Terror behind the Walls -a Visit to a Haunted Prison

Jughead JonesHalloween is not something we care about in Kenya. Very few people back home even know what it is all about. My interaction with this scary season was only on TV and books; my favorite being a comic known as Archie. Jughead, one of the characters visits a haunted house with talking gigantic spiders hanging on cobwebs as long as ropes, ghosts, Dracula, skeletons, talking mirrors and all. Jughead however is not shaken by any of these and at some point even asks the Dracula whether the stuff coming from his mouth (blood) is some jelly or something. And if so, could he also have some of the stuff and some Halloween cookies? He leaves all the scary people frustrated.

Based on Jughead’s experience, I quickly sign up to take kids to the haunted house at Eastern State Penitentiary, a closed prison declared as “the most haunted” in the US by the Travel Channel.

We are on our way there, Wednesday night in a bus full of excited kids. I am sited next to Patricia the only fifth grader brave enough to go. In the middle of a conversation she whispers, ‘Miss Winnie are you scared?’ I laugh out loud. ‘Who? Me? Scared? No sweetie! This entire hullabaloo about prisoners haunting the prison is all exaggerated. It will be nothing scary.’ She holds on tight to me and says that she will hold on to me that way as we go through the corridors of the prison.

The penitentiary is in Philadelphia’s Fairmont district, with an exterior resembling a fortress.

Albert and Boston, camp directors pay for the tickets and we are ushered into the prison doors. Patricia reminds me that we are about to see ‘terror behind the walls’. There have been many reports of paranormal activities in this prison but I am not scared. We are divided into groups of six.

As we enter into the dark corridor, I feel a shudder go through my spine. A ghostly music fills the darkness, shadowy figures move along the wall.

I hold on tightly to Patricia. ‘Miss Winnie you are scared!’ I just nod. My nod is interrupted by a piercing scream made by a shadowy figure with an ashen-white face with hideous scars streaks of dried blood. We scuttle through the corridors—I am screaming on top of my lungs.

Other shadowy figures appear from the corners and skeleton hands unexpectedly emerge from behind the walls trying to grab us as we flee. My scream goes a notch higher and my pace fastens even though it’s impended by Patricia who is clinging tightly to me. We run in the maze of sinister passageways to the prison infirmary where spine-chilling figures clad in hospital gowns with streaks of blood, and opened up bodies lay chained to the small beds.

Eastern State penitentiary was operated under the Pennsylvania system from 1829-1913. This system used by the Quakers required that inmates be kept in solitary confinement and were not allowed to communicate with anyone.

Prisoners were locked up in their cells except one hour when they left their cells with their heads covered in a hood to prevent them from seeing other prisoners. The prisoners’ cells had a toilet, a table, bunk and a Bible. This solitary confinement was meant to make the prisoners find God. However, this did not bear fruit and most sane people became mad. In hopeless need for human contact, the prisoners would whisper through vents or tap pipes. If caught the price would be very cruel. This included being dunked into an ice cold bath tub and being hung overnight from a wall. This punishment known as the ‘water bath’ was popular during winter months. The ‘mad chair’ was another brutal way to punish prisoners. They were strapped to a chair for days (without food or drink) so tightly that they could not make the slightest movement. Another deadly punishment included being put for weeks into ‘the hole’, a dungeon with little air and no light. Prisoners who violated the ‘no communication policy’ got the ‘iron gag’. They were strapped high behind their back, with chains on their wrists. An iron collar was clamped onto the tongue of the prisoner. Most bled to death.

As we scuttle through the dark prison corridors, the reenacted scenes with actors clad in orange overalls and hoods, screaming, howling, shaking chains, with some on hanging on the walls crying for mercy, my terror disappears and in its place comes anguish and pain. My pace slows and I pause to look at the faces behind the hoods.

When we come out of the prison, I realize that Patricia eyes are wet. “You are crying Patricia, what’s wrong?” Looking at me she says, “You are crying too.” I touch my face and it is wet. “Miss Winnie, I am crying because it I feel so bad they treated the prisoners so cruelly. Did you see their faces? Did you see the man who was chained to the wall? Did you see them clinging to the bars? ” I tell her I saw all that but remind her they were acting. “But they just portrayed what used to happen, didn’t they?” I nod realizing that this girl is thinking the same thing as me.



