Today at breakfast I hear news of Kudzai, a Zimbabwean barely out of his teens who has been sharing a neighbouring cell. He has already spent months in Colnbrook before being transferred here. I am told he tried to commit suicide there by swallowing a whole bottle of shampoo.
I do not know much about his past, what demons haunt his memories, but we have all been aware that his slow slide into depression has recently accelerated with almost daily panic attacks. We have become accustomed to his pain, our nights punctuated with his tortured wailing. Mustafa, his cellmate, tells me his spirit has finally broken, that yesterday he agreed to voluntary deportation, that he has already been whisked out before he comes to his senses and changes his mind.
***
Our Qur’anic studies continue. Sometimes we work through the book, Surah to Surah, in a linear fashion. Sometimes we pick a theme and research Allah’s message within his work as a whole. Always there is the verbal sparring, the contrast between our interpretations: Kalil’s dogmatic austerity; my own more relaxed moderation.
***
The word has spread among detainees about my record-keeping. They seek me out in ones and twos, sit down awkwardly beside me and, at first with some hesitancy and then with increasing animation, they open up to me with their own personal histories. In one of my notebooks I record everything. I change their names but omit nothing else in their individual journeys.
It is all there: war, torture, loss of family and loved ones, flight, arrival, suspicion, rejection, abandonment and neglect. The themes remain the same, only the details differ.
We communicate in whatever lingua franca is appropriate, usually either Arabic or broken English. I never prompt them, never ask questions, seek clarification or explanation. My job is to record, nothing more.
***
Sometimes our study group expands as we are joined by fellow detainees. Today I am sitting with Solly, a Nigerian and veteran of UK asylum hospitality. He has been shunted from HMP Rochester, where two wings are set aside for immigration detainees, through Haslar and Belmarsh before ending up here.
We are waiting for Kalil to return from accompanying a Somali neighbour to the showers. The Somali, a fellow named Saleh, complained of a toothache last week and demanded to see a doctor. When his request was refused, he began protesting loudly. He was taken off by guards and given a severe beating. Since then he remains in his cell, too afraid to venture out anywhere unless accompanied by other inmates.
Earlier, I have a funny turn when returning from the library and collapse in the corridor. I am carried back to my cell by Solly and Pierre-Philippe, a Congolese nurse transferred from Harmondsworth last month. I drink some water while Pierre-Philippe checks me over. He asks me what I have eaten over the last couple of days and comments on my skinny physique. It is true that I have lost weight since my arrival here, and I start to tell him about the bloating and nausea I feel when I take food, but the words will not come out properly and I only rally after he leaves and we are joined by another detainee, Soran. He squats down on the floor, asks me to record his story.
Deserting the army to avoid conscription in his country, he hid close to his family’s farm and so witnessed the soldiers’ revenge torture and abduction of his father. Fearing for her son, his mother then sold the house and her wedding gold and used the money to pay smugglers to traffic him out of the country. The precise details of his journey are, as usual, hazy, but it took him through Turkey and Italy and he entered the UK via the Channel Tunnel. The smugglers charged $9,000.
After agreeing a pseudonym for Soran, I record the details, and when he has re-read my notes he nods and makes to leave. At the cell door, he stops and tells me that he has forgotten something. He points to his mouth and for the first time I see small dark dots, like pin pricks, above his upper lip and below the lower one. He explains that after eight months in detention, he and two other inmates sewed their lips together in protest at the delay in dealing with their cases. I hesitate and wait for him to say more. I try to imagine him preparing the needle and thread, the first stitch. I want to ask how the situation was resolved but have to keep to my role of passive recorder. He asks me to add this new information but offers no further details.
Another visitor arrives, a middle-aged Chinese man from Xinjiang. He is a Muslim Uighur but his English is poor and we have no other shared language, so communication is difficult. He arrives clutching a copy of the Qur’an, as always. He never opens it, simply strokes the cover from time to time. I suspect he cannot read it at all. I ask him about his journey to Britain and he mentions Pakistan, Turkey and France. He is unable to explain further but understands that Solly and I are meeting to discuss Islam. He clearly finds that thought soothing, so he remains seated in the corner of my cell as our discussions develop. He contributes nothing, keeps his eyes closed as his hand brushes the cover of his book.
Solly is a recent convert and I am giving him a lesson in the fundamentals of Islam as I understand them. I tell him what I explained to you all those years ago when we first discussed your conversion to my faith.
I draw three circles, each one inside the other. I explain that what is written down in the Qur’an is what was remembered of the Prophet’s words by his companions, the Ashab. This knowledge is represented by the inner circle and carries most weight in theological discussions.
The next circle represents the testimony given and recorded by the Tabi’un, the next generation of people who had spoken to the Ashab but not personally to the Prophet. I tell him that this evidence, the Hadith, refers to reports about the statements and actions of the Prophet, as well as his approval of something said or done in his presence. Although integral to an understanding of Islam, it is not considered to be direct communication from God.
Finally I show him that the final outer circle represents the Tafsir, a vast quantity of commentary and analysis built up over the centuries by theologians that seeks to explain the true meaning of Islam.
