Sami Sabet - Judge Me if You Can

Two months before my 5th birthday, my parents decided to send me to a local primary school. The youngest in the class, I learned quickly, was able to communicate well, and was never frightened of questioning things. In so doing, I was instrumental in some changes in the school. One such change was the introduction of desks and chairs, allowing us to sit comfortably and not on the floor. One thing I did not question was the chalk, which we were given to write with on a small, A4 size, black writing slate.

Towards the end of the second term of the school year, the month of Ramadan started. During this time, all Muslims had to fast – refraining from food, drink and any impure thoughts or actions, from sunrise to sunset. On the first day, the school shut two hours early; pupils were collected or went home, and all the staff left. The gates were locked, and I was left alone outside. Within a few minutes I was standing on my own in an empty and silent street, with not a soul in sight.

Ali, a man from Yemen, was employed by my parents and tasked with, amongst many other things, taking me to, and collecting me from, school every day. He would take both my brother and I to our respective schools, which were not too far away from each other. Leaving home at about 7:30 in the morning, we walked to my brother’s school, left him there, and then I would be taken to mine. At two in the afternoon, he would return to take me back home. As the school had closed earlier on that day, Ali was not there. I waited, feeling somewhat anxious, for what seemed to be an eternity.

All-of-a-sudden, walking up a perpendicular road to the one in which I stood, was a man carrying a large sack over his shoulder. The man approached the crossroads, and I imagined him coming over, grabbing me, and putting me into his bag. Filled with fear and panic, I quickly looked down the road to see if Ali was coming. Not only was he not, but there was no one else in sight. I decided to run across the road around the far end of a building, finding its entrance on the other side and hiding within it, under the staircase.

I was crying, felt sick and vomited. I tried to keep silent so that the man with the sack did not find me. After a long while, I stopped crying and started to realise that Ali would not be able to find me here and that I, cautiously, had to go back to the school in case he was there. Walking back around the building, I checked carefully that the sack man was not around and walked across the road to the school entrance. The street was still empty, and after some wait, I decided that I should do something, lest the man returned.

I remembered my brother’s school was not too far and was confident that I could find it. Retracing our morning walk, I hesitated momentarily at a couple of junctions, deciding in which direction I should turn. After what seemed a long walk, I found it and felt happy that I was now safe with my brother. We would go home together when Ali came to collect him. However, as I approached the entrance, I realised that the school was empty, and my brother was nowhere to be found. Again, I was alone with no one in sight. I thought, “What do I do now?” Ali was not going to know where I was. I had to go back to my school.

Eventually, I arrived back and sat on the steps of my school building. After a while, I looked down the road and saw something. A long distance away, I could see a figure coming towards me. “Could it be Ali?” I dared not raise my hopes too high but kept looking intensely until he was close enough to be seen. By now, he was running, and I was sure it was him. I ran towards him and, seeing it was he, cried out, “Ali!” He opened his arms, into which I happily jumped. I was tearful but felt safe. At last, I was going home!

After a long walk in Ali’s arms, we turned a corner to find our house diagonally opposite us. My mother was standing on the balcony, looking worried and tearful. Ali waved at her, shouting, “I found him!” Her face lit up with joy and she turned, starting to run downstairs to greet me. I wanted to jump out of Ali’s arms and run to her, but he would not let me. Having crossed the wide, busy road, towards the building, he placed me in her stretched arms. She hugged me very tightly and kept on kissing me. It was one of the longest, warmest, most reassuring hugs I ever had. I felt safe again in her arms, but also proud that I did not allow the man with the sack to steal me.

Back in my office in Sussex, the POL investigators had finished their search and attracted my attention. They told me that they have gathered all the material they needed and would now like to carry out a recorded interrogation with me. I agreed, as I felt I had nothing to hide. They talked about the audits and discrepancies found and asked if I would be able to settle them by tomorrow. I could not, but I mentioned that POL had some £40,000, belonging to me, which, until now, had not been paid. After an hour of questioning, they announced that they had finished and switched off the recording. They collected everything and left, informing me that they would be in contact soon. I sat down, reflecting on what had just happened and its possible implications. My thoughts returned me to the past, and Taif.

There, I was exposed to a great deal at a very young age. I recall on one occasion I was riding in a pickup truck, with a driver on one side and another man on the other. It is unclear as to why it happened like this, but they picked me up on the way to collect a man from somewhere. When they got there, they entered a house and several minutes later, came out holding a man who was shouting and struggling in an attempt to get loose. Looking through the back window, I saw them pick him up, throwing him into the back of the pickup and, using chains, tying his hands and legs to the four corners of the truck. I could see him stretched out trying to break the chains binding him, without success.

They came back into the cab and drove off, continuing our journey. I was quiet, thinking about what just happened and wondering why they had to chain him like this. Suddenly, I felt my underpants getting moist and asked the driver to stop as I needed a pee. As soon as we came to a standstill, the other guy opened the door allowing me to jump out, run behind the nearest bush and urinated. I felt really bad that I could not hold it and wanted to change; but where and how.

When we eventually got to the hospital where my father worked, I ran to his office and as soon as I saw him, started to tell him about what had happened. I asked him why they did this, to which he tried to explain that this should not be the case. He went on to tell me that the natives believed that people who reacted strangely, were possessed by the devil. They thought that they were keeping this devil under control and preventing him from taking the patient away. It was part of Dad’s mission to educate and stop them from doing this. I never forgot the image of that patient, chained on the bed of the truck.

One day I joined family and friends on a drive, ending up out on the boundaries of the city. It was on the edge of the plateau, full of large rocks beyond which the ground seemed to disappear, appearing again at a distance far below. On these rocks were several baboons running and jumping freely. Although I was somewhat unsure, I did not feel threatened. People were throwing food to them, and I just stood there for some minutes, observing them, and wondering where they came from, where they slept or ate when we were not there. After several hours of a picnic and monkey play, we were ready to go home. In bed that night I thought that it would be nice having one as a pet.

A couple of weeks later, there was a knock on the door and a baby monkey was brought to us. Apparently, my father had mentioned how we liked them, and was given one. I could not believe my eyes and had to confirm that we could keep her. She stayed, and we called her Kerda. It was great for the first couple of days. However, it quickly became clear that we would not be able to control her, and my brother kept tying her up to stop her constant races around the house. My parents sadly decided she would get too big, mess up the house and would be uncontrollable; she could not stay. I woke up the next morning to find the house silent. Our Kerda had gone!