Woman Who Fell From the Sky - Jennifer Steil [76]
I was asked to pay YR 200 for the toilet water, like any new comers to the cell. Then my family sent me a mattress, blanket and pillow. My colleagues from my newspaper and other friends flooded me with food, fruit and all edibles. I offered my fellow inmates food and other stuff. They appreciated my offer and started asking seriously about my case. I put off telling them the story until after the prayers. I wanted to assure them that I pray like all good Muslims. It worked out and they trusted me….
Mosque preachers and religious fanatics launched severe attacks against us. Many of our relatives and friends boycotted us, believing we really were offenders. Obviously, it was not only the government against me in this ordeal, but also influential Islamic hardliners. The latter, who proved to be the toughest, collected millions of rials to prosecute us….
After 12 long days, painfully as long as 12 years, I was released on bail. Everybody was happy for my release except the inmates…. They told me that they would miss the food, lectures and the cleanliness of the room. I was released, but the trial continued and the newspaper continued to be suspended from printing, but continued to be updated online. The staff and top administration’s determination to continue online was great. Their work during my stay in jail helped a lot to raise the profile of the case in the international community and contributed to my release.
When al-Asaadi parks his car near the courthouse for our November court date, at first I am unaware that we have arrived. The building, set in a dusty, rock-strewn courtyard, doesn’t resemble any courthouse I have ever seen. It is devoid of grandeur and looks to me like an ordinary modern Yemeni house. A crowd of men bustles around the entrance, and we have to push our way through. All of the guards kiss al-Asaadi hello. Even the prosecutor on his case comes over to kiss him several times as we arrive at the gate. The prosecutor tells al-Asaadi that his sentencing has been postponed yet again, to December. This was just what al-Asaadi feared. To make absolutely sure that we cannot get a verdict, we push our way into the building. The prosecutor tells me that there are three similar cases going on, involving the other newsmen accused. “None of the judges wants to be the first to rule,” he says. They are afraid of the response of the fanatics.
If al-Asaadi were not dragging me behind him into the building, I am not sure I would make it through the throngs. There are too many people. Too many men. Guards pat men down at the entrance to the building, but they have no female guards and so they don’t search me, despite the fact that I am toting an enormous bag. I see no other women.
We pass through a grubby narrow hallway and start up a filthy set of stairs at the back. At the top, we pass from small square white room to small square white room, greeting people and moving on. I have trouble keeping up with al-Asaadi, who is tiny enough to slip easily through crowds. I am also very busy trying to keep from brushing against any of the men, which is no easy task. When we at last reach a small square white room with a judge, al-Asaadi is unable to persuade him to issue a verdict, and we are turned away. On our way out, al-Asaadi stops to kiss a few hundred more men.
“Do you want to see the prison cell where I was?” he asks me.
I do.
Al-Asaadi greets (and kisses) one of the guards and convinces him to unlock the prison underneath the courthouse.