Ahmed was in a coma. From the time of his accident he was kept on a main ward, hooked up to a machine, and put on an IV drip. He was six foot two, or taller, and his legs hung over the edge of the bed; he just looked uncomfortable lying on this tiny bed. His body was full of blood stained bandages in an attempt to cover his injuries, and his head was just huge. We couldn’t tell his eyes from his nose, or his nose from his lips! The doctors said they didn’t know what was wrong with him, but they gave him antibiotics, and were waiting to see if he would wake up.
Yas arrived within hours and we both stayed with Nebat; now it was our turn to support our sister.
Dad arrived the next day. Word had spread fast about Ahmed’s accident because Ahmed was very much loved, and although he wasn’t a rich man he was kind, loyal and funny. Both Nebat and Ahmed were loved by everyone; people came from far and wide to show their support to both of them after his accident.
Nebat had struggled through the years; she and Ahmed were building a new house in Sanaa. They had started building it after we first arrived in Yemen, and were in the middle of doing so when this tragedy happened. Ahmed was a carpenter, and his workshop was a garage on the side of his house. He was the main builder with their new home, with Nebat helping him. They had little money and Ahmed’s work was their main income, now he was in hospital they would be cut off from any income.
We all knew that Dad would be of no help to her, or her children. Dad had barely acknowledged Nebat since he came back to Yemen and back into her life all those years ago; he treated her as if she hardly existed. He only really visited her if he was visiting Sanaa and needed somewhere to stay, or if it was a family occasion, for example if she gave birth. All we could do was pray that Ahmed would wake up and be ok!
A few days after Ahmed’s accident Dad tried to make me go back to the village with him. This caused a huge argument between us. I was still scared of Dad but I was becoming more and more frustrated with him, and this frustration was giving me a bit more courage to answer him back. I’d been at Nebat’s side since Ahmed’s accident and wasn’t prepared to leave her; she needed me now more than ever.
Uncle Ahmed stepped in once again and told him I should be allowed to stay and look after my sister’s children while she cared for her husband. Dad backed down and left without me. I moved in with Nebat and we spent our time between the hospital and her home, while Yas stayed at her in-laws and came over every day to help us out.
It was difficult for Nebat because at the hospital she would have to be nurse for her husband or he would be left in his own filth every day. There was no one to care for those in hospital; patients were left to die in their beds if their relatives didn’t go in to care for them.
Ahmed was in a coma for many weeks before he regained consciousness, and when he finally did, we realised how badly injured he was. He had suffered horrendous brain damage, and that was something doctors in Yemen didn’t understand, or treat!
Ahmed didn’t recognise anyone and his behaviour became uncontrollable! He was paralysed down one side of his body and he couldn’t speak, he also had no control over his bodily fluids. On top of all this Ahmed was lashing out at everyone, he didn’t know what he was doing so we couldn’t tell him to stop.
As soon as he woke up Nebat was told to take him home, there was no place for him in hospital any more, as far as the doctors were concerned he was as recovered as he would ever be!
We were all devastated for Nebat and her children. Not knowing what her future held we tried our best to run around and help her with Ahmed, after all, he was her husband, and her children’s father. We helped her to carry him, toilet him, wash him, feed him, exercise him, teach him to walk, talk… It was like having a giant baby with a violent temper, and with Nebat less than five feet tall, this was never going to be easy for her! Nebat would cry herself to sleep every night, but wake up every morning with a fresh smile and a positive attitude.
After about a month Yas had to go back to her life with her husband. Although she tried to stay, she wasn’t allowed; she had her own house to run and Abdul was extremely busy and needed his wife at home to support him. Yas travelled back and forth as much as she could and sent food and money to keep us going, while I stayed with Nebat for many months.
While I was there we taught Ahmed so many things, he became calmer, and although he still had many outbursts they were further apart; we learnt how to talk to him and eventually calm him down. We sometimes walked him to the toilet and Nebat would wash him alone instead of the two of us having to hold him or wash him. He learnt to eat his food with a wooden spoon made especially for him, although not great, he did it himself! His speech was very slurry, but he was getting there; his progress was slow but ongoing, and we knew never to give up!
For the first few months while at Nebat’s house I had no contact with Anwar. I knew I had much more to do than think about myself. My sister needed me and so did my son. Nasser was still very ill and looking after him was difficult, especially with Nebat’s husband now needing so much care. My other children would always care for their brother and play with him, which made things so much easier for me.
When I finally started contacting him again we decided to meet at a different market not too far from Nebat’s house. That’s when I first saw the Embassy; it was huge and had a big British flag hung above it. Anwar laughed when I said I thought it was the president’s house, asking me why id thought the president of Yemen would have a British flag hung outside his house.
I told Anwar my intentions and he told me to go for it, he said I needed to do whatever was best for me and my children. I would go to the market with my children and walk past the Embassy like a snail, listening to the people talk English as they came in and out. It took me a while to pluck up the courage to go past the gates, or talk to somebody. I always thought I would get arrested for trying, or told to go away, or anything other than yes, we can help you.