We walk to the bus, still holding each other’s hands. As other kids excitedly talk about their experience at the haunted house, Patricia whispers, “Miss Winnie, I will start praying for people in prisons”



I squeeze her hand tighter and close my eyes in prayer.



By Winfred Kiunga

The 5th Graders’ Cake Fight

Growing up in Kenya, I had experienced fruit fights and water fights. Tropical fruits like mangoes, avocadoes, bananas, plums, oranges, passion fruits etc, were usually our weapons of fun. Everyone in our neighborhood grew them in plenty and so there was always an extra overripe one to throw at a friend. There were also homemade bombs for our enemies__ for neighborhood bullies especially. This is how we made them (Kindly don’t share this secret recipe). We gathered rotten eggs (sometimes we had to lift the chicken as they were sitting on them to hatch) and ashes. We put two eggs and a handful of ashes into a thin plastic bag and tied a knot to close the open end and the bomb was done. We shadowed the selected bully (I won’t mention names for most of them have since changed have and now have families) then attacked from all corners with our bombs. They would explode on their faces and then we would run. The end result: an egg-ash faced smelling bully. What a joy we had!

We had Miss Megan’s birthday (my 5th Grade co-teacher) on Thursday and I bought a cake to share with our kids. We (the kids and I) planned to surprise her so we hid the cake in a different room and covered it well. We acted ‘normal’ when she came in, i.e. kids sang ‘happy birthday’ and gave her cards that we had made the previous day in her absence (so she didn’t think there was anything more coming), did their homework and did not whisper to each other mysteriously.

After homework time, all the kids followed me to the room to get the cake. Ms Megan was busy pinning their days’ points on to the chart so she didn’t notice we were away until we came in with the cake. She was genuinely surprised and overwhelmed. In the course of sharing the cake, Emmanuel, one of my favorites (all of them are really) ‘accidentally’ smeared Miss Megan’s face with some icing. She was at first stunned, then amused. Her response--smearing  back, brought fun-chaos (as I like to call them) and within seconds of the initial attack, all kids were ‘caking’ each other in the face. I got busy documenting such a hilarious moment; for my days at Urban Promise are made of these moments, which remind me so much of my childhood’s setting, though it is an ocean away.

Emmanuel helped clean up after there were peace talks between Ms Megan and the kids and there was cease fire; for as much as we also have fun at camp, we also teach values such as cleanliness. Below are pictures of the fun-chaos moments

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The fight: Ms Megan getting iced.

Riyhana, getting it in the face from Patricia and Ashley.

Ms Megan’s face.

Emmanuel, doing the cleaning cheerfully.

By Winnie Kiunga

Iron sharpens iron

Coming from Kenya, I felt that I had little to offer to kids in the US. I was nervous because I knew nothing about the intercity culture, save what I had seen on TV. However, the kids are eager to teach me about their city as they are to learn about my country. They ask questions about the Kenyan system of education, our government, what are the country’s major exports, what are the major problems prevalent there; whether there is injustice. They ask what makes Kenya beautiful. They eagerly sit around me every morning for a new word in Swahili. They are fascinated my accent and try to imitate me.


Recently, the kids asked me if I played basketball at home. While I had played the game- just a little in high school, they were shocked to learn that there was not a single basketball court in my small town. Albert, our Afterschool program director, suggested that we begin a penny drive where kids can bring change and put in a jar.

The enthusiasm is amazing and contagious. They want a competition among the grades. Each grade has their own jar and each day Albert announces the winning class. The kids call it ‘our Kenyan Project’. Every day, they shade the funds’ thermometer a notch higher. So far, with only 3 days into it, we have raised $63.

The penny drive will continue the whole year and hopefully raise $840, the estimated budget to build a basketball court outside my home church. I called my pastor last night and he says the kids back home are so excited about having a basketball court, that they have already formed a team! It is amazing to see how dedicated these Camden kids are. Jorge, one of the kids in my class recently asked me, “Ms Winnie, do kids in your neighborhood have hope? Do you think that the basketball court will give them hope?” ‘’Sure!” I responded. “I am asking because you are here to give us hope and love and so we should also give some in return. People should not just receive, they should also give “And with that he suddenly joined the rest in counting the pennies for the day.

These kids have taught me so much in the few months I have been here. One great lesson is that they have much to give too: from hugs to basket ball courts. Iron sharpens iron.

Winnie Kiunga

International Fellow