Wednesday october 21st: Day 2. Interrogatories

The door flies open, a guard puts my food on the floor. I do not touch it.

I look around: the ground is tiled; there are 11 tiles on the long side, 8 on the other one. One tile having 33cm, I calculate: 11 x 8, or more exactly 10, 6 x 7, 6: Total superficies of me cell: 8, 82 square meters. The ground is dirty, smells of urine.

There is a bottle of Fanta in one corner, half-full. I suspect what it is, open it and smell: I am right: urine. Great! Now I have a toilet! I needed to go to the bathroom since quite a while, now I can relieve myself.

I don’t care about the camera on the wall. The number 63 is written underneath; it must be my cell number.

All I possess at the moment are two plastic bottles: A half-litre bottle which I took from my luggage and this urine bottle.

A man enters my cell, his name is Samir, and he is an interpreter. He starts asking me a million questions. It seems that he will never finish. I even have to give him a detailed report of a travel through Syria, in 1974!

Then enters another man; he does not greet me.

And now the real interrogatory starts.

I tell them every detail about my arrest, again and again. Samir wonders:

-          Is that all? Have been arrested for just two photos?

Then he brings my GPS, my dazer, my wristwatch. I must explain why I have them, how they work. As I had expected, the interrogatory goes in direction Israel. But I was prepared to this, and avoided most of the traps. Then Samir makes me a hate speech about Israel. I listen meekly. After I told them all what they wanted to know, Samir says:

-          Mister Raymond, you are the most honest man I encountered in my life! All this is just a horrible mistake and you will be free in half an hour! I just a little paperwork to do and then you can leave!

Both men leave my cell.

I wait.

I wait in vain

A few hours later the door flies open, they are back. I feel immediately that this will not be a “Samir, the nice guy” anymore. He starts shouting:

-          When I asked before what you have seen, you told me ordinary planes

-          No, I told clearly that I saw Jet planes, military planes!

-          You’re a liar! You said normal planes! Liar! Everybody can see this are no planes, but missiles! MISSILES! I believed you, trusted you! I told my supervisor you were an honest man. Now, when we looked at the photos we see missiles! You lied to me! I have big problems; my supervisor thinks that I am bad interpreter!

For a short moment I do not know what to answer. He got me.

NO! He is lying! I will never believe that they looked at my photos only now! After two days! Yesterday we looked at them in Jablah immediately after my arrest.  He almost got me! Almost!

-          I never spoke about normal planes, never! I also clearly said that I was convinced they were military planes, not civil ones. Meantime I know that these are missiles of course. I do not know anything about those things.

-          My friends in Lattakia told me that they have witnesses who saw you sleeping there the previous night, to make photos. Why did you sleep there? Why did you take these photos?

Now I explode:

-          Lies, all lies! I want to see the one who told this. He is a Liar!

Then the whole interrogatory starts again, and again.

-          I want to speak to a lawyer!

-          NO!

-          I want to make a phone call to my family!

-          LATER!

-           I want to speak to a representative of my country

-          Do you have an embassy in Syria?

-          No, a consulate; I can give you the address and the phone number

-          Not necessary, we will contact them.

Then both leave my cell. Just before he shuts the door, Samir asks me a last question:

-          Are you a Jew?

He leaves without waiting for my answer

After a while, a man I did not see so far enters my cell. He has a few handwritten papers in one hand, a stamp cushion in the other one. Without saying a single word, he takes my hand. Once again I sign a few documents; I do not have the slightest clue what is written on them.

I don’t care.

I lay down on my blankets, try to sleep.

Once again my door flies open, another enters my cell. He holds a photo camera. It is not mine. I must stand against the wall, and he makes a few photos of me, from different angles.

-          What about me? When can I leave?

-          You sleep!

The door slams.

Alone again.

A few minutes later, a key turns in my lock.

My second night in prison begins.