Bensalem Himmich - My Torturess

At this point the female ghoul staggered to her feet in disgust and walked unsteadily toward her servant. She indicated to him by mime that he should put the drum away. He did so, showing his obedience by bending down and kissing her feet. She now asked for her microphone and proceeded to announce in a mixture of French, English, and Arabic that in her previous life she had worked as a circus trainer of lions, tigers, and other wild beasts. Training the African slave who was now bowing in front of her and kissing her feet was easier than training a monkey or braying ass. Turning to the audience, she threatened them all with time in the dungeon with no limit, and torture chambers. The punishment would apply to anyone who continued to subvert order and refused to obey instructions.

However, no sooner had this thundering, frothing woman stopped talking to recover her breath before launching into another tirade of insults than the entire audience witnessed something utterly amazing. The black guard suddenly leapt to his feet, with the female ghoul perched on his enormous shoulders. He walked all across the stage while she, obviously stunned, waved at the audience and showed the victory sign to a wave of artificial applause. Everyone’s astonishment only intensified when, in front of the entire assembly, the black slave threw the female ghoul to the floor. As her eyes widened in sheer amazement, he leapt on her and put his fingers in her eyes, while she screamed for help. He aimed a series of crushing blows at her head and started ripping at her stomach, as though he wanted to tear out all her organs and innards. No sooner was the stage emptied of the emcee and other officials than the soldiers and guards fired a hail of bullets at the black guard, who fell to the ground to take cover. He then stood up, holding the bloody body of the female ghoul. Once the armed men realized that their female boss was either near death or already dead at the hands of the man who was holding her up, they were told to attack the stage and aim at the black guard from every direction. That is precisely what they did, firing a hail of bullets at the target while at the same time not missing the dead body of the ghoul. The two bodies fell to the floor in a pool of blood.

At this point a whole series of protests and fights broke out involving groups of prisoners on the one hand, including me, and on the other, guards and other prisoners. The soldiers now started attacking the former group, firing live rounds into the air and at their feet, along with tear gas. Panic ensued, and everyone tried to get to the doors and windows. I suffered a blow to my neck from a rifle butt. Along with many others, I lost consciousness and fell to the floor.

I woke up to find myself in the clinic along with a whole host of other wounded prisoners. I made a huge effort to remember what had happened some time ago, a period I could not even estimate. I was able to recall a few details, but I stopped trying because I was suffering from a chronic migraine. I pretended to be asleep, but then I noticed Na‘ima approaching my bed with her friend, the Christian female doctor and a foreigner — all of them wearing surgical masks. They were all talking in English, but I managed to understand that the doctor was trying to convince the man that I was paralyzed and spitting blood. Na‘ima told him the same thing and suggested that I should be returned to my homeland because my health made me useless for any kind of service, and I might cause contagion in the center that would affect everyone. That was the last I heard before I felt Na‘ima’s hand touching my face and watched as the three of them moved on to other beds and then left.

I was delighted by this chain of events, although I still felt a bit cautious. The possibility of my release came closer when the foreigner did not demand that I be subjected to any further medical examination. It never even occurred to me as a possibility — but it’s what actually happened! — that one of the other sick prisoners in a bed beside mine stood up on his bed and yelled as loudly as he could; “Listen, you people!” he said. “This man’s paralyzed. They’ve sent him here to infect us all with his infectious disease. Either take him away now or else get us all out of here!”

These words of warning were followed by complaints and protests from the other prisoners. Most of them were getting ready to run out of the room, and they would have done so if the emergency intervention squad had not come in and resolved the issue in their own unique fashion. Once their commander realized what the issue was, he gave orders that I was to be put in a secure room. I praised God for this series of events and assumed that it augured well.

A masked visitor arrived in the middle of the night, grabbed my left arm by the wrist and put an electronic monitor on it, one that would tell the personnel and staff at the center everything I would be doing on a series of high-tech screens. He advised me that I would soon be on my way and advised me strongly not to let anyone or any other entity know that I had been in prison or why I had been away for so long. If I did so, the electronic device would administer a deadly electric shock even before I had a chance to open my mouth. If there were to be any technical problems, a fully trained sniper would fire a silenced bullet at my head. This visitor administered an injection, then left. With that, I lost consciousness. .

They must have re-injected me with a powerful, long-lasting sedative several times during my transfer; I had not the slightest sense of its mode, method, or duration. I woke up to find myself in the shade of a palm tree with a bag containing some conserved food, bottles of water, and some Moroccan money. I was able to confirm that I was back in my beloved homeland when a camel driver came up and asked me in the purest Moroccan Arabic if I needed any help. After thanking him for his offer, I asked him what the date was. He told me it was Wednesday in the Muslim month, Rabi‘ ath-thani 1425; in the Western calendar, the 17th of May, 2006. So, I muttered to myself, I’ve been in prison for five years. The man looked worried and asked me again if there was anything I needed.

“Yes,” I replied. “What’s the closest village with a mosque?”

“‘Abw al-Akhal” he replied. “It’s a short distance away. I’m going that way.”

I stood up and mounted the camel behind him. With a shout of praise to God, he urged the animal into motion.

On the way he asked me what had brought me to this deserted spot.

“A sheer love of my homeland and its desert,” I replied, conscious of the monitor on my wrist, “and a desire to see the moon and pearly stars from close up.”

He approved of my opinions and recited these Qur’anic verses in a melodious tone: “God has made the earth for you as a carpet, so you may traverse its pathways and valleys.” (Sura 71, Nuh, v. 20) — God Almighty has spoken the truth.

I told him that I was heading eventually for my hometown of Oujda. He replied that, praise be to God, there were a number of trucks, cars, and buses that went there. Once we arrived, he took off his outer coat and put it on me, then left me by the only mosque in the village. With that, he continued his journey, but not before asking me if I needed anything else.

I entered the mosque where I first performed the ritual ablutions, then prayed the requisite prayers and some other litanies, thanking God for my release and safety. I spent the night inside the mosque, along with a group of strangers and other travelers. Next morning, I used of a number of different modes of transport as I made my way back to my hometown.