A Warden’s Witness: Anonymous Reflections on Hope Behind Bars at Osamkrom Camp Prison
“I’ve walked these prison grounds for years. I’ve watched men come in angry, lost, hardened. I’ve watched them fight, sometimes each other, sometimes themselves. But what I saw on April 3, 2021, was something I never expected to witness in this place: a sacred shift, a breaking of chains that no walls could contain.”
That Saturday began like any other, with the usual routine, roll calls, schedules, and order. But by midday, something different stirred through the gates of Osamkrom Camp Prison. Not uniformed officials or standard protocols, but something rare- love in action.
The MyHelp-YourHelp Foundation arrived not with judgment, but with compassion, and under the banner “Behind Bars but not Bound,” they reminded everyone inside, including us officers, that these men are more than their sentences.
What struck me first was the praise and adoration that echoed like freedom through the compound. It was led by Minister Benjamin Debrah and Madam Berlinda Asante, and for a moment, it was as if time stood still. As I stood by the entrance, I noticed something unusual: inmates with eyes closed, hands raised, tears flowing. These were not the men I saw yesterday. Something had begun.
And then Prophet Joseph Gabriel Obeng took the mic. I’ve heard many preach, but this message was different. He spoke from Romans 15:12 and John 3:16, but he didn’t speak to criminals; he spoke to fathers, brothers, and sons. Men. Humans. His words cracked something open in that yard. When the altar call came, 27 inmates stepped forward to give their lives to Christ. I stood frozen, watching the same men I’ve escorted to punishment walk willingly into grace. I was moved beyond words.
“I’ve never seen inmates cry like that, not out of guilt, but out of the hope that maybe, just maybe, they are still worthy of a future.”
And then came the voices that added fuel to that fire: Reggie Rockstone and Dr. Zilla Limann. Icons who could be anywhere else, but chose to be here, among the forgotten. Their presence said something powerful: you are not forgotten. Their words echoed what we guards rarely say aloud: “We see you. We believe in your change.”
The donations that followed weren’t mere charity; they were tools for dignity. A corn mill for food production. Medical supplies from Cocoa Clinic. Nutritious food, clean water systems, farm tools – not just handouts, but pathways to purpose. And perhaps most meaningful to many, Bibles and spiritual books to sustain the seeds planted that day.
I saw hardened men holding their new boots and cutlasses as if they’d been handed keys to their future.
“In my years as a prison warden, I’ve seen many NGOs pass through these walls. But what MyHelp-YourHelp Foundation did that day wasn’t just service, it was resurrection.”
I remain anonymous because this story isn’t about me. It’s about the power of seeing people not for what they’ve done, but for who they still are, and who they can become.
To the Myhelp-Yourhelp Foundation, your work here did more than rehabilitate. You humanized. You restored. You did not just speak hope, you delivered it, bucket by bucket, meal by meal, prayer by prayer.
“This was more than outreach. It was a sacred offering. And I will forever be full of praise for MyHelp-YourHelp Foundation for stepping behind bars to remind all of u s- guards and inmates alike that grace belongs here too.”
In quiet gratitude,
Anonymous
Senior Warden, Osamkrom Camp Prison
