Growing up, there was never much doubt that Marjani Abdur-Rahman would go to college. In fact, in high school, she dreamed, probably in more detail than most students, about what that experience would look like. Her mom, a social worker who graduated from Michigan State University, was her academic and professional role model, which is why Abdur-Rahman planned to major in clinical psychology. And she was excited to soak up many of the other quintessential parts of college life: living in the dorms, joining a sorority and partying on the weekends with her friends.
Abdur-Rahman enrolled at 蹤獲扦-Flint in 2008 and got off to a fast start. She took advantage of the fact that the university had just built on-campus housing and moved into the dorms. She declared a major in clinical psychology and a minor in Spanish. She also threw her energy into numerous student organizations including lobbying successfully to charter a new chapter of Sigma Gamma Rho, a historically Black sorority, on the Flint campus. She was also intent on not taking on more debt than necessary, so she balanced a full-time course load with several part-time jobs: one at the university restaurant, another as an assistant manager at rue21 in the local mall, and a third working the night shift at a Speedway convenience store.
The night of Dec. 9, 2012, though, abruptly brought an end to that busy, but hopeful rhythm of life. Abdur-Rahman was out with her friend when they ran into the friend's ex-boyfriend. While they were at the club, Abdur-Rahman got into a heated argument with him over the mans past treatment of her friend. Emotions were running high. Everyone had been drinking. At one point, Abdur-Rahman says she tried to get her friend to leave with her, but her friend wanted to see if she could smooth things over. The argument then escalated further, with the man threatening to pull a gun on Abdur-Rahman, at which point she went back to her car and retrieved a small knife from her glove compartment. She says she had no intention of using it; she thought it might get him to back down. But the argument intensified, the two yelling at each other until it reached an unimaginable moment: Like a reflex, Abdur-Rahman stabbed him once in the chest. After it happened, she didnt think he was seriously injured, and she and her friend left in their car. But Abdur-Rahman learned later that he had died in the hospital. She was eventually arrested and charged with open murder, a crime carrying a potential life sentence. She ultimately agreed to a plea that reduced the charge to manslaughter, with a sentence of seven and a half to 15 years. In December 2013, after being held for 10 months at the Genesee County Jail, she began serving her sentence at Womens Huron Valley Correctional Facility in Ypsilanti, Michigans only womens prison.
She says the first two years of being incarcerated were the most difficult. She describes herself as a bubbly, fun-loving person, but prison wasnt a place where you could show that kind of emotion. Personal contact between people, for example, was prohibited. One day, upon seeing a friend who she knew was going through a difficult time, Abdur-Rahman reflexively reached out and embraced her only to get sanctioned for sexual misconduct. And, of course, there was a hurricane of emotions to deal with: The guilt that came from being responsible for taking another persons life. The nagging thoughts that if she hadnt been drinking or hadnt had a knife in her car that night, none of this would be happening. The fear of not knowing what the rest of her life would bring once she got out.
Even within that setting, Abdur-Rahman eventually found a rhythm. As she did when she was a college student, she participated in lots of clubs and activities in the prison. She practiced yoga and did strength and conditioning classes. She facilitated AA meetings and sang in the church choir. Through these activities, she says she developed a lot more compassion for people. I used to be a very judgemental person, particularly with people who had substance abuse issues. I just thought, Why dont you stop? Why are you doing that to yourself? she says. But after housing with a lot of women who had those issues, and speaking with them through AA and NA, I realized we had a lot in common, a lot of the same trauma. Sexual child abuse, divorced parents, abusive relationships. The only difference between me and these women is the way we coped. She also met women who didnt fit any of the common stereotypes of incarcerated people. People who didnt have previous criminal records, histories of violence or challenges with addiction. People who she thought of as good people, who, like her, had made one big mistake.
At a certain point, Abdur-Rahman also started to regain some of the hope she once had for her future. She understood that it was going to be damn near impossible to be a felon and be a psychologist, but she started to think about adjacent careers, particularly in social work. While in prison, she met many inspiring, compassionate social workers. One woman even shared with her that she was also a felon and later got her degree. Later, when she saw that 蹤獲扦-Dearborn was offering free college classes in the prison and one of them was an introductory social work course, she didnt hesitate to sign up. There, she learned just how broad the social work field was. She could be a therapist. A case worker. Someone who worked with people with addiction issues. There were even social workers who specialized in working with formerly incarcerated people. Some time after that, she saw a flyer for 蹤獲扦-Dearborns SOAR program, which provides an array of support services and scholarships for adult learners and returning students who are pursuing their first bachelor's degree. It all started giving her a feeling that her deferred college dreams maybe weren't out of reach.
When she was released on parole in June 2021, her initial hope was to return to 蹤獲扦-Flint, which was much closer to her home in Saginaw. But when that didnt work out, she immediately thought of 蹤獲扦-Dearborn. She felt ecstatic the day she got the acceptance letter from the university, calculating that she could finish up in just a couple of years. But heading back to college after a 10-year break posed certain challenges. When I got arrested, we were on iPhone 4. When I got out, it was iPhone 14, she says, adding that the tech learning curve was a bit steep. In prison, even in college classes, she could only use pen and paper. Now, students lived attached to their laptops and tracked assignments, grades and discussion groups via online learning management systems. You could even take most of your classes virtually if you wanted to. Being in a college classroom was also a bit of a culture shock. I went from taking college classes where everyones in their prison garb and all you have is your pencil and paper. And, now, here I am in a classroom wearing normal clothes with a bunch of normal people. You know no ones psychic. But you s