Locked In

Crimson Stone

"Rahmat get the door."

It was just before dawn. The woman I had met the night before was standing there with a bag in her hand. "Here are some head scarves for your mother and sister." She handed the bag to Rahmat. "Would you like to come pray with us? A small group of us are gathering to pray Fajr."

"Thank you. But the rules state that we cannot practice our religion in public," I said.

"The guards always sleep and do not get up this early. Only the dogs are awake."

I put Sabura's Hijab, a head scarf, on her and then put mine on. Sabura's was a light yellow with lace on the bottom. I had a blue Hijab with yellow flowers. We slipped outside shutting the door quietly. We quietly walked down the middle of the camp, silent as shadows. The punishment for practicing Islam in any way was death. I peered into the darkness to see a small group of ten families huddled near the fence that surrounded the camp. They were lined up in rows. Silently we slipped into the women's section and the Imam; an elderly man, began to recite the Adhan.

After we had completed the dawn payer most of the families quickly scurried back to their homes. It was dangerous for us to be seen in a big group. Two families sat down, the men together and the women and young children who had not reached puberty in another group. Wanting to learn more about our new life and the rules of the camp, I motioned to my children to sit down and we gazed silently at the flat barren landscape that stretched beyond the fence.

"Assalaam Alaykum. Are you new here?"

"Walaykum Salaam. Yes. My name is Parasa and these are my children."

"We have no names here," the woman replied, a sad look in her eyes.

"The American soldiers take away our identities. We are no longer citizens of America and thus do not have any right to live."

"Then who are you known as?" I asked.

"I am known as Prisoner 16900I."

"I am Prisoner 144596H," the other woman said softly.

"But we are Muslims. We have names. We have homes," I replied, not wanting to believe that I was now a captive. I didn't want to believe that I was no longer a human being.

"Do not speak that name here!" The woman shouted at me. "Do not practice Islam in public unless you want to feel the sting of the whip on your back or want to get raped."

"But rape is a crime," I said. "Surely the soldiers are not stupid enough to engage in a crime?"

"The American soldiers have permission from the government to do whatever they see fit to control an uprising in the camps."

"Don't be too hard on her Jasmine. She is new here and you'll frighten her children," the second woman replied.

She looked at me and I could see the haunted look in her eyes. I will never forget that look as long as I live. It was like she had been crushed under the weight of the world. "My name is Elizabeth. That is my husband over there, Matthew. We are converts to Islam."

"How long have you been here?"

"Three years."

"And you?" I asked Jasmine.

"Five months."

"How sad that children should be forced to endure the trials of hardship and misery." Elizabeth said. "Such sadness and hate only hardens the heart and soul."

"As long as we die Muslims and hold true to Allah, then God willing we will get our reward in Heaven," I replied.

"Such is the way of the faithful," Elizabeth said.

"What about that soldier who was nice to us on the truck?"

"He has to be careful about showing sympathy to us. He is a kind man who has not decided to accept Islam but he does not believe anyone should be treated like animals, no matter their religion."

"It is not life that binds us to this Earth but Allah. It is not death that takes us but Allah. To all of our sufferings and joys comes hope from Allah. But to be able to hear the word of Allah is something many will never hear or see because they are too blinded by the world's charm and too deaf except to the words of their own lusts," I said.

"Did you know the President's son is Muslim?" Elizabeth asked me.

"No."

"Masha Allah he became Muslim six years ago at thirteen. He is here in our camp with us."

"That is amazing." I said in awe. I had not thought the President's son would become Muslim. He must have hidden his religion from his father.

"Mommy can I play with the other girls?" Sabura asked me.

"If that is okay with their mothers then yes." I said to her.

Elizabeth nodded but Jasmine frowned and left with her children. "What is wrong with her?"

"She isn't happy ever since her husband died. That is her brother with my husband."

"I am sorry."

"Sometimes she wishes for death herself."

"It is indeed a terrible thing to lose a loved one. We were taken from my husband's home while he was at work."

"Where did you come from?"

"Bahrain."

"Matthew and I are from North Dakota."

"Did your parents accept you?"

"My parents threw me out of the house as soon as I told them I was Muslim. Matthew was living on the streets since he was fourteen because his mother refused to have a 'terrorist' in her house. We met in the masjid."

"How lovely."

"Yes it was. We were engaged for two years before getting married."

"I met Dawood in college. But my family is from Lebanon."

"How wonderful. Speaking of happy times brings tears to my eyes," Elizabeth said.

The sky was beginning to lighten. The crimson red light faded slowly away. As we began to walk back to our homes as a couple of shots sounded out and at once everything became silent. We ran toward the sound of the shot and stopped to a halt in the middle of the camp. Doors had flown open and people were crowding around the center of the yard.

A woman and child were lying on the ground dead, their blood staining the ground. A soldier stood above them. I could smell the gunpowder in the air and see the smoke from the gun. "What happened?" Another soldier demanded.

"Major Gather. This woman and her child were trying to escape the camp. I had no choice but to kill them."

"That's a lie! You shot them in the back as they were walking back to their home." A man shouted.

"That's right. He shot that woman and her child in the backs. Like the cowardly scum the American soldiers have become!" A woman shouted.

Major Gather snapped his fingers and the man and woman were pulled out into the center. He raised his weapon and fired two shots. They collapsed to the ground their bodies falling on top of the woman and child.

"Does anyone else have anything to say?" Major Gather asked.

Not a soul dared speak. They had all seen for themselves the punishment for speaking the truth. They trembled in fear. Mothers clutched their babies to their breasts. Men hugged their wives. Children huddled behind their mothers' Jilbabs. The blood slowly flowed and as Parasa looked down she could see a small white rock slowly turn red from the blood.

"Get back to your houses! The next time someone speaks up against our hospitality you will be shot."

Silence ensued over the little camp as we headed back to our homes. I looked back and saw a few guards drag the bodies to the end of the camp where the dogs sheltered and turned away. I didn't want to see the dogs feast on dead people. Daboor was silent. Rahmat and Sabura were crying. Ijaz pressed his face into my Jilbab and cried silently. I felt his tears drip onto my Jilbabs. I did not know how to comfort them about the horror they had just witnessed. I did not know how to comfort myself. Oh Dawood I wish you were here.