by AlResalah
(This is the story of the freed Palestinian prisoner Ehab Qannan)

      Occupied Palestine (Alresalah.ps/MINA) – Darkness of cell, toughness of jailer, bitterness of loneliness and parting from family were no much enough. The jailer was of a horrible face. His heart was filled with hatred. He went mad, every time my fellow prisoners and I could snatch a smile of our free time and long years behind bars.
       I have waited for two years, ever since I register to undergo an operation. I spent long nights, battling the acute pain and aching, which became a part of my life.
      In prison, I had hernia in the abdomen. I could slide my hand in due to medical neglecting and long period of pain.
      Many days passed. They stretched to reach two years and a half, through which I took some kind of banned painkillers because I had no other choice. It caused me meteorism in my tummy and all over my body. I sent some pictures to my family. I looked fat. But, it was because of that damned type of painkillers. I knew later that it was banned throughout the globe, apart from the Zionist jails.
      I will let go the details, even though they were tough. Details extended, as my pain did beyond imagination. Long were the nights I spent fighting against pain. I tried hard to steadfast. As for the jailer, he waited for a sign of weakness my brothers in detention and I would show so that he could feel triumphant over our will.
       After long argumentation and continuous endeavors, they fixed me a date to undergo the operation.

Torture and Humiliation

       It was six o’clock in the morning. They drove me to waiting room. It looked more like a room of torture and humiliation. There, prisoners are searched in a precise, tough and demeaning way.
       Everything was done, and it was time to move to the Ramla Hospital – the place which is a horrible morgue, where I lived my unforgettable tragedy.
       I stepped into the bus, hand cuffed and shackled. My eyes were bandaged. I sat on a merciless, steel chair. The driver harmed us on purpose. He was driving relentlessly. Our bodies almost tore into parts. Our bones shocked with every sudden stop or hole.
       It took us twelve hours, until we got there. They were totally physically tiring. It would be better for us to walk on foot, rather.
       My fellow prisoner s and I got there. We were searched. Then we were allowed to enter the hospital, where tens of my brothers laid in troubles. Some had undergone open heart surgery. Others could not walk. They laid in beds motionless. Beds were upside down. It was not like even an abnormal hospital.
       I handled the situation normally because we were dealing with an occupation, which showed no respect to the human laws, and expressed no emotions towards human beings. I had hope that the operation will be done, and pain will fade.
        There, I met Akram Salamah, a nurse and a fellow prisoner, who was taking care of the patients voluntarily. Then came the surprise that almost killed hope within my heart.
       Akram told me and other prisoner, who had the same trouble I had, that we will be transferred to another hospital, once the surgery was done. The new hospital was not fit for us because we had to take the stairs after we undergo the operation, and all of the beds were occupied.
       Magdi and I were shocked. We were surprised, actually. Then a new battle against the hospital administrators took place. We tried to convince them but in vain.
       They wanted us to beg them to send us back to our prison without undergoing the surgery. That was of no avail because we were few steps away from our operation.
       They demanded us to sign that we refused to undergo the operations. After long argumentations, we agreed that the Israeli prison authority would move us to isolated cell, with two beds, which are 10 centimeters above the ground. We accepted forcefully.
       Magdi and I underwent the operations. Our hands and legs were tied. That reminded me of pigs, when slaughtered.
       I was drugged before the operation. Then I was moved to the cell, once I started to be conscious. It was a narrow, humid cell. Water flooded the ground. And the smell stinks.

All thanks is due to Allah

       I was badly sick. I fell to the ground many times due to the drugs. My health condition was hard. The wound hurt painfully. My brother, Magdi, was crying because of pain.
       I tried to change the bed sheets. I counted my steps. It took me almost an hour because I was moving slowly. I was so cautious that I will not get hurt.
      We stayed in our room for four days. No doctor or specialist visited us. We counted on ourselves. I cleaned my wounds. Magdi could not. He was in acute pain.
      Food was left on the edge of the gate. I crawled to get it. The journey to get food was a real hell, leave alone the pain of the wound itself.
      Details are enormous. The worst were the days directly after the surgery. It was a half past six in the morning. I was laid in my bed. Then, all of a sudden, Magdi screamed because of pain. When I broke into the bathroom, I was shocked of what I saw.
      His wound was wide open. It was rotten. I could see his guts. He was bleeding. His face turned pale. He could not move. What could I do for him?! I screamed, but none answered me.
      I carried him. Can imagine it? I carried him, while my wounds were still new. Three stitches were open. I started bleeding, as well. I screamed again. After a very long time, a jailer came.
      He swore at me, and asked me about the reasons I am screaming. I told him that Magdi was dying, and bleeding. He left, as if nothing bad happened!
      I screamed again. None answered me. Then I had a thought. I was time for counting the prisoners. When the officers came and asked about Magdi, I told them that he was dead.
      They came in. I asked them to move him to the hospital. They refused because he was not dressed up with the prison uniform. After long argumentation, I dressed his with the prison uniform. They moved him to the hospital. There, Akram Salama took care of him.
      I bled. I screamed but not replied. Then, a fellow prisoner passed by my cell. I asked him to scream out loud, while being in the public square. “Akram, Ihab is dying.”
       He did. My fellow prisoners hunger-stroke. They asked the prison authorities tomove me to their cells. Then a long journey started with my brother and fellow prisoner, Akram Salama.
      He nursed me for long eighteen days. Then it took me a year to get my mounds healed. I still feel the stings. Then I was informed that Magdi kept bleeding for four months. Then he was healed. All thanks is due to Allah. (T/P02/E1)

Mi’raj News Agency (MINA)
Source : http://www.alresalah.ps/en/index.php?act=post&id=1787

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