I would stand outside the Embassy and tell my children that British people worked in that building, and that they made passports for people to go on airplanes to England. My children must have thought I was crazy because they had no clue what I was talking about! I’d always spoke to them about the dream of one day going back to England, but that’s what it always had been for me, just a dream. It was a day when I had my two girls with me, and I was hanging around outside, when I first met Karen, an Embassy worker.
Karen approached my girls, who were closer to the gates than I was; although my children had very little, I would always comb their hair and dress them as best as I could, they both had beautiful, long curly hair!
“Look how lovely you both are!” she said, touching Ismahan and Dobia on their heads and speaking in broken Arabic. “Marsh Allah, you have beautiful daughters!” she said, looking over at me. I realized she must have thought I was Yemeni because I was wearing my sharsharf, so I replied in English.
“Thanks, they are beautiful, aren’t they?” Karen looked at me, surprised.
“You speak excellent English! Where are you from?” she asked. Not knowing what to say, I hesitated for a second.
“Are you from here or are you married to a Yemeni, as I am, are you just living here?” she carried on, and this time I didn’t hesitate!
“I’m English, I’ve been here since I was 13; my father brought me and my sisters here and forced us to get married…” just as I was about to carry on talking, someone called Karen’s name from a window inside the building, telling her she needed to hurry up and go inside.
“Listen,” Karen came closer to me, “if you need any help, I work here, if you ever need me, just come to the gate and ask for me, my name is Karen, what’s yours?” Without hesitating I replied.
“Muna, my name is Muna!” I could see Karen was in a rush, she was still being called from inside the Embassy.
“OK Muna, I have to go now but it was nice to meet you, please come back and see me, see you again soon, bye!”
With that Kare
n was gone, and I was left stood outside the Embassy gates not knowing what to do. I knew that British people worked in the Embassy and that British people got passports from the Embassy, but I had no clue as to what help Karen could offer me. I dreamt endlessly of going back to England, but I also knew that just because Karen had been kind enough to speak to me and offer us help, that didn’t mean that she could actually help me. I had no money, no passport, and most of all, I had my five children.
I went back to Nebat’s and decided that for the time being I needed to try and put my meeting with Karen in the back of my mind; at this moment in time my sister still needed me. While Nebat struggled with finding their next meal and caring for her husband, I tried to help her by keeping her house in order. Nebat struggled with money and depended on hand-outs from Yas, my uncles, and her mother’s side of the family.
Dad told her he was struggling and couldn’t help her financially; he complained that he was losing work because of the conflict going on around the villages. We had been hearing more and more about conflict going on in the outskirts of our villages, and how this was having an impact on certain people, and how they went about their lives.
Dad had still been sending messages for me to go back home, but Uncle Ahmed had managed to put him off by telling him I was still needed at Nebat’s house; however I knew it was only a matter of time before I got sent back to the village. I’d spoken to both Yas and Anwar about my meeting with Karen; they were both supportive, and convinced me go back and speak with her and see if she could help me get a passport to go back to England. I was all ready to go and speak to her when suddenly we got some dreadful news; Dad had disappeared!
Chapter Twenty One
Dad’s Confession!
We were all in a state of panic; we were told that he had been picked up from the fields while he was working, and driven away by a jeep full of soldiers, but nobody knew where he was, or why it had happened!
Within hours of being told the news I was on my way back to the village, apparently Granddad had insisted I go back, saying I was needed to give support to Dad’s wife and children. With all the male members of my family now backing Granddad, I had no choice but to go back to the village. I was devastated; it was as though forces were against me. Every time I thought I was closer to finding a way out, I was dragged back to the village, and into the clutches of my family.
With many of our family members working in government positions we soon found out that Dad was suspected of having information that the soldiers wanted, and they were willing to go to any lengths to get their information! They had kidnapped him, and he was being held in prison and being tortured. Everyone knew that my uncles, both Nasser and Saleh, had ties with groups that fought against the government. Uncle Nasser was part of a Tribal Group who opposed the President Ali Abdulla Saleh; they wanted unification of the North and South of Yemen. Uncle Saleh was part of a group called the ‘The Muslim Brotherhood’, who also opposed the president. But Dad wasn’t like them, he was just a farmer.
Since being back Uncle Saleh had married one of his younger cousins, it was a very quiet celebration because although he was allowed back in the village, he was not liked much. His wife, a young girl called Jalelah, still lived with her mother because Uncle Saleh didn’t want her living with his family. He never stayed for long in the village, and when he was gone we would never know where he was, or what he was doing, or when he would be back.
Uncle Nasser had also secretly married a young girl from our village and taken her with him to Aden; he would also be gone for long periods of time, and only came when he had business to attend to, and we never knew where he was, or when he would come back.
We were told that there were now talks between tribal leaders and the government that could mean an end to the conflict and fighting, and that meant Uncle Nasser would be able to openly come back and live wherever he wanted, with no need to hide away in the mountains anymore. However, the agreement hadn’t yet been made and the soldiers had found out that Dad was related to my uncles. They suspected that he was either in on their fight or had information; either way, they had him and were not giving him back.
