THE SKYLARK

By MUTASIM AL KHATEER

“The prisoner screamed out his pain and begged for mercy. It sounded like they cut off a finger, and I saw it in front of me. The horror. The blood. The stump on the floor. Soon it will be my turn.”
. I am a writer born and raised in Norway but have Palestinian roots. Having one foot in both worlds has always created identity issues for me, which boiled to the surface in Yemen as I found a loaded weapon aimed at my head. The authorities mistook me as a foreign agent due to my poor Arabic speaking skills, and I found myself trapped in a Yemen prison. Subjected to daily physical, verbal, and psychological torture with no way to contact my family, I did not think I would survive. Suicide ideation and attempts accompanied my hopeless state after suffering weeks of torture. I wanted to erase my identity after the ordeal, but with two children who speak fluent Arabic, this was not an option.
This emotional story of torture, trauma, and identity is my debut novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781447844174

Book preview

The Skylark

(...) any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person either for such purposes as obtaining information or a confession from him or a third person, to punish him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or to intimidate or coerce him or a third person, or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind, provided that the pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of, or with the consent or acquiescence of, a public official or other person acting in a public capacity. Torture does not include pain or suffering inflicted solely by or in connection with lawful sanctions.

United Nations Convention against Torture

Prologue

I had never been so scared in my life. Breathing so fast I thought I would collapse. I wanted to scream and vomit at the same time. My heart beat faster and sweat broke out again. The prisoner screamed out his pain and begged for mercy. It sounded like they cut off a finger and I saw it in front of me. The horror.

The blood.

The stump on the floor.

Soon it will be my turn.

I heard several guards interrogating a prisoner. I didn't know who the prisoner was, but I knew what it looked like. A bare room besides a table and two chairs, papers on the table with a pen beside them, a ready confession, in a room that reeked of pain and fear, with three or four guards chewing qat and beating and beating and ... He was tied to one chair and being interrogated, but no answers were right.

Why did you come to Yemen? one of the guards shouted. They didn't even wait for an answer. I heard a loud bang and the prisoner screaming again.

Why did you come to Ibb? Blows to the body and head. Crying and pain mixed with heavy anxiety.

I must get out of here. Now.

Have you been chewing qat?

No, replied the prisoner.

You're lying. Then it sounded like they were pushing an iron pipe into his mouth. I could hear teeth breaking and disgusting swallowing sounds being forced out of his throat.

This is not human, I thought. You are Muslims and this is against everything you should believe in, everything you should live by.

I heard them shove something else in his mouth, probably qat.

He choked and I held my breath.

With him.

For him.

Soon it will be my turn, and no one will know I'm here.

In hell.

I heard them pulling the prisoner onto his chair. How the legs of the chair wailed against the floor and screamed out their anguish along with the prisoner. How heavy it sounded. How the prisoner gasped and screamed. Begging for his life. What I heard was terrible and I gasped in fear. I felt my heart wanting to run, but I couldn't move. The sound of a door slamming shut, and I saw it in front of me, how they slammed the door on him, clamping his head, neck and body against the door frame. Heard every bang. How the man screamed and cried at the same time.

And then complete silence. How the whole prison held its breath.

I'm going to die.

Four weeks earlier

Chapter 1

October 2012

I have always been a seeker. Looking for that place where the whole soul can relax. Where I can stay forever. But the search for my own identity has always been whipping my back, taking me to new places and events. And each time I hope that now comes the last place. What I can call home. But I'm still looking.

Who am I?

Who can I be?

Who do I want to be?

I looked out a small window and saw the ground far below, on my way to Yemen. Maybe it could be my place in the world. I didn't really know anything about the country.

I saw green plains and mountains and breathed deeply. I'm afraid of heights, which may have something to do with my poor sense of balance, but I couldn't help but look down. On the plane, it was mostly Arabs and I remembered thinking that they seemed cool and harmonious. I smiled and enjoyed myself to the fullest—both excited and nervous. I looked out the window again and closed my eyes but was too curious to fall asleep or not be captivated by the promises I made myself along with the words in the Lonely Planet. There was chatter and I heard gossip, but nothing evil. Nothing to worry me about what would be the worst experience of my life. My God, if I had read anything about the horror, I might not have flown to Yemen. It hurts to write this. As a reader, you can borrow my reality, but I feel physically and mentally sick as I write. My stomach is full of puke flies that want to hurl themselves out and I get anxiety just thinking about it. But it must come out of my fingers. A form of therapy but I still feel like I'm there again, like it's starting all over again. I often have nightmares and find myself in the cell with all the smells and all the screams of other prisoners. Waking up sweaty and grasping at empty air until I realize it's all just a dream, a real dream.

When I was in Norway, I read up on several countries in the Middle East and I had backpacked a lot. I like it there and imagine that my origins and appearance make me blend in. But that's never really the case. My goal was to find a place close to my children who were in Jordan. Maybe find a piece of land and start a business. What I knew about the country I found in Lonely Planet, among other places. I knew that Yemen was the land of Arab origin and seemed interesting as it was not as exploited as the other countries in the Middle East. Not changed as much and at the same pace. Slower pace. Some things reminded me of Morocco where I had been some time before and enjoyed it quite a bit. Read up on the history of the country and the religion, what the prophet Mohammed said about Yemen. That faith and wisdom were there, the origin. I wanted to see and experience it for myself. Hoped it might be the land of poets. Every place has its tone and harmony. When I backpacked and travelled around the Middle East, I always found things and places that appealed to me, but not enough. I wanted something different. Like always. Some people think that I constantly believe that the grass is greener on the other side, that I will never be satisfied. But that's not the case, at least I hope not. I wait for that feeling when everything feels right. Like falling in love and being able to breathe. I wasn't even sure that Yemen was that place, but I had to go there and give it a chance, or rather give myself a chance. To be happy. Everyone is chasing happiness and happiness means different things to different people. Material things have never been my thing even though I like money. Money buys freedom and creates less anxiety but the value in things has never appealed to me.

