Inland, Dreaming of Waves

What would you do?

I just read the most amazing book, Stolen Lives: Twenty Years in a Desert Jail. I have never read any story like it. It’s the story of the Oufkir family, who were imprisoned for 14 years and then held in house arrest for another 5 years after their father attempted to assassinate the king of Morocco.

Here’s a sample (the speaker is Malika, the eldest):

“Each of my birthdays was like a dagger piercing my heart. At the age of thirty-three I became resigned. I would never experience a great love; I would never have my own family; no man would ever take me in his arms and whisper sweet nothings or words of burning passion in my ear; I would never know the physical and mental thrill of being in love.”

At that point, she had been in prison since age 18. Her youngest brother had been 3 when they were spirited away.

They escaped from prison in 1987 by digging a tunnel. For most of the time they were in the last prison, they lived in cells next to each other but were not allowed to see each other.

Can you imagine? Being a few feet from your mother or brothers and sisters, being able to hear them, but not seeing them for something like 8 years?

They decided to dig the tunnel (using a spoon and a can lid) after almost all of them attempted suicide at the same time. It sounds absurd, doesn’t it? Like a melodrama.

Here’s a description of what they ate:

“Every two days, the guards brought us bread in cardboard boxes. I would tip the loaves out onto the floor and Soukaina and I would quickly lift up the flaps on the boxes and remove the thin layer of paper that lined them. We used it to write down the stories I told. The paper was as precious to us as food.
One day, while I was busy pulling off the paper, I saw the three girls licking the floor for crumbs that had dropped from the box. From that moment, I established a rule. Instead of fighting like stray dogs, they would each have their day, their turn at the crumbs.
At Bir-Jdid we were never once given a normal egg. The shells were green, and inside was a vile black liquid, the smell of which made us feel ill….”

They were incredibly resourceful, thanks, according to the book, to Malika. They made up plays; she told a story she made up on their "radio" that they used to connect the cells, even though they could hardly see each other; they laughed at whatever they could. In short, they constructed a life for themselves out of what they had.

posted by Price of Silence @ 9:19 AM