation is temporary, and so the relationships we form are based in impermanence.
I feel like an immigrant who has left an oppressive country and has been allowed to come to a much better place. Richmond is not the land of milk and honey, but plenty of opportunities exist here to get ahead for persons with dreams, goals, ambition and a good work ethic. Richmond is a place to get good jobs of almost any kind, and it is a good place to start a business that has a good chance to succeed. Rarely have I seen cities building so much public infrastructure and commercial buildings. To a man who has just arrived, it is astonishing. I find myself walking along city streets looking up at high-rises going up to the skyline.
I feel like an immigrant who is a little aggravated. The state kept me locked up so long that I act and look like I just came out of the woods. Sometimes, I’m afraid to go out, so I stay indoors many days. The whole experience of freedom is mind-boggling. Some things have just passed me by. Some things will always be only a blank in my experiences. This is not to say all I missed is bad. There are some things I’m glad I did miss. My attitude toward being in prison is, I stayed positive, and I want to continue that way. Despite the fact that I made good out of my stay — helping in treatment programs, tutoring GED literature and writing classes, and helping to facilitate a prisoners’ writing workshop — it cannot be denied: I stayed in prison too long.
I feel like an immigrant because I do not know my way around this new place. Although I was born in Richmond, I grew up in Brunswick County, in Southside Virginia. I had visited here several times in the past, but I’m not familiar with the lay of the land. I find myself regularly becoming lost or on the wrong bus or walking in the wrong direction. Prison is not to blame for my disorientation. Some of this is old age. Some is my innate inability to orient myself in surroundings with which I am not familiar. Some people can do it. They can walk in a new city and after being told or shown one time, they have the layout down pat and can get around with no problem. Not me.
I am working to figuratively and literally get my bearings.
After serving 28 years in prison for robbery convictions in the Washington, D.C., area, Tyrone Wyche was released on parole in February at age 68. He recently started a job with Richmond Metropolitan Habitat for Humanity and hopes to be able to use his hard-earned knowledge and experience to help others in the community.
