Jailed in Mexico: 106 Days Behind Bars

Concrete walls and razor wire. Steven Frey, age 48, stared at his new surroundings and shook his head in disbelief. What in the world is happening to my life? he wondered. He massaged his wrists, thankful that the prison guard had removed the steel handcuffs. God, what are You doing? I don't understand.

Frey had moved from Canada to Mexico in 1998 and settled in an area 350 miles south of the Texas border. A registered nurse, he'd partnered with local churches to hold week-long evangelistic clinics in the outback. He provided medical training for the believers, and they accompanied him to rural villages where they treated up to 100 patients daily. After each day's clinic closed, they held an evening service and presented the Gospel message. As a result, men and women were finding healing for both physical and spiritual needs.

In August 2003, Frey traveled to the United States where he restocked medications and clinical supplies. On his return trip to Mexico, he stopped at the border as he'd done numerous times before. He was familiar with the security process that included searches by gun-toting young soldiers. At first, this occasion appeared to be like others in the past - soldiers unloaded his van, scrutinized the contents, and then reloaded it. But things took an unusual turn when they confiscated his vehicle, placed him in one of theirs, and drove him to a border security office.

Nearly eight hours passed as Frey waited and wondered what was happening. The wait ended when authorities handcuffed Frey and delivered him to a six-foot by ten-foot holding cell shared by nine drunks. With only two concrete benches in the room, most occupants sat or slept on the floor. A filthy bathroom was located at the back of the enclosure. There was neither ventilation nor drinking water, so the heat felt unbearable. This whole thing will blow over in a couple of hours, thought Frey.

He was wrong. Two days later Frey, severely dehydrated and fearing that his kidneys would soon shut down, received word that he was being charged with importing an illegal substance. His clinical supplies had included cough syrup that contained pseudoephedrine, an ingredient considered by Mexican authorities to be a psychotropic drug. "It was ironic," says Steven. "Anyone in Mexico can buy cough syrup with the same ingredient, but the authorities decided to charge me and send me to the federal penitentiary in Reynosa."

The media caught wind of the missionary gringo being charged with drug trafficking and launched a smear campaign. Each time the authorities moved Frey, he was handcuffed, marched through a crowd of heckling reporters, and forced to stand displaying his prison identification number while photographers snapped his picture from various angles. Another 24 hours passed in the holding cell, and then Frey was transported after dark, at gunpoint, to the penitentiary. Entering the prison gate, he saw the concrete wall and razor wire. "I knew this might be my home for a long, long time," says Frey. "A federal charge such as this meant a prison term of possibly 13 years."

Frey's circumstances were frightening but in the midst of them he recognized God's sovereignty and care. For instance, new prisoners were usually put in a cell built to hold four people but crammed with 20 or more. Tension and filthy living conditions led to flared tempers, beatings, and stabbings. For no apparent reason, guards kept Frey in the infirmary for the first several days. This provided sanitary living conditions and safety from potential attackers.

The day after his arrival, Frey was given permission to shower. He undressed and, wishing to protect his belongings from being stolen by other inmates, placed his clothing and a small pouch containing less than fifteen dollars on a window ledge. To his dismay, however, someone outside reached up and snatched them. Left with nothing to wear, Frey wondered God, what do I do now? Within minutes, Frey's clothing reappeared albeit minus the money.

This prison held approximately 3,000 inmates. Frey was eventually assigned to a cell with nine men. All were born again believers who'd placed their faith in Christ after their incarceration. One of them, Pastor Miguel, was a former enforcer for a major drug cartel and responsible for the murder of numerous men. Now he was leading a daily worship service and prayer time, shepherding hundreds of fellow inmates in their faith.

On the outside, Frey's family and friends rallied to secure his release. They approached government officials from the United States and Canada, hoping to find someone who understood the politics behind his imprisonment and would be willing to use his influence to help. Those efforts proved futile. They hired a lawyer who, after charging more than $50,000, proved to be dishonest. However, a Canadian Christian journalist picked up Frey's story and spread the word via television. Christian magazines published his plight. And people around the world began praying and contributing funds.