Route to ‘village’ started in Toledo prison cell

Aday or two after I was locked up for armed robbery, the warden called me to his office to deliver a message that still sits with me today.

He was from Sierra Leone, and he told me, in his country, villages would embrace people who acted out to help bring them back to society. In America, he said, we just throw those people away.

I know what it feels like to be thrown away. That’s why I have spent so much time since my release talking about the things our justice system can do to make sure people like me find our way back to the village.

Like a lot of kids in their early 20s, I was young and stupid and made mistakes that landed me in prison — less than four years after I scored the winning touchdown for the Buckeyes in the National Championship game.

At the time of my arrest, I struggled with depression and substance abuse. I was addicted to pain pills because it was easier for me to cover up my problem than it was for me to confront it. I was spiraling out of control, and I didn’t know what to do about it.

I entered the Toledo Correctional Institution in December 2006. My daughter was just a few months old, and I’m not sure I was ready to tackle the emotional issues that haunted me. The warden, Khellah Konteh, invited me to his office and told me my life wasn’t over. He said he had a son my age and that he would treat me just like he treated his son.

Change didn’t come immediately. I spent the first year angry. I was stuck in a prison cell in Toledo when I thought I should be out on the football field doing what I did best. It took me a long time to accept that that part of my life was over.

But I finally did. At some point during that first year, I realized I needed to turn the page. I started to educate myself. I read a lot and took classes. I started jogging and sleeping better. Finally, I was getting my mind right. I started to think about what I could do for my daughter when I got out.

Looking back, I was fortunate I landed in Toledo. Mr. Konteh pointed me in the right direction, and the corrections team there gave me the tools I needed to pull my life together. The warden and other members of the corrections staff spent time working with inmates on drug addiction and mental health, helping address some of the underlying issues that led to our incarceration.

Here in Ohio, we are lucky to have Gary Mohr as the director of the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction. Since Gov. John Kasich appointed him to the job in 2011, Director Mohr has focused as much on the “rehabilitation” part of his job as he has on “corrections” component.

Kasich and Mohr want to steer more low- level nonviolent “short-termers” away from state prisons and into community- based facilities. I would also like to see the state legislature pass a bill that would expand access to drug and alcohol treatment and reduce prison terms for minor parole or probation violations.

I’m not sure I will ever forget that day in the Franklin County courthouse when I was sentenced to seven and a half years in jail for robbery and concealed weapons charges. My Mom sat in the first row of the courtroom crying while she held my infant daughter.

My arrest and sentencing made national headlines, but a lot of 22-year-old men land in jail for making bad decisions. We should do a better job getting them the help they need, not just lock them away.

I wish everyone in prison could find their own Khellah Konteh, someone who can show them the path to rehabilitation, and every prison system could have its own Gary Mohr. Because there is a lot more we all can do to help troubled people find their way back to the village.