The Clank Of Chains

By Carina Ghionzoli

What if you escape your inner prison?

What if you have the courage to speak up?

What if you believe?

Carina and her son were arrested, handcuffed, shackled, and thrown into a caged van. for a visa overstay. 81/2 months later, she was released against all odds. It was a time of fear,  humiliation, soul searching, sisterhood,  and a brilliant teacher. The story of The Clank Of Chains is one of trust even in the darkest times, where the only known is the present moment. To think about the future created a drowning in fear. To think about the past caused self-flagellation. This was detrimental to her wellbeing. Carina made a decision that changed everything for her. The clank of chains is the noise of the keys and chains on the belts of the guards as they walk their rounds around the pod. This became one symbol of freedom. Join her on this metaphorical journey and discover how to find freedom when you're trapped physically and mentally.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: BreakFear Publishing
• Release date: Apr 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201004552

Carina Ghionzoli

Carina Ghionzoli is a writer, podcaster, life coach, and author of her memoir The Clank Of Chains which draws on her experiences in immigration Detention. She found freedom within the high walls and barbed wire and discovered you don't have to be in detention to be trapped. Carina loves her podcast, BreakFear FindFreedom, the beach walking, and spends far too much time behind her laptop.

Book preview

Prologue

What do you do when you’re ripped from your world and dropped into a time warp, where only darkness prevails? 

Where you have to find your light or die...

Perhaps that was the question I asked myself when I began journalling after three weeks in immigration detention. Eight and a half months later, armed with twenty journals, I was released.

My detention ordeal plopped me into a dark world, an alternate reality where I was plucked from a modern world and thrown into an old world, a desperate world, a world filled with stories of fear. Sometimes stories of victory. Sometimes stories of lack of humanity or the lack of the value of human life. 

It changed the way I view the world. It changed the way I think about things. In this, I eventually viewed it as I viewed myself. I realized that sometimes things aren’t as they seem, sometimes it’s about mirrors and smoke and underneath it all, there is an ugliness only I could transform. It’s about survival, it’s about faith and my belief in the goodness of humanity. An opportunity to change it all for the greatest good of all for me. This is a story of using what you have to get what you want within the confines of detention. 

One day while lying on my stomach on my bunk, imagining I was lying on the beach, kicking my feet in the air. I was journalling in my composition book. This was a time where I could disappear within the lines of the pages into my world of writing and imagination. These books were highly valued not only by the sights and sounds written within them but also for the three days of cleaning I had to do to earn a dollar a day to buy the composition book. I suddenly sat up, a voice spoke through me and declared I had to write a book, and call it The Clank Of Chains. The four or five women in the cell glanced up when they heard my voice and lazily went back to sleep. Was it divine inspiration? I don’t know, and it was a promise I had to keep. This is a story about breaking the fears of our minds and winning against ourselves. It’s an age-old story, and it’s an International story. A story without boundaries.

The book idea flourished as the days, weeks, and months disappeared and what was left were my journals. I walked around the pod countless times. One guard laughingly told me I was creating a path within the cement floors. This was one of my escapes; a meditation, a means to help someone or to listen. Daily life became routine within an abnormal situation, which soon became my normal. The human mind adapts to anything. The small bunk on the top was my space, a tiny world. The outside world was a dim memory. All that existed were the high walls, barbed wired fencing, guards, rules and cement floors. 

Talk in the yard was. 

What are you going to eat when you are released? 

Where are you going to live? 

What are you going to do?

The laughter and conversations ended with the banging of the yard door, and we were herded inside the pod. I returned to my small world on top of the bunk. These moments, along with others, were inspirational for my book. 

I was released, on my recognizance, against all odds by a twist of divine intervention. It was the end of one story and the beginning of another story for another day. I walked out of detention, a different person. On my night of release I was thrown into a caged van for the last time, without shackles and handcuffs. I was dropped once more into the modern world, and the taste of freedom was terrifying. The world was dark. I was alone. For a moment, I wished I was back in what I perceived to be the safety of my tiny world in detention. The thought flitted through my mind and out again when I saw there was someone in need. I stepped off the sidewalk and offered my hand...

Life had wiped the slate clean, stripped me of everything from my life before detention. I was left with the clothes on my back, my phone without a charger, and my journals. 

The trek from release to publication was riddled with obstacles, which I walked through and won each battle. The book screaming at me to finish with procrastination, my constant companion. 

Last year I started a podcast, BreakFear FindFreedom, and with gentle nudging from my co-host I eventually took the leap of faith, closed my eyes and clicked publish before I could click delete.... 

Now the fun of a new adventure begins!

My book, The Clank Of Chains, From Trapped To Freedom, is a journey of self healing and winning against the odds. I was arrested with my son and what happens to him is a missing chapter in the book. Read it to discover how to claim it!

I look forward to meeting you inside the pages of The Clank Of Chains. 

Thank you for joining me! 

Carlsbad, San Diego 2022. 

Chapter 1

A Reprieve

I ’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, she looked at me and choked on the words. It was a silent plea. I knew something terrible was about to be revealed. A fleeing thought brushed my mind, but it disappeared before I could grab it. I just sat there not saying a word in fact, I was out of my body watching this bizarre scene. 

Ten minutes earlier I was walking around the yard. Just another day, absorbing as much sunlight as possible before being herded inside. The door banged and bolted shut, and we were immersed in artificial light once more.

This day was different. A day to change everything...

The Duty Officer bellowed my name. 

Ghionzoli, this was a rare occurrence. I’d kept a pretty low profile all these months. 

