In the middle of November, as the wind sharply cut its way, I sit lonely at midnight. My narrow cell could barely fit an animal. I close my eyes each time the light flickers. It makes me feel like I’m in control of something. It disturbs me, so I try to remove the bulb, but it’s behind iron bars. The damp smell of mold roams around the place, and the bathroom is right in front of me, in the same room, with no door to lock. I hear drops falling as if there’s a rain cloud over my head. But wait a minute, that’s my sweat dropping! I guess they are being considerate of the weather outside. Maybe they have an atom of humanity left inside them to warm the place up for me. At least that’s what I thought.
My clothes are torn off, and the bloodstains on my body look like the black spots on a cow. I can see the swelling in my wrist. It needs a splint, but it seems I will spend my nights here without any kind of medical care.
I glance at the moon through the tiny window. It’s probably time for the Fajr prayer. I take a guess at the east as my Qibla – for an obvious reason the information remains a secret – but when I stand up to pray, everything around me spins and my gaze becomes bleary.
My stomach still roars after the lunch I had, if you can call it a lunch. One meal per day of 50 grams of bread, about 70 grams of cold meat, half a small apple, and 3 olives – all I have been eating for the past 10 days since I got here. Their intention in giving me food is bare survival.
I find it hard to ignore the severe headache I’m suffering, so I lean my head on my elbow. I’m aware of how uncomfortable it is, but somehow it’s adequate as a pillow. Still, my attempts to sleep fail because the sentinel knocks on the door whenever he sees me closing my eyes.
By this time the soldier should have come to call me to continue the investigation. Wait … I hear his footsteps approaching, blowing up the place, and his usual rough voice, “Akhmad, come here.”
***
Ahmad Yousef is a 17-year-old Palestinian boy who lives in Aida camp in West Bethlehem. He used to play football with his friends at the stadium in his neighborhood. He’s kind and friendly, and would never hesitate to give a helping hand. During the olive harvest, you would find him helping everyone in the neighborhood.
Ahmad is the first-born child of his family. He lives with his mother, brother, and two sisters. Unfortunately, his family has been divided. The Occupation forces exiled Ahmad’s father to the Gaza Strip, where he lives under house arrest. The political situation in Gaza is turbulent, and the Occupation forces prevent any Palestinian ID holders from entering its territory.
Ahmad therefore had to sacrifice his education and take the responsibility to drop out of school to support his family financially. His uncle worked in construction, and he took it upon himself to establish such a career for his nephew. But Ahmad always dreamed of going back to school, of becoming a lawyer, defending his case and achieving justice.
Aida camp is going through dark days under the Occupation. It has witnessed violent confrontations. Ahmed believed that to resist is to exist. He thought it was his patriotic duty to participate in the confrontations. He saw it as a matter of defending his honor.
Not to mention the fact that while the Occupation forces attacked the camp with tear-gas, rubber bullets, and armored cars, the Palestinian youths had only their dignity and a handful of rocks with which to defend their land.
The camp was exposed to many Occupation raids. They had raided Ahmad’s neighbourhood, and his house, but this time they raided his own room, looking to arrest Ahmad himself. It took two army patrols and twelve masked soldiers to break into his house at 3am. They beat upon the door with their guns and screamed: “Akhmad! Surrender yourself!” Once inside, they gathered all his family members into one room and wouldn’t let them leave. Ahmad’s little sisters collapsed in tears. One of the soldiers pulled him from the bed and dragged him to the ground. Then they beat him severely, with their hands, their feet, their rifles. They handcuffed him with a plastic clamp and covered his eyes and took him directly in an armored car to Maskobeya prison.
***
The wall is the last thing I see before I leave my cell. My eyes are covered by a rotten bag, which sits on my head. I’m handcuffed. Thirty-eight steps are all that separates us from the slaughterhouse. I am dumped again into the crooked chair that shakes whenever I make any slight movement.
“Akhmad, it’s you again.”
They must have replaced the investigator; his tone is coarser than the last one. I don’t know how to respond to this… Any answer could be treated with a slap to the face. My silence might make things worse. Apparently it provokes them to slap me even harder.
“Why don’t you reply?”
“I don’t know what to say”
“I’m sure you have some news and information for me”
“No, I don’t.”
Bam!! A slap hits me hard.
The investigator sighs, “No no Akhmad, liars go to Hell.”
Does this man even believe in God? He must be faking it!
“I need to see my lawyer. It’s been ten days already.”
“You won’t get anything until you tell us how you are colluding with your father.”
These fools think I’ll give in. They’ll keep up the psychological torture, the mental and physical pressure, trying to destroy the means of my resistance, to push me until I reach the stage of breakdown and tell them what they want. But I will not obey. I will not give up.
He got sick of my stalling, so he hung me by my feet, upside down from the ceiling. God it hurts! I can’t think for the whistling sound in my ears, the sound of gravity pulling my blood into my head. It’s so heavy now.
And the cold! They pour freezing water all over my body. No skill could help me calculate the time I stayed this way. I miss being warm, back in my cell. My toes and my fingers are stone cold.
“Akhmad, what’s your conspiracy? What’s your plan?”
My tongue is frozen and I can’t speak a word. I feel a pounding all over my body. Freezing water again!
“Confess, Akhmad, and you’ll be free.”
Should I grasp their offer? No Ahmad, absolutely not! You must resist! You’re strong! Don’t fall for their manipulation. Think how proud your dad will be, of how determined you are. Think of your mom. Think – your dream of justice awaits you.
But I still feel it, the pain, the screaming, the insults, the freezing water…my brain is numb, and my heart is hammering.
I want it to stop!
Listen Ahmad. Can you hear that?
All of a sudden everything stopped. You can rest now.
***
Ahmad Yousef was a 17-year-old Palestinian boy who dreamed of becoming a lawyer. Now he is a martyr of the resistance and a symbol of steadfastness.