As I reach the end of my explanation, we are interrupted by Kalil’s return. He is bristling with anger and the atmosphere in the cell is transformed from calm study to aggressive resentment in an instant. Even the Uighur, who has been dozing in his corner, senses the tension. He sits up clutching his Qur’an anxiously.
Bastards, Kalil begins, as soon as he has sat down next to me on the edge of the bed. They treat us like animals, like dogs. But dogs have teeth and by God I will use mine on them one day.
Be calm, brother, I tell him. If the guards have done wrong, God will punish them. Remember yesterday’s Surah – ‘Allah is swift in calling to account’.
My words, designed to soothe Kalil, seem to have the opposite effect. He dives for the copy of the Qur’an, flicks through the pages furiously searching for the passages I am referring to. Brother, have you ever thought that maybe Allah wants us to be his tools to call those sinners to account? he suggests.
He sighs with satisfaction as he finds what he is looking for.
Here you are, Surah 47:4:
...if it Had been Allah’s will He could certainly have exacted Retribution from them Himself
But he lets you fight
In order to test you.
I take the Holy Book from him, flick ahead a few pages. 48:14, I begin. Listen well, Brother:
He forgives whom He wills And he punishes whom He Wills: but Allah is Oft-forgiving, Most merciful.
You see, leave the judgement of others to Allah and just concentrate instead on your own behaviour and spiritual health. That is what Allah asks of you, I tell him.
No, no no, you are wrong, Kalil answers excitedly. The Qur’an is a manual, a set of instructions, a ‘How To’ book explaining what constitutes an exemplary life, what rules and regulations need to be upheld. Our job is to fight to implement those rules, to battle those who do not respect them, not to sit around and wait for things to happen.
He finds a page, begins to quote again:
Allah had decreed: ‘It is I and My messengers Who must prevail’: For Allah is One Full of strength, Able to enforce His Will.
Don’t you see, he says. We are His messengers. He wants us to act for Him, to help Him enforce His will. I sigh, shake my head. This seems to infuriate Kalil.
Tell me, brother, he asks. What, for you, are the key characteristics of Islam?
I hesitate, give myself time to consider. I think of you and it strikes me how so often during my theological discussions with Kalil, I find that my own ideas only become clear when I ask myself what you would think, what position you would take.
Love, I say. Love and kindness and charity.
It is his turn to shake his head. You are soft and naïve, brother, he begins. The rest of the world has always hated Islam. Allah has called us to fight, we are his soldiers. Read Surah 61, Al Saff:
Truly Allah loves those
Who fight in His Cause
You are wrong, brother, I reply. You take these quotes out of context, poison His message. All your talk of jihad is based on the idea of a battle against others. Real jihad is a battle with yourself. A battle against temptation, against avarice and selfishness and aggression. Read Surah 109, Al Kafirun, I counter. It is a message of tolerance:
To you be your Way And to me mine
Be careful, my friend, says Kalil. There is only one true way:
It is He Who has sent His messenger with Guidance And the Religion of Truth, That he may proclaim it Over all religion, Even though the Pagans May detest it. 61:9 There is no middle way, no opting out. Either they are with us or against us. If the kafirs reject our message, Allah’s message, there will be no mercy. 63:6, he reads:
It is equal to them Whether thou pray for Their forgiveness or not.
Allah will not forgive them. I feel myself growing dizzy again. I cannot face up to his storm of bile. I want to take Kalil in my arms, draw out his venom and replace it with my vision of tenderness and devotion. But he is like a man possessed, his words spat like gunfire, addressed to me, yet beyond me, a declaration of war. I want it to end, but cannot halt the flow. All I can do is struggle to return fire.
He continues:
First Allah commands us to fight. In 3:151 He says,
Soon shall We cast terror Into the hearts of the Unbelievers
Then he offers us salvation if we die in the struggle.
Read 3:169:
Think not of those Who are slain in Allah’s way As dead. Nay, they live.
How can I make him see that he has twisted Allah’s licence for self-defence into this declaration of war? I return:
If one exhorts to a deed Of charity or justice Or conciliation between men... To him who does this, Seeking the good pleasure of Allah. We shall soon give A reward of the highest value. 4:114
But he is beyond reason, and he counters in a flash, his words like a battering ram:
To him who fighteth
In the cause of Allah
Whether he is slain
Or gets victory
Soon shall we give him
A reward of great value. 4:74
I reply:
Take not life, which Allah Hath made sacred Except by way of justice and law. 6:151
But it is no good. I realise that Solly and the Uighar have left but cannot recall their departure. I try to summon your presence, my dear, a vain hope that you can somehow inspire in me the necessary eloquence to turn Kalil away from his poisonous path, but even you have abandoned me for the moment.
I feel myself slipping away, a wave of weakness overwhelms me, and as I slump forward and fall crashing to the concrete floor, all I can hear are Kalil’s strident tones:
Fight them, and Allah will Punish them by your hands, Cover them with shame Help you to victory over them.
