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'FATHER THOMAS'

‘It’s OK. We want you to have it.’

I accepted the money, but it was strange that he had said ‘we’. Fat Joe was a big man and ate for two people, but as far as I knew, there was only one of him.

On his fifth visit, Fat Joe finally revealed the real purpose behind these trips to the prison.

‘Are you a religious person, Thomas?’ he asked casually, but I immediately saw where the question was leading.

‘Not very. But I’m a Christian, I guess.’

It had happened to me countless times during my time in San Pedro: someone would arrive and befriend you, then try to convert you to their religion when you were at your most vulnerable. The only thing I didn’t know was which particular church Fat Joe belonged to. Most of Bolivia was Catholic, and we had a beautiful church in the prison with a statue of Santa Guadalupe, but we also had priests from the Evangelical Church, the Seventh Day Adventists and even a few Jehovah’s Witnesses.

‘Thomas, do you have many dark moments here in prison?’ Joe asked next.

I was a bit stoned and didn’t want to get involved in a heavy discussion about religion. But I didn’t want to be rude, so I decided to make light of the situation before he could get started properly.

‘Yeah, I do. All the prisoners do,’ I bowed my head sadly. ‘Especially at night. They cut the electricity all the time.’ But the look Fat Joe gave me made me feel guilty.

‘In all seriousness, Thomas, do you ever pray?’

‘Sometimes. When I’m down and I need hope. But at the moment I’m OK, really.’ I tried to slide out of it again, but he kept repeating my name and asking me questions that I had to answer ‘yes’ to.

‘Thomas, do you ever feel that you are alone in the world? That there’s no one to turn to?’

I nodded. Of course I did.

‘Well, you’re not. God is with you. Do you believe in God, Thomas?’

‘Sort of. Well, not really. I believe in God, but it’s more my own version of God.’

Fat Joe exhaled loudly and placed his hands on the table, palms facing upwards and I knew something big was coming.