Yes officer?, I walked quickly to her podium. 

Medical, put on your uniform, I noticed her southern drawl was a little more pronounced today. I hurried to my cell it was strangely empty except for my friend sleeping on her top bunk. I dragged my box from under the bed and pull on my uniform. 

The Officer lifted her walky talky to her mouth as she moved toward me standing at the door. A  conversation between officers ensued from the pod entrance to the other end of the corridor. 

She nodded, I thanked her, pushed the door and stepped into the corridor outside the pod. It was murky, my feet followed the path mindlessly. 

I knew the drill this wasn’t my first time. The rhythm of detention had ingrained itself into my body. . 

The guard was expecting me at medical.

Again. 

It’s different. 

They pointed me to an office. It was a proper doctors office with carpets and a wooden chair. Not cold floors and below freezing temperatures like the holding cell. 

My intuition was rumbling and instead I noticed a screen at the end of the room for privacy. 

My mind questioned, what was normal in the outside world had become strangely abnormal for me inside. 

I sat at the edge of the wooden chair and waited. 

This definitely didn’t fit protocol .  

I waited, watching the door, it screeched open and the doctor walked in with another doctor, both looked very solemn.

We’ve got your results, her eyes were red and watering, I’m sorry. They said almost in unison. 

This was a surreal moment for me. The doctor I don’t know read the report. 

She was very professional. 

I was fascinated by her height, tall and lanky.

... her cold manner

her starched  uniform 

She was the doctor in a prison facility....after all.

Their words flittered in the space between us. My mind grabbed them and watched the dynamic unfolding. The contrast, one doctor matter of fact and the other finding it difficult to compose herself. 

It was  absurd. 

It was protocol. Two doctors had to present the report findings to me. 

Now I understood. 

I had waited 3 weeks for this.

The tall lanky doctor read the report and pushed it into the hands of the pod doctor, as she mumbled another I’m sorry, and closed the door behind her. 

I pacified the doctor. Tears streamed down her face. She sobbed. The scene was funny to me. I held down a giggle. The roles reversed. It was as if she had received the bad news and not me. 

And still I was okay. 

Everything works out perfectly, my mantra for the last 8 and a half months rose within me. We hugged each other. Which was against the rules, but in this space there were no cameras. Confidentiality protected it.

I’m sorry, sign this requisition form to receive your report. 

I signed.

I heard her swallow hard to compose herself, and she left the room. 

I stared at the closed door for a while, my mind was sharp. I was moved by her reaction.

My report  in my hand and my other hand was on the door. 

I was strangely calm. 

It was eerie. 

It’s as if I knew this all along and now it has been confirmed. The medical officer on duty, looked up from her desk,

Are you ready to go back to the pod?

The Duty officer secured the corridor. My tunnel vision directed me to the pod door. I buzzed and pushed it open. It screamed shut behind me. I moved to the podium to report to the officer in charge. She was a fiery red-haired, with passionate ideas, direct and honest. She had shown concern for my wellbeing. One of my favorite officers. She asked me if everything was okay. I felt called to tell her and felt nothing while telling her. In fact, I felt the need to laugh. Her face paled, and she whispered, If there’s anything you need, please let me know. I thanked her and walk away. 

I felt exposed, as if everyone knew my secret and all the hundred and fifty plus women were watching me as I paraded by... the pod was silent for a moment. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. 

Or so it seems.

Was it all in my mind?

It felt like this was how it should be. 

My brain was empty. 

The cell was desolate, My friend was sleeping on the top bunk at the entrance. I tapped her shoulder, she turned to me and her her eyes widened as I repeated the results to her. She stared at me and. tears filled her eyes... but me? 

A little. 

No nothing. 

I was watching myself from an alternate universe, or so it seemed.

Just another challenge in my life to conquer. Now’s my time to show that I can cure this monster. I didn’t think of anything except for the desire to speak to my son and see him again. But there’s no time for self pity, I must get ready for work. 

I dressed into my kitchen whites and lined up ready for my day’s work in the kitchen; I stood at the door in anticipation.

The production side of the kitchen was busy, 

Hard work, 

Cleaning, 

Delivering, 

Doing constantly and I was working solo, it was exactly what I needed. I’m was busy baking meatballs, pulling cooked meatball trays from the oven, pushing raw ones into the over, watching them bake. Trays and trays and trays of them for all the inmates in the facility. 

Be careful they don’t burn!

Setting the timer, placing on a cart and pushing to the warmers behind the serving line, back and forth, up and down. I’d lost count, and it was great. There was no time to think about anything else. 

The work was good. 

I was looking good, fit, lean, and strong. 

Hey, there’s some pancake batter left from the morning’s breakfast. Don’t you wanna make pancakes?

Can you make pancakes for lunch with our coffee?... 

Can my day get any better? Of course I’ll make pancakes...

I mindlessly make pancake after pancake after pancake. 

The only thing that mattered at that moment was making pancakes!

Hey you not making pancakes for the gen pop only for the kitchen workers," the chef laughingly woke me from my pancake meditation. 

I looked at him and followed his hand, pointing to the table next to me. The table was filled with plates of pancakes and there were only 12 people working in the kitchen.

Oops...

I slid the last pancake from the pan onto a plate; the butter melted over it, a match made in heaven. A thin touch of strawberry jam caressed the top.

The soft, thick, sweet texture melded into my mouth.

Nothing has ever tasted so delicious!

Little did I know that this was  my last day in the kitchen. 

Chapter 2

The End?

The next