Quoted from my book, “Returning from Hell” (page 71)
Date: March 8, 1991, Syrian Ba'ath Party Day
Quoted from my book, “Returning from Hell” (page 71)
Date: March 8, 1991, Syrian Ba’ath Party Day
Place: Tadmur Military Prison, Second Yard
Barracks No. 8
Like any holiday or celebration day, the day was “blessed” in the sense that we were not taken out to breathe—to the slaughterhouse… where beating, whipping, and torture took place, such as kawa’ and rukab (a torture method involving bending and stress positions), the deadly “Sixth Exercise,” or other forms of unrelenting torture…
That day, I sat leaning against the rusty cell door. The presence of some holes allowed me to steal glances outside. I heard noises indicating that lunchtime was approaching. Since I already knew that meals were placed by the door, curiosity drove me to observe, hoping to find out what they had prepared for us on this holiday… We had grown accustomed to occasionally having some meat included.
I saw the “Municipality”—a term we used for Syrian military prisoners who were deserters from military service. They were carrying a plate topped with a few pine nuts and almonds over rice, while another carried a pot containing five small chickens for one hundred and fifty detainees!
One of them said to another:
“Look at these bastards… These assholes want to eat meat and rice, even though they’re murderers and criminals who don’t love the President… They should eat shit… Moooooo, right?”
“It’s a shame—let them taste meat just once.”
“Look what they’re about to eat!” He reached out his filthy hand and ate two chicken thighs… Then he began to unbutton his tattered, torn pants, took out his genital organ, and urinated on the rice… I gasped… and feared he might have heard me! My cellmate asked:
“What’s wrong with you?”
At first, I remained silent. Then I said:
“The food is here, and it looks good—rice, chicken, and pine nuts with almonds… (An idea came to me to escape eating the meal.) I said to my cellmate, ‘Wow, my luck is terrible! I vomited all last night, my stomach is upset… I won’t be able to eat.'” Immediately, my cellmate said:
“Leave it to me! I’ll give you my share of boiled potatoes and take your portion.”
By God, and again by God, I did not intend to feed them my share, but I did not dare, until now, to mention what happened in front of anyone… So I write for you to read…
They brought the food into the cell. All the prisoners gathered to see the rice and chicken, and comments began: “Wow, the food looks so good, there are even pine nuts… I wish I could take a picture with the plate… Come on, start distributing, for God’s sake, start…” But I felt disgust, sadness, and sorrow for the humiliation and contempt we endured at the hands of those vile scoundrels… If only Assad knew how they treated us!…
No one noticed the difference in the food, except for one person who said it tasted like curry. We had all lost our humanity and human senses… so how could we still have a sense of taste?
I wondered how many times I had eaten and relished what I thought was their urine, mistaking it for chicken broth or a new Chinese spice… without noticing the taste.
A thousand curses upon them and their superiors….