***
I am alone now. The others have gone to dinner but I am too feeble to make the journey to the canteen. Kalil says he is worried about me. He tells me to visit the doctor tomorrow and I tell him I will, if only to keep the peace. He has offered to bring me back some food but I know the guards will refuse – it is against regulations. In any case, I am not hungry. I will finish these notes, then seek escape in sleep.
***
No word from the Red Cross lady. My thoughts too bleak to share on this page. What am I becoming?
***
Weeks have passed, maybe months. I have returned from breakfast where I used my usual cup of sweet black tea to swallow my medication, the red and green capsules which I have been taking ever since I was dragged to the medical centre by Kalil all those weeks ago.
The first time I took them, I returned to my cell, lay down, then slept for two days. Now my tolerance has grown. I feel permanently drowsy and find myself dozing off from time to time, but I no longer sleep all day. The pills help smooth the jagged edges of my life here.
I still record the detainees’ details. Earlier this morning I have listened to Sayed’s story. Having endured five years of poverty and discrimination as a refugee in Iran, this Afghani borrowed enough money from smugglers to buy a tourist’s stolen passport and bribe immigration officers to allow him across the Turkish border. The traffickers forced him to agree to allow his uncle to remain a hostage until the debt was paid. Unfortunately he did not apply for asylum at his port of entry in Britain and so spent three months homeless, unable to obtain any financial support from the authorities. He has lost two toes to frostbite. He worries about his uncle and finds escape in the same red and green pills.
***
More detainees’ details, more misfortune. Tamils, Chechens, Cameroonians, Kurds, Zimbabweans, Chinese, Afghans, Liberians, Sudanese, Guineans and Kashmiris. Misery does not discriminate.
***
Kalil takes an interest in the other inmates’ stories, but has never volunteered one of his own. It strikes me that I know next to nothing about him, not even where he comes from. His history is a black hole.
***
I sit on my bed and browse the Qur’an. Today I read Surah 12, Yusuf, about this young man and his ten half-brothers who sell him into slavery in Egypt. It is a message of forgiveness and mercy, and I make a mental note to discuss it with Kalil, though in reality I know that I will not. We still have our study sessions, still work our way through the Qur’an, but I can no longer muster the strength to counter his warmongering and find myself submitting to his twisted vision of the world. Instead, like a mantra, I recite in my head an Ayah from Surah 22, Al Hajj:
... establish Regular prayer and give Regular charity; enjoin The right and forbid wrong
It is a remedy, an antidote to his poison. Lacking the strength to continue with the verbal cut and thrust, I continue my side of the argument within the pages of my notebook, a section at the back I have dedicated to my own vision. Today I add some new quotations:
... avert Evil with Good 28:54 and,
Nor can Goodness and Evil
Be equal. Repel Evil
With what is better:
Then will he between whom
And thee was hatred
Become as it were
Thy friend and intimate! 41:34 and then,
And no one will be Granted such goodness Except those who exercise Patience and self-restraint. 41:35 I close my notebook. What began as a way to improve our English and keep our brains from fossilising has now become a battle of wits that I am too crushed to take any further part in.
When Kalil enters I can see straight away that he is enraged. A fight has broken out between some of his friends and a group of Jamaicans, the only detainees feared by the guards. All those involved have been rounded up, the Jamaicans merely locked up in their cells but his friends given a beating. In Kalil’s eyes it is another case of blatant religious persecution.
&
nbsp; I listen with half an ear as he rants, until, his voice hoarse, he throws himself dejectedly onto my bed. With weary resignation, I see he is in a combative mood and that he requires my participation, or presence at least, in another bout of sparring.
We need to unite to be strong, he begins. The Ummah brotherhood is what binds Muslim to Muslim. When we forget that, we risk Allah’s wrath.
Muhammad is the Messenger Of Allah; and those who are With him are strong Against Unbelievers, but Compassionate amongst each other 48:29 Allah talks of a brotherhood of Muslims for constructive development, not war, I begin to explain, recalling a discussion we once had together, my sweet. For charity, to help disadvantaged Muslims, to build schools and hospitals where there are none, to share what we have and prevent suffering among our fellow men. That is what Ummah means.
Allah’s message is one of non-aggression. Read 43:89. He says that when you meet a non-Muslim,
But turn away from them, And say ‘Peace!’
You are too passive, brother, he tells me. You confuse reconciliation and weakness. Listen:
Be not weary and Fainthearted, crying for peace, When ye should be Uppermost 47:35 He is building up a head of steam, but today, feeling your presence at my side, I am steadfast.
As always, you confuse self-defence with all-out war, I tell him. Read Surah 42 – Al Shura. Evil is cured by the mercy and guidance of Allah, not by a doubling of evil. The key is patience and negotiation. If you commit acts of aggression, they will return to you with interest. I quote:
Whatever misfortune Happens to you, is because Of the things your hands Have wrought. 42:30 Kalil is silent. He sits on the bed, sullen and bitter, then gets up and stands by the barred window, staring out onto the greasy tarmac courtyard below. It has been raining but the drizzle has stopped and the clouds are now clearing. Between the grey concrete walls and the blue sky above, the razor wire gleams in the weak sunshine. Minutes pass. Then he turns, sweeps past me and out of the cell.
Divinity Road Page 11
