Bahrain Mirror (Exclusive)
Ibtisam Saleh - Bahrain



Rula goes on to continue her story to Bahrain Mirror, and talking about prison food "The inedible food was a sad story by itself. Meals were cooked using the worst kind of oils, worst kind of rice, and when the pot was open I would become nauseous from the chicken that was cooked however it happened to be. Just like that, without anything to wash away the smell of a dead animal apart from a thick layer of oil floating on top of the stew. As soon as I ate it, my stomach would reject it by vomiting immediately; the food was like an additional form of torture. As for the red tea, I stayed away from its unusual taste. It had some sort of ingredient, I did not know what it was, which made it hard to consume. That is why I was avoiding it and ate potato chips or yogurt from the prison cafeteria. That too was allowed because of Katherine Ashton's effect. We were also allowed once a week to put a list of things we needed bought, but food from families was not allowed.

We also had daily tasks. We had to lift heavy weights of water bottles, massive food pots, and other things. We had to prepare the table and serve meals. I was with Jalila Al- Salman distributing food in plates to everyone. And by everyone I mean including the ones charged with drugs and prostitution offenses. Jalila and I specifically were not allowed to eat until everyone else's plate was full. Moreover, we had to collect the garbage and throw it out, clean the prison floor entirely, clean the kitchen and bathrooms. That is why we tried to live our days in a different way, resisting in our own way so we would not give in to injustice and misery.

Drown In Sweat

On an August day power was out in the ground floor for 24 hours. Everyone was allowed to go to the first floor to avoid the heat except me and Jalila Al Salman. It was so hot that the cement floor was letting out fumes, like something was burning. The heat wave took its toll on me until I slept or fell unconscious - I don't remember. Jalila said she was shaking me and saying "Rula wake up, dont die!" While I was drowning in my sweat and couldn't wake up. Was it bliss to avoid the heat?

We lived a real tragedy, but with our harmony and understanding we tried to put a limit to it. We spent five months in that small place with no privacy. There was no refuge from their eyes except the bathroom. Even there we had to get out quickly as there is limited time and quantity of water, or else we were left short of it. Water was extremely scarce for a big number of consumers; and if it had run out we would have to wait six to seven hours for it to come back.

The Prayers

I would go back to prayer. Prayer time was a divine ritual that we would eagerly wait for. The floor would turn into a beautiful mosaic of prayer mats next to each other. We would feel the true magnitude of our suffering in the presence of God. ٌTotal reverence and complete silence would set in. You could hear a pin drop. That was where crying could be heard during kneeling and piety. Each one of us would proceed to her own sanctuary. That was an initial agreement between us, that we would not get into each one's freedom of worship. Everyone would practice her own customs; crying ferociously, begging, pleading the lord, cradling herself by herself, for god to take care of us all, as he is the merciful and the saviour. Once during prayer I heard birds tweet. I looked at the window and there was nothing. I looked around and there wasn't a bird within our midst, it was the sound of whispered prayers. It was the voice of the little conversations they had with God, but in my imagination they were birds of heaven. I got used to nightly prayers that I learned from Zahra Al Sammak, and so we would perform them together; me, Al Sammak, and Dhaif. I fasted during the Hijri months of Rajab, Shabaan, and Ramadhan. And I fasted the same three months this year.

Within the confines of prison and the wardens there was nowhere to go but to god. When they allowed us to have religious books after National Safety period, we would have recitals sessions. We would recite the whole Quran, sometimes within a day. We would split the parts between us, and sometimes would recite prayers. Sometimes we would ask for access to the upper floor so we would join our friends there and recite special prayers for certain occasions. Permission would be granted as long as our reading would be done in only one hour. We would gather in a ward that was 4 by 5 meter, and we would be 30 to 40 women, packed, sitting tight, as some would be over the double deck beds. We would not feel the cluster or heat. We would be happy to see each other. Sometime would be lost in exchanging greetings. That is why we would be in the middle of our recitals, before we finished, a naturalised policewoman would walk in and yell "Time is up!"


"The Cover" Prayer

There was one prayer we specifically enjoyed, named "The Cover." It somehow provided support to comfort our anguish, and so we made it a spiritual rite. We would imagine the ward was covered with that holy blanket, and imagine how Prophet Mohammed gathered his family under that blanket, and feel safe and secure under it. Safer than the world outside. It was best read by Raja Kadhem's deep voice, with beautiful tone that brought peace and serenity to our hearts, and made us feel protected during those days.

I asked her: How were you impacted by the street demonstrations? She smiled and said: Once we heard slogans being shouted from far away. I said "Shh! Listen these are chants and protests, but we could not tell what the source of the sound was, nor where it came from. I asked "Could you hear it?" They all said no, except Ayat Al Qurmuzi who said yes I can hear it. I said: they are here to free us from this jail, and you will be lifted over their shoulders in an extraordinary celebration. You are heroines that don't know your worth. Yes we will go out from under "the blanket" to the open space. I was making up stories out of my imagination spontaneously to lift everyone's spirits up to give them hope of getting out so that hope was not lost.

