Shortly after my last post, I was rounded up by the provincial authorities. I wasn't alone. Nearly every male over the age of 15 was arrested. Well, they wouldn't call it arrested, merely detained. My claim to be a God-fearing citizen of the RUSA was met with a sly grin; the rolled up prayer rug didn't keep them from putting me in shackles and tossing me in the back of a 2-ton truck along with my neighbors. Thankfully, Andrew was away, and he was able to remain on the lam.
I wasn't so lucky, and I was tossed in a 6-foot square cell... with three other men from Olde Towne. Needless to say, it was a tight squeeze. We spent the better part of four weeks in our cell; everybody was in the same boat.
The guards, all jihadists (I didn't see a single official official), fed us twice a day. It was nearly the same every day: a thin, bean-based gruel and a hunk of bread. For the first two weeks, each of us was removed from the cell for interrogations. They'd last from 15 minutes to 15 hours. While I didn't experience it, my cellmate, Paal, was waterboarded. He came back from the experience a broken, drenched man. He was in the cell for about ten minutes, mumbling to us, and then they came to take him again.
We never saw him after that.
I can't imagine what would have happened had I been boarded. I'd have confessed to setting off a nuclear device in Medina. And, no, it wasn't me, but I'd have admitted to it. Thankfully, the most harsh treatment I received was a few slaps and bright lights.
I don't know why I didn't get more.
Anyway, I'm back home. Some of my male neighbors are also home, although not all of them. Paal's wife heard through the grapevine that Paal was killed, beheaded, as an unlawful combatant against the RUSA. But, she's heard nothing official. We can only hope the rumor was false.
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