In a Georgia State Prison, a Community Comes Together to Make a Thanksgiving Meal

Thanksgiving is a time of year when families gather around the table, sharing stories, laughter, and a bountiful meal. For many, these cherished memories evoke a sense of warmth and togetherness. However, for most incarcerated individuals like myself, we have to cling to and find solace in the memories of our past. For some very lucky ones, also like myself, we've been blessed with the opportunity to create new ties of family, new bonds of friendship, and a new sense of community with those whom we are imprisoned.

While prison does bear many of the stereotypes and hallmarks so well encapsulated within pop culture due to films and TV shows, the reality is one that a person who has never passed a year within the concrete and steel of a prison cannot fully grasp. For me, my life revolves around a routine. It's how I've survived.

Every day at Central State Prison in Macon, Georgia, I get up before 5 a.m. to take my laundry out to the courtyard and hand it over to the guy on the laundry detail. When I awake in my cell, which has a bunk bed and a desk, all I see is industrial steel and an institutional color scheme of gray and white. I always down a bottle of water and then take a few minutes to meditate on the floor of my cell. I have degenerative disk disease and neural foraminal stenosis, so I also carefully stretch. After that, I make use of the early-morning quiet in the restroom. I then take a hot shower and complete my hair and skincare routine. I'm typically done with my morning prep and ready for the rest of my day by 7 a.m. I head to my job in the law library where, for eight hours Monday through Friday, I can help people and forget that I'm incarcerated. During that time, my responsibilities included helping other prisoners understand portions of the law, drafting pleadings for their cases, and providing guidance on procedure.

From the little I've thus far been able to impart, I'm sure it's easy to understand how the holidays aren't typically times of "great cheer" or really of any significance to incarcerated people–other than an easy day free from inspection by the wardens, searches by the CERT team, and having to report to assigned work details. For most of us, it's just depression and a reminder of the limbo-like state we exist in; not dead but not really alive, neither truly apart from the world nor truly part of it. The state typically redesignates holidays that fall on weekends to a weekday at the front end or tail end of a weekend, so for many prisoners a holiday just means a three- or four-day weekend.

On Thanksgiving, the prison makes a poorly assembled pretense of caring. They pull out the best industrially-canned-for-mass-government-purchase turkey and yams that money can buy, while setting the tables with the state's best unwashed trays. What I love about Thanksgiving is that instead of giving us the usual five minutes to eat, whilst yelling at us throughout, we get maybe seven minutes and a little less vehemence in the screams. I don't know why, but Thanksgiving just brings out something charitable in folks.

However, as everyone knows in C building at Central State Prison, during the holidays my buddy T.P. and I are gonna throw down. I bring the "groceries" and ingredients by financing the meal, and he shows out with his ability to make amazing-tasting meals from a prison cell with no other appliances or tools than a prison desk, wall socket, strip of cord and an empty bucket lined with trash bags. People say Gordon Ramsay is one of the world's greatest chefs, and I'm sure he is, but they haven't met T.P., who makes phenomenal meals with ZERO of the supplies or support he deserves.

T.P. and I came up with the plan for regular holiday meals several years ago, in 2018, and now it's a tradition all its own. It started out really as just an act of goodwill born of the desire to feed the people we were closest with.

Preparation begins a week or two in advance. T.P. takes charge as the cook, requesting and ordering what he needs for that year's meal. Everyone pitches in whatever they can. Some people pitch in various commissary goods. For example, my friend Bran Lo always pitches in precooked rice and beans–his favorites. Roughly 100 ramen noodle soups will often come from Tezzy, Kris, and HotShot. Summer sausages and bottled cheese will be pitched in by me, Grumpy, and Franklin. Others pitch in from their connections in the kitchen. Sean and Country will pull strings to get things like onion, peppers, carrots, or cabbage.

Those who don't have money to pitch in financially, chip in with prep, set up, and clean up. We always end up with two courses of food and a dessert for everyone in the dorm, about 30 of us.

Once all the goods have been piled up in T.P.’s room, he and his sous chefs, M.T. and Tony, will pull out the three cooking bugs, two empty large plastic coffee canisters, and a mop bucket to cook. A cooking bug is a piece of metal wire with a plug added, which is then plugged in so an electrical current can be run into a bucket of water to make it boil for cooking. T.P. will use the two large coffee canisters to cook sides, sauces, and veggies in, while using the mop bucket to cook the larger main course stuff–like the mixture of rice and Ramen–which will have the meat and veggies and stuff added to it. The buckets, including the mop bucket, are all cleaned out with bleach and then lined with new trash bags to protect the food from contamination.

The meal is held in the dorm, at the tables and benches provided in the institutional living area. Typically, once everyone has gathered and received their plates, T.P. and I thank everyone for pitching in however they could. Then, as an ordained minister and peer chaplain, I often say grace–although sometimes Rev. Brown does it. Sometimes, we all go around and say something or someone we are grateful for.

From Thanksgiving until the New Year, this is a period of time I've always called the "dark end" of the year. Yet, amid the challenges, I now cling to the memories of Thanksgivings past, where I managed to find glimmers of hope and connection, even while living in the foster care system. It was during those uncertain times that I learned the transformative power of food, and the warmth it brings to the human spirit.

Incarceration is certainly a different setting, but it's also a familiar experience. Both situations limited personal freedom, replaced family with surrogate connections, and imposed a sense of confinement. The only major difference is: Most of the kids in my foster homes were there because they didn't have safe and loving homes to go to, whereas here in my prison almost every single one of us did something (that we were most likely not too proud of) to be put here. But that doesn't make the hurt, the heartache, or the regret any less biting.

In the prison setting, Thanksgiving takes on a special significance and, just like outside, the dinner is the most important part! It is a day when barriers are temporarily lifted, and the bonds we have formed behind bars are strengthened. As a trans woman, I have found solace and acceptance within the community of men I have befriended. Together, we have created our own traditions, defying the limitations of our surroundings. Thanksgiving becomes a beacon of hope, an opportunity to showcase our culinary skills, and a time to express our gratitude for the community we have built.

Incarceration often dehumanizes individuals, reducing them to their crimes and stripping away their identities. However, by sharing our stories and experiences, we can break down these dehumanizing barriers. Food, at its core, is a universal language that transcends the walls of prisons and the prejudices of society. Through our Thanksgiving meals, we not only nourish our bodies but also our souls, reaffirming our shared humanity and reminding ourselves and others that the incarcerated are not defined solely by their mistakes. Through the act of coming together over a shared meal, we challenge societal stigmas and demonstrate that everyone, regardless of their circumstances, deserves love, acceptance, and the opportunity to celebrate the blessings of life.

So, for me, and I believe also for the men with whom I'm incarcerated, Thanksgiving holds a profound significance for those of us who have experienced the oppressive and broken systems of prison and foster care. Despite the challenges we face, we find solace in the memories of Thanksgivings past… and the joy of a delicious meal doesn't hurt either!