That Salsa Band I Met In A Mexican Prison.
One of those weird days that stays in your head.

“Welcome, make yourselves at prison.”

That’s how one of the inmates greeted us “humorously” when we arrived at Reclusorio Oriente in Iztapalapa, Mexico. I don’t know if it was sarcasm or resentment. On occasion, when I remember that day, his tone still tickles my memory.

”Lobos Orchestra” was our reason to be there. They are a salsa orchestra that by way of competition had won the right to represent Reclusorio Oriente in a federal inter-prison contest.

In a short time, the aroma of confinement was engraved in my nose. It smells of cheap soap and chlorine, mixed with a faint touch of sewage. In my ears, the frustrated murmur of oblivion. In my eyes, the gentle lobotomy that El Sistema had performed on the color and shapes in a space stripped of ​​contrast. Light beige and a weird “minty” tone, colored the walls.

After various pat-downs, security check points, gated corridors, a lot of barbed wire and the razor gaze of inmates and guards, we reached the auditorium. We had a chance to walk around with the band in different spaces they used to rehearse. This included the bathroom, where they had heir basic setup.

This mixed group of men met and learned to play various instruments while doing time. Only one of them was a musician before prison -the lead vocal- and he’d urged inmates he befriended to take up playing an instrument to form a band.

Inmate E is the longest standing member in Lobos Orchestra. He is a man of few words, “This fills me and satisfies me in this place, makes me feel a little more free. It relieves stress and I feel worthy with my band members to have made it this far through unity and discipline. My dream was to make an orchestra and now here we are.”

They played well and were decent performers, almos like the kind you might find at an average salsa club in Mexico City. After some hours with them, I noticed their cardboard smiles, fragile. It was a grim attempt to avoid revealing a sadness that can’t be hidden. A dark serenity, evident in their gaze, dulled the natural shine of their eyes.

Inmate S refers to Lobos Orchestra as “An awareness space as well as serving to distract from prison life. It is a place to work and communicate and this helps endure the incarceration process. It’s instrumental in not becoming unhinged; music provides tranquility and without it I’d be in a bad situation. It has rescued me from feeling prisoner within these walls.” 

Regarding the competition, he says that it has been a motivation for all members. The idea of winning makes them focus and work through their differences. “In the end, we eat, sleep and dream music. God gave us talent to make this happen. Music can rescue you from anything, brother. Being able to achieve this makes me feel like I am worth something as a person. I don’t know if music changes the world but I know it changes my world. My body is in prison but my soul, mind and heart are free when we play.”

They never asked about life outside. They kept joking about the lack of women in prison and stuck to the song they were going to perform and ideas on how to look good on camera. They even had a short choreography for the moment they hit the chorus. Their solos were the best part, they seemed to disappear into them. It was almost like a scene out of a movie, but every now and then I’d see them casually look away, like in a fleeting daydream. Except for the man who played guiro. He didn’t get a solo, but he didn’t care at all. He was happy to be in the band.

Inmate C grew up in the world of music -his father was in a band- but due to circumstances of life could never get into it. He believes music represents evolution for all stages of life. “It represents Culture and a way of life and an to express oneself. Personally music has given me the chance to develop and grow. As anything in life, it’s a complex matter but we deal with it. I think it’s important that in this competition, we’re an example of the positive things that can come from within prison. No one talks about the good things that happen in here and this is a chance for that. I am really proud to have gotten to this point in the competition, it shows our dedication an discipline and that makes me -and all of us- very happy.”

“We have a chance to have some identity and express what we feel through music.”

When it was time for us to leave, after we said our goodbyes, one of the them said “So that’s that, right? We never see you guys again, right?”, I’d never experienced that kind of adieu.

He was right.

We would never see each other again. His question left me thinking about the sense of abandonment that lines a prison farewell. Every time a visitor leaves, they go head out into the real world, to a life that has nothing to do with the micro universe of an inmate. They stay in a box. For an inmate, each goodbye could be the last one.

Every now and then as I’m going through my archive I stumble across “the prison folder” and wonder about these guys. What could have possibly happened back in that box? Since then, I’ve moved cities twice, switched jobs, traveled to fifteen countries, started a family and I'm living abroad.

“We never see you guys again, right?”, could be translated into a simple, damming “you leave and I stay”. A sadder meaning I later derived from those words was “you experience life and I don’t”.

One of the men approached me at the last second and shook my hand, he had a small rolled up paper. He said it was a number to call his girlfriend. I was reluctant to take it but he was so close to me that I couldn’t refuse. He said to call and let her know where he was. To say I felt extremely uncomfortable is an understatement. That paper never left prison.

Perhaps it was a real cry for help. I’ll never know.

I guess this is one of those life experiences that stays with you. It suddenly lights up like a dot on a radar, and scratches the back of your head as if about to say something, only to quiet down and yield for you to speak. Except you can’t say a thing and you’re left there, in silence, pondering how you spend time.