Approaching the prison, small markets and payphones lined the streets. A line was forming outside of the gates so guards could inspect visitors prior to entering the facility. Dogs and cats roamed the streets; mountains were visible in the distance. And there were soldiers walking around the outside of the fence with automatic weapons, accompanied by a tank.

We handed over our passports, had our arms stamped and were frisked for entry into the prison. Walking toward Sector 11, where the gang is housed, we passed a guard outfitted with an AK-47.

Shortly before entering the area, Dr. Joel Van Dyke, President of Strategies for Transformation, introduced us to what we should expect and led us in prayer.

The 150 men residing in the unit were isolated from the rest of the prison population in a different building and far from their rival gang’s housing.

After passing through two barred doors, we experienced immediate sensory overload. The initial impression was surreal. Gang markings were visible everywhere, and the scent of marijuana was instantly apparent. The gang members walked around the crowded hall, turning sideways to pass one another due to the limited space. Many of them were shirtless and most were tattooed. Their chests were often covered in their gang symbols, and some of the men had markings all over their faces. In Guatemala social tattoos do not exist. Generally, only gang members bear the markings, ensuring lifelong societal rejection, regardless of whether or not they have completed their sentence and fulfilled their debt to society.

Often shunned by their families, “their homeboys are the only friends they have.”

Along the walls there are several paintings. Many of them are gang-related, but one section is dedicated to a mural based on the story of the prodigal son, which Leah Samuelson, BuildaBridge Artist on Call and Eastern University graduate student,  had created with some of the prisoners in May. The unit is about 100 feet long. Both sides of the hall are lined with thick, black steel doors. The doors to each cell used to be locked; however, they now remain permanently open due to an influx of prisoners and lack of adequate space. About 16 prisoners live in each cell, roughly 10x20 feet, while others sleep on mattresses in the hall.

Liz Herrera, Central American BuildaBridge Institute Coordinator, as well as Celmali Jaime and David Melby-Gibbons, Eastern University graduate students, led translation while other members of the group communicated to the best of their abilities. Some of the prisoners created crafts to sell, weaving small phrases and patterns around pens, the profits from which they give to charity.

Many of the prisoners stopped to speak with us, while others walked around smoking joints and socializing with one another. Shortly before we left, some of the men were setting up soccer goals in the hall.

Van Dyke and two chaplains, working for an organization know as Barrio4Christ, visit the prison, bringing with them Christian Ministry. Herrera noted that there are only two ways out of the gang: become a Christian or die.

Van Dyke and those like him are unique because they are among the few willing to visit and work with the men in the unit. “If there’s one thing they respect, it’s courage,” he said. “They see it as courageous to come in and visit, knowing their reputation.”

A belief in “limpieza social,” social cleansing, leads most of Guatemalan society to see the men as a blight on the populace, deserving death for their association with the rampant criminal activity.

Even church members are reported to feel this way and acts of brutality are perpetuated to spark further acts of violence among the gangs.

For example, a gang member might be found mutilated in a ditch, wrapped in barbed wire and made to look like the victim of a gang hit. However, a rival gang member would not have been responsible for the murder. Someone else had committed the act to fuel violence between the gangs, so they might kill each other off.

In spite of these prejudices, the men were remarkably genuine and friendly. The prisoners treated all of us with respect, asking our names and where we are from, what we study and what interests us. Samuelson worked with several prisoners, getting input from them on the storyboard for her Master’s thesis. There has been no major incidence of violence in Sector 11 in two years.

We were even invited into their personal space. Several of us entered a cell, sat on one of the bunks among the naked pictures and marveled at the model ship a prisoner had created from popsicle sticks.

Any nervousness we had felt upon entering the unit quickly dissipated. The men respected people like Van Dyke, the  two chaplains  and Samuelson, who come to work with and help them, and they treated the rest of us equally.

The hour we spent in Sector 11 passed quickly. It was incredible to hold conversations and feel comfortable among some of the most marginalized and feared men in Guatemala.

The “adios” came too quickly.