The only time I've felt real peace and happiness, apart from my children of course, is when I've tried my hand at shepherding. The open plains, no clock to run after, no technology that required attention and no bills to pay. Just me and nature and all the thoughts that filled me. I tried shepherding in several countries and the thoughts of that time bring me peace when I think life sucks.

I love the Middle East even though it is a powder keg that is dragging the whole world into war. I'd rather it rained sheep from the sky instead of war. But maybe it's a must, a transition for the better. There are several countries that are growing and want to live more western, but the resources are lacking, Water problems, overpopulation and all the racism that is worse than the one in Norway. Everyone is afraid of everyone, and they are building up defenses instead of protecting the population who are suffering in silence. Until they explode when the fuse has finished burning.

Still, I love the Middle East while being incredibly grateful and happy to have grown up in Norway. I sometimes wonder if people forget to look inwards instead of outwards, that they, like me, never really get satisfied with their situation. That it's not just me who is lost in my identity. I feel like I'm alone in it, but I can see that it's not just me. Are we all alone in the herd?

The captain announced that we were about to land, and I fastened my seatbelt. I let go of my thoughts for a moment. My stomach tingled slightly, and I went through everything I had to do as soon as I landed. The plan was to drive around and learn as much as I could, to walk in the footsteps of history and get to know the people, to just take it easy and let it all come to me. That my life would turn around. And it would. Shit, my whole world was going to be shaken up.

Chapter 2

After leaving the plane and going through security, I went outside and took in the scents of Yemen. It felt incredibly good to finally be there. To walk into the reality that I had only read about. It was very hot, but I was used to that; on the other hand it was humid, and I was less used to that.

I was excited and wanted to see everything I had read about and then some. As much as I wanted to find everything in Yemen, I wanted to find myself. That sounds and probably is very cliché, but I don't care. I believe in it, in looking inwards as well as outwards. I'll probably end up finding happiness in Oslo where I grew up. Life irony. But now it was Yemen.

Yemen is located on the Arabian Peninsula and borders Oman and Saudi Arabia. It's called the Happy Arabia but so much has happened since they got the name from the ancient Greeks. Yemen had not been spared the revolts that had hit other countries in the Middle East.

I went to the green town of Ibb. I had read a lot about it. That it is a lush area with mountain slopes and one of the most fertile areas with lots of history.

On the way there I passed Jabal Sumara, and it was an amazing place. I had never seen such a landscape and I think I fell in love with the place right away. Yemen felt right and my whole being was filled with love. My eyes were drowning in everything new and old. My excursions knew no bounds and I wanted to be everywhere at once. I was in Manakha and Al Hajara and between them I felt like I was back in Jesus’ time, like time had stopped. Perhaps I am an old soul who should have stayed in history where I liked it best. With the simplicity and without all the stress that there is nowadays. The realization hit me hard and at once I felt old in a new body. It was an experience I had never had before and yet I have been to a lot of historical places.

There were other places I had read about and wanted to visit, like Aden and Socotra, but it was too much of a hassle to get there with all the permits and security checks, so I didn't bother.

In the thousand-year-old city of Al Hajara, I visited amazing people. Children ran around playing with me and all the people smiled and gave me so much energy that I felt this was the place I wanted to live. A very cool experience. The view of the valley was overwhelming and made me gasp. I forgot about my fear of heights for a while, and I just enjoyed myself to the fullest.

I visited the mosque and admired both the building and the people in it. I've never had a problem connecting with people. At parties and other social events, I have never found it difficult to engage with strangers. I can make people laugh and that's one of my good qualities. One of my bad ones was for a while that I didn't let others talk and took up too much space. But after a while, I also learned to listen.

A man I was talking to in the mosque invited me home and we talked about everything, both equally curious about each other. He asked about my life and what I thought of Yemen, and I asked about everything in his. Children sat around us and wanted to be with me, with us. It was a good feeling, to be someone, accepted and special. All my life I have wanted to be someone, to be part of history, and even though this was on a very small scale, it felt good, and I enjoyed it.

After Friday prayer I asked the man if it was possible to buy a house in the area, but according to an elderly man there was nothing for sale, which I found strange. I had seen several empty apartments. A little disappointed, I said goodbye and walked around the village until a younger man stopped me to say hello. We chatted for a while, he was as curious about me as I was about him and eventually, he invited me to his home. I thought he was nice and accepted.

Before we went in, he made sure the wife left the house.

We sat on the floor in a cozy little room with curtains and it smelled of spices and home. He told me about his life, and I told him about mine and for a while it was quiet and pleasant. I enjoyed myself and thought it was nice that our conversation was free and without silence between questions and answers.

What do you do for a living? I asked, changing my position. I felt stiff after a day of walking around.

"I'm a guide, but these days there are almost no jobs. After the revolution, tourism has gone downhill. It used to be better.