When I first met my colleagues

On 6th of June I was taken to a military court by a policewoman. All the way in the car she yelled at me: “Don't talk, dont look out of the window, and keep your head down”. Her yelling didn't affect me at all as I enjoyed the sun, sky, fresh air, and the greenery on the way. I could not hold back my happiness. “Oh goodness, how beautiful life is when you're free. I was deprived of it for months. Be it the hot weather, I don't mind, I love even the burning sun heat”.

When we got there I was brought out of the car to see a bunch of men with their eyes blindfolded and hands tied being brought out of the car while being beaten and insulted. I wondered who they were. I was trying to identify them until I was suddenly gutted - Oh my god, they are my colleagues! Those are the medical staff. They made them stand in a line while tied with a chain around their waists under the scorching sun being sworn at and beaten constantly. My heart broke when I heard them cry. I passed by that humiliated line wishing to say “Sumood (Steadfast) just have little patience”, but the threats I heard did not allow me to say a single word. We don't know where all this is going. I entered the building and on the left I saw Nabeel Tammam, Ear Nose and Throat consultant, sitting on a chair. Nabeel is a dear colleague that I knew for years. As soon as he saw me he broke into a high voice with tears streaming down his face. I greeted him warmly and shook his hand, our hands tangled passionately, unwilling to separate and the tears still flowing. I left him and entered into a small room where the female medical staff (released earlier) were held. They were surprised to see my pale face and thin body - I lost 20 kilograms. Maybe it was the eyeglasses that changed the way I appeared. Oh dear, sadness dawned on us, and our worries started to multiply.

No one knew me

Orders were made to enter the courtroom. Doctors first. They brought them in from the other side. I saw them with a look of misery on their faces, with ragged dirty pajamas, shaved heads, and messy beards; they were thin and pale. They were led in with scourging insults that I could not imagine anything worse of. Their heads were facing the floor and tears covered their faces. When the Judge saw them he was upset that they were brought looking that way and said: This is the last time I see them looking like this. I was the first of the women brought it and so I walked by them happy to see them, but they did not look at me. They could not recognize me. I passed by Ibrahim Al Demistani and he did not recognize me (Rula started crying as she said she had not been recognized). The only one that recognized me was Nader Dewani. His warm tears gave me a signal, and bewilderment: I know you Rula. Is that you? We sobbed silently, thinking a thousand times over about what they would do to us after all this. As for the other doctors, they recognized me when they called me by name.

I saw my husband and my brother. I saw their eyes welling up as they looked at me. My reply was in tears also. They were crying to see me in that way, while I was crying because I was happy to see them, because I missed them so much. As for the Lawyer Hafez Hafez, he was surprised to see the way I looked, and looked the other way as not to see his tears. He was worried about my emotions. He did not want me to see his pity. The Human Rights Defender of Bahrain Society for Human Rights could not control his tears.

The National Security Court read out the readily available accusations levied against me. They were: Possessing a weapon without a license, taking over Salmaniya Medical Complex, promoting for the overthrow of the regime, and illegally obtaining medical equipment. The judiciary decided to delay the case based on the lawyers' request to meet their clients and obtain copies of the lawsuit filed.

Voice Lost

After the court session, the detainees would meet their families for 15 minutes. I sat between my husband and my brother, with our hands between each other’s. I told them about the investigations, and what happened to me, but they could not hear me. I lost my voice and could not get it out. My husband was trying to hear me, he said "Rula speak up I can't hear you." My brother too. I was eager to know what was happening in the world outside, and at the same time try to tell them what I went through concisely, but a lump in my throat would prevent me from assuring them that I was fine. I said without thinking "they electrocuted me." My brother was shocked "What?!" "But I'm fine.. I'm fine" I said, aware of the short time available I was struggling to talk as I would like, but with all these different emotions I lost my voice. I chose to be quiet. We stayed silent.

The Second Hearing in Court

During the second meeting with the medical team in court, I could not bear staying silent. Enough indignity. The way they looked repeatedly infuriated me so I yelled " Lift your heads up! You did not do anything. We should be proud." Everyone lifted their heads up and stood up straight. In defiance. When they called out Ali Al Ekri (Orthopaedic Consultant) he yelled: I was forced to sign! The judge did not want to hear anything about the torture. He only wanted to hear us say "not guilty" only. But when it was my turn, I also objected "I am not guilty. They tortured me and forced confessions out of me under torture and threat. Zahra Al Sammak did the same thing so the court ordered her out.

My Own Calendar

I asked Rula “How did you know what day it was?” She answered “When a box of napkins was made available, I flattened the little cardboard box and drew my own calendar that started Monday 4th of April 2012. Then I drew the boxes and filled them with the days until the day and cross it day by day.”

• Link to part 1
• Link to part 2
• Link to part 3
• Link to part 4
• Link to the Arabic copy