Nights in the “Refrigerator” cell : Zizo Abdo, writes to The Oslo Times from inside prison



    1464159053295.jpg By Zizo Abdo
    Nights in the “Refrigerator” cell : Zizo Abdo, writes to The Oslo Times from inside prison


    June 11, Cairo: Everything around me is calm as death .. absolute solitude .. I sit in the gloomy, stuffy cell with all my senses alert waiting for something to happen.

    A voice from inside your head rises, a voice of a friend, or loved one that suddenly comes to console your tormented soul, and to talk to you . the voice is mixed with images and memories of better days you had outside the prison.

    You talk and they talk .. no matter how long you kept talking, or recalled their faces and your time together; there is always some time left, lots of it!
    In bad nights, the squeak of the cell’s door disturbs the calmness of your cell, and your heart. your breaths are repressed, and your heart starts beating faster than ever; your jailor has arrived .

    The difference between the first and the later is vast as the difference between skies and grounds, tips and bottoms, faith and despair.
    Nights in the prison, are all the same, sometimes they get worse, though. The thought that I have become a memory, something from the past and that I have been forgotten; is haunting me and making me restless.

    I am now in a police station, in a narrow, freezing cell known as “ the Refrigerator”. I am suffering  cold now, after I was suffering heat with another 47 detainees, in the Giza central prison. I got transferred to the police station 2 weeks ago when I had a court session, I was given another 15 days after I spent a total of 40 days behind bars.

    The darkness of the walls kills everything human inside you, yet there is always this tiny bit of ray that breaks the darkness. Friends come visiting, I see them through the door’s hatch. I get to talk to them for a couple of minutes, and they leave. A sense of warm gets into the cold cell, I convince myself that those gloomy nights will pass. Armed with the memory of their visit, nightmares won’t get me, this time, I will finally get to sleep.
    There is always a tiny bit of hope, and the night pass.

    The Oslo Times International News Network

     
     

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