I’d come to hate my father for the things he had done to us over the years, but the thought of him being in prison and tortured broke my heart, I couldn’t understand why they took him.
The months that Dad spent in prison were hard; Viyza and I didn’t see much of each other because she spent most of her time at her family home. That made things a little easier for me. I didn’t like her and didn’t want to be around her, and I spent most of my time at Granddad’s house.
Granddad spent most of his time travelling between the village and Sanaa trying to secure Dad’s release, he found it difficult and frustrating and was only given very little information. We would hear the odd explosion in the far distance, which would let us know that fighting was still going on somewhere. We would also see the odd military tank drive through the village heading to some unknown destination, but in reality we had no idea of what was really going on.
We had no idea where Dad was being held, only that he was still alive, or at least that was what we were being told. We knew that people in prison got treated badly at the best of times, but this was a military conflict which was even worse. Prisoners being tortured were lucky to make it out of prison alive.
Most people were kept in prison until a family member paid a back handed payment for their release. If the crime was a bad crime, or you had no one who cared about you, people would stay in prison to rot and die, without even a trial! If a family member didn’t bring your food then you were lucky to get one meal a day. Prisoners slept on concrete floors with no blankets and used anything they could find as their toilet, they had no access to water unless given to them, and that was very little.
Many months later, with the help of family members who were forming a new government, he was handed back to us. Dad had always been a thin man, but when he came out of prison he was skin and bone. They had pulled out his finger nails and toe nails. He told us they would hook up electricity to his genitals to shock him, these were a few of the terrible things they did to him. He couldn’t walk for months from the injuries to the soles of his feet!
He was frail, and couldn’t do anything for a long time. He would have terrible nightmares and wake up shouting and sweating, and although Viyza would tell everyone what hard work Dad had become for her because he was a temporary invalid, it was never her that took care of him, but me, his daughter.
Dad would never go to hospital for treatment even before his imprisonment; if he cut himself badly he would treat himself, with a needle and thread! So just like always, he and I took a needle and thread and stitched up his deep wounds ourselves.
Yas came as often as she could, she sat with Dad and helped as much as she could, and Dad would sit and talk with Yas, more than he did with me. She wasn’t a burden on him like I was, and in his own way he respected the fact that she was now the wife of a diplomat.
For a while Dad and I got on OK; he knew he needed me, his wife was useless and I was the only person who was there to give him support. It took him a long time to recover but after he was well enough he managed to go back to work in his fields. Dad knew that if he didn’t go back to the fields he wouldn’t be able to provide for his children.
Within weeks of Dad recovering and returning to work, he went back to being his nasty self, and if possible, worse. I could understand Dad having a hard time because of him being kidnapped and tortured, I could understand his mood swings, his lack of sleep, and his lack of appetite; after all, he had been through a lot over the past few months. However, I’d been through much worse in my life.
I’d been kidnapped and tortured for many, many years, not just months, emotionally, mentally, sexually and physically abused. I’d hoped that Dad would have changed after his ordeal; after all, I’d cared for him and nurtured him back to health even after everything he had done to us.
Dad
always felt like he had the right to take his anger out on me whenever he had a bad day, and since I was a child he had gotten away with it, but I was a mother now and I was becoming wiser and stronger, and things were about to change.
Once again I tried my best to put up with Dad’s anger towards me; it was as if I triggered a switch in his brain when he looked at me, and I couldn’t understand why. He was constantly hitting me and I could feel myself ready to snap, it was as if a volcano was building up inside me, waiting to explode, but I tried my best to stay in control. I knew the risk I would be taking if I let my anger out; with no friend in the village to run to for protection, and nowhere to go, I knew Dad would kill me if I went up against him!
I felt so isolated and I was too worried to say anything to Yas. Abdul was very high in power by now and Yas had so much going on with her own family, it seemed every time she saw me I had problems. It was unfair for me to keep burdening her.
I knew sooner or later I would have to stand up for myself, but I didn’t know how. With every day that passed I was feeling as if there was something more that I needed to do, something more that I should be saying. However, I did nothing, and said nothing, until things turned so bad one day that Dad not only took his anger out on me, but also on my oldest son Tarek.
From the day my first child was born, everyone knew that if you wanted to hurt me, the only way you could really do it was to hurt my children. I’d become immune to physical pain when inflicted on me. But I wouldn’t stand for anyone to inflict that same pain on my children.
Dad was well matched up when he married this wife; they were both as bad as each other because in my eyes Viyza was an evil woman, cruel in so many ways! We hardly ever spoke; even though we lived together we would sit in different rooms. When Dad was home and awake she would eat with him, and I would eat with my children, if Dad was asleep or in the fields she would eat alone. She sat on her sewing machine every day and went crazy if anyone interrupted her, even her own children. She was a very cold hearted woman who didn’t seem to care if she saw others in pain. She reminded me so much of Farouse’s mother-in-law, and I’d seen what she was capable of! Viyza would always blame anything that went wrong on me or my children, and on this particular day she had hidden the huge metal key for the front door just to teach me a lesson, because someone interrupted her sewing!
A Father's Betrayal Page 35
