Title: Part IV
by Patrise from Somerset | in writing, fiction
15th September 2001
They dragged me out ' there were approximately fifteen police men, about ten of them armed with guns, the rest holding back the vigorous crowd of people including a few so-called neighbours from my street. My wife and children cried out to me ' I was in a state of shock, everything happened so quickly.
I was accused of being a terrorist and that I had some sort of role to play in a terrorist act that occurred a couple months back. They shoved me into the back of a police car after cuffing me tightly around the wrists. I turned back and caught a glimpse of my baby. ' Crying. I got angry and tried to break open the door with my feet. How dare they intrude on my property ' they have the nerve to raid my house even though they have no proof of whatever accusations they're throwing at me. Even when I was hurled into the police car I saw about seven police men enter my house ' two grabbed my wife in the opposite way of how a gentleman would treat a woman. I heard her scream and saw tears fall from her eyes, my six and eight year old sons were also crying. My twelve year old daughter - still asleep? Well, she always was a deep sleeper.
I've been locked up for around eleven months now; I seriously do not know how I've been coping. My wife Zahra sent me a letter. I received it just a few minutes ago, I haven't opened it yet. I'm not sure if I'm ready to be honest, I just have this weird feeling that it's bad news. What the heck:
My dearest Yusuf,
We all miss you so much and can't wait until your return.
We know and understand that it must be hard for you right now, but I cannot hold this in any longer, and of course you now that I have been allowed to communicate with you through my letters then, it's time you knew something.
The morning you were taken away, we found out that Aaliyah had passed away in her sleep.
No! Oh my'what will I do?! My daughter! My eldest daughter, my beautiful Aaliyah, my sweet heart. I'm shaking the bars of the cell shouting at the prison guard to let me out. Of course he won't let me out, stop being stupid, Yusuf. Oh Allah, please keep my sweet Aaliyah safe, please give her a place in Jennah. Please don't let her suffer in her grave, she was a good girl, please Allah, please. You are truly The Greatest.
Its okay, we're all coping well. Aaliyah died peacefully with a smile on her face. InshaAllah she will be fine. The two boys and I recite a small dua' for you every night, hopefully everything will be alright. I'm sorry I'm writing to you so late ' it was hard for me and the kids at first, with you being so far away and knowing that Aaliyah is not coming back just yet.
So many people came to Aaliyah's funeral'
Yeah, except her own father. When I come home, with the will of God, I will come home to only one daughter, instead of two.
'so many of them had something good to say about our sweetheart. I wish you could have been there. Ya Allah help my family and I get through this period of time with ease.
Yara is one and four months old now. She's hardly any trouble at all, the boys love her so much, and they always take good care of her. Shaakir is doing so well at school but he misses you loads'
Shaakir, my eldest boy, I'm proud of you son. If only I could tell you.
'Karim reads very well now, he pretends to read a short story to you almost every night. He says that 'Fantastic Mr. Fox' is your favourite story.
Ha. My little man, Karim. You keep it up boy, I'm proud of you too.
I suppose you're wondering about me'
Ya Habiby*
well I'm doing quite well considering the circumstances. I have a part-time job at Yara's baby care whilst the boys are at school. I only take her there so that she can be taken care of whilst I'm working. I miss you a lot Yusuf. I can't explain it. I need you home soon.
Lots and lots of love
Zahra, Shaakir, Karim and Yara
Xxx
P.S: Be good habibty. x
Zahra has always been the joker of the family. Ha-ha. I miss her a lot as well, probably ten times as much as she misses me. Not that she can help it, it's just that'I need her; she's part of my life, part of me. I've had to live eleven months without her. I can't bare it any longer. I must return home soon. Return home to my family where I feel at ease. Here, in prison I just feel cooped up and unable to express my feelings, the atmosphere is strange and quite horrible; I don't how long I will be able to stay facing these three walls without turning mad. It's as if I'm trapped inside my own mind.
*Ya is 'Oh' in Arabic and Habiby is 'My love'
During one my Islamic studies lessons at school in year ten, we were asked to write an essay about early muslim converts. We had to write some form of story about their experience and so forth. My teacher marked my essay and was really pleased with it, she said that I should continue it into a proper story. This is the beginning of another chapter that I started at home.
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