It was especially comforting to me to meet fellow Sudanese prisoners in Guantánamo, even though I was saddened that they had met the same fate I had. I met a total of twelve Sudanese men there, each one caused my lonely heart to take flight a bit and taught me something.
At one point, I was moved to Charlie and found to my delight that there were two Sudanese Brothers there, Hammad Amanoh and Mohammad Rashid. They both worked for a Kuwaiti aid organisation in Peshawar, Hammad as an accountant and Mohammad an administrator. Local authorities raided their office and took them, then handed them to the Americans. In similar raids, three other Sudanese Brothers were taken from the aid organisations they worked in: Adel Hassan Abu Diyana, Mohamed al-Ghazali and Salem Abu Ahmed, all Sudanese, all fated for Guantánamo.
Being moved in with Hammad and Mohammad relieved a lot of the mental pressure I was under. It was like opening a floodgate, and I started to talk and talk to them. In fact, I talked so much that they must have complained to each other about how much I was able to talk!
We asked each other about news from Sudan, and since Hammad was taken later than I was, he was able to give me a more recent idea of what was going on at home.
One Brother, whose fate pains me to this day, was known to us as Ibrahim alSudani. I think his story hurt us all because, when he lost his mind, we all knew that we could easily follow suit any day.
Ibrahim’s mind gave up after trying to withstand the physical and mental torture of Guantánamo, and the constant humiliation we had to live through.
How many times had I contemplated madness and longed for the dark oblivion it brought? How many times had I teetered on the edge of insanity, wishing that it would engulf me and spare me from the daily agony that was life in Guantánamo?