On an ordinary Friday evening in June, Marquis and a few friends cooked a meal for a group of unhoused people in downtown Baton Rouge.
They served plates of red beans and rice, barbeque chicken, cornbread and a roll, and handed out bottles of cold water. For Marquis, serving others creates space for gratitude and gratitude creates purpose and the drive to continue to serve.
“If I have time to cook, I’m going to cook. And there are people on the street who don’t have access to water. Water,” he said, shaking his head. “Just imagine not having access to water.”
Marquis has been home from prison for a year and has settled into his new life. But when he came home on July 21, 2025, after spending 21 years in prison, the world felt too bright, too open, and too full of choices. He remembers his freedom settling slowly.
“It took me a couple of days to accept that I was actually free,” he said. “It felt like being born again.”
Parole Project reentry classes became his lifeline. He learned how to use a cell phone, how to create and maintain a budget, prepare for job interviews, and even how to navigate interactions with law enforcement. And he did it with the support of other clients going through the program with him.
“Those classes helped me communicate instead of panicking,” he said. “They helped me feel ready and everyone was going through similar things. It felt good.”
His curiosity fueled his tenacity, and his dedication and regimentation created space for opportunities. He quickly received his driver’s license, began taking online HVAC courses, purchased a car, and was hired by a funeral home, a job that allows him space to show compassion and empathy toward families at their most vulnerable moments.
Andrea Hamilton, owner of A. Hamilton Platinum Funeral Service in Baton Rouge, remembers the day Marquis walked in.
“He came well dressed, well spoken, prepared to work that day,” he said. “He was a person who did his time and didn’t ask for any cuts. He was ready to take charge of his own life. I have no problem giving someone a try. Everyone deserves a second chance.”
And what Hamilton noticed immediately was Marquis’ loyalty, willingness, and attention to detail.
“He will check and recheck everything and analyze all of it. He is dedicated to learning and wants to understand every step, every reason, every ‘why.’ He wants to connect all the dots,” he said, laughing. “We have to tell him to lighten up sometimes.”
As a crematory operator, Marquis handles some of the most delicate work imaginable. But he treats every person with reverence, especially Muslim families, whose traditions he knows intimately.
“When a Muslim passes away, you treat them as if they’re still living,” he explains. “You take your time. You comfort the family.”
Marquis grew up in Zachary and Scotlandville, raised by a single mother, a grandmother, and a great‑aunt who became his emotional anchor. He grew up with an older half‑brother and learned early how to adapt to whatever environment he was in.
“I grew up in a household where I didn’t feel loved,” he said quietly. “When you don’t know any better, it feels normal.”
He escaped by drawing cartoon characters, playing Nintendo games, and finding solace in the quiet corners of his great‑aunt’s house. He learned compassion from the absence of it and promised himself that no one around him would ever feel the kind of loneliness he felt as a child.
“I know what it felt like,” he said. “I always went above and beyond to make sure other people didn’t feel that way.”
After graduating from Zachary High School, Marquis joined the Marines. He was stationed in Jacksonville, N.C., and spent two years in the service. He loved the structure, the discipline, and the sense of purpose. But poor choices and bad decisions created a different path, and at 19, he went to jail for the first time.
“I stayed in trouble a lot,” he said. “And I went to jail for five years, was home for eight months, and then back again for 21 years.” He spent a total of 26 years incarcerated.
Marquis’ discipline and faith helped him navigate two decades inside. He became intentional about his time and found community in prison. He joined Toastmasters and learned to speak with clarity and confidence. He also discovered Islam and was drawn to its structure, its accountability, and its emphasis on compassion and service.
“When you’re aware that God sees all and knows all,” he said, “you walk differently.”
His life is drastically different than it has ever been. He works full-time at the funeral home and part-time doing HVAC jobs at night. In his spare time, he works out and is committed to his faith. He feels grateful and self-sufficient – paying his own bills, driving his own car, living independently, helping strangers on the side of the road.
But Marquis does not define his success by any external factors.
“In Islam, we have a prayer that says, Hayya ‘alal-Falah, that means come to your success,” he said. “For me, success isn’t about what you have on the outside. It’s about who you are on the inside. It’s loving people, wanting to do good, not having hate in your heart, and trying every day to be a good human being. I feel like I’m genuine and grounded in that, and that’s what success means to me.”
