[zzze]

The Tragic News Regarding My Wife…

One day, while sitting on the cold hard floor, I mentioned my love for, and desire to see my wife and kids. I expressed my worry about the situation on the plane, although I was told all is well. One of the brothers stared at me and then stated that he needed to pray. I wondered; it was not prayer time. He finished and then told the brother next to me: “Tell him…” A tear rolled down my cheek… I knew now what they were about to disclose. I leaned closer to the brother, voice cracking, heart torn but hesitant until confirmation. “Tell me what?! What are you going to tell me?” I was crying.

He said, “We were told that an American woman with three children got sick and died on the way. They buried her as a martyr…I’m sorry brother…”

I immediately stood up, tears pouring like never before. My whole world felt as if it had ended! I paced the cell and then leaned on the wall crying, “Don’t, not here! Don’t tell me this here! No…no... Oh Allah, Oh Allah…” One of the older brothers embraced me and quietly repeated in Arabic: “Patience my brother…patience; it is from Allah.” I slumped down the wall on my back until I was seated. Tears in my eyes, I looked up and noticed everyone was crying with me. I asked about my son; no–one knew anything. I jumped up and yelled for the guard. He proudly came to the door. I said, “I found out just now that my wife has died. I need to know whether or not you have all of my kids.” He said, “How do you know that?!” He opened the door brandishing his night stick saying, “You better get away from this door and shut up before I crack your head open!”

The Hardest Test may Allah grant them all jannah, ameen.

The hardest part of this whole ordeal was losing my best friend, my wife, my beloved, my soul mate, the mother of my children. May Allah accept her, ameen. She once told me in Somalia that she never felt so close to Allah and that she wished for shahaadah (martyrdom). “Whoever wishes to meet Allah, Allah will wish to meet him.” It is known that whoever protects their life, property, family and religion and dies while doing so is a martyr. She died while doing all of the above! We know about the hadith (Prophetic tradition) about the one who dies of fever and sickness or plague. We all know about the one who migrates for Allah and dies doing such. I cannot think of a reason that she wouldn’t be shaheed (martyred). She got what she asked for: body not washed for burial [a martyr’s body is not washed for burial], buried in the land she loved and did not want to leave.

You know, this comes as no surprise, as I have never known Umm Muhammad (may Allah accept her) to raise her hands (in supplication) except that Allah gave her exactly what she asked for. For instance, after the birth of our son, the doctors said she would not be able to have children again, due to many complications. Praise be to Allah! She gave me two beautiful daughters – exactly what she wanted!

She was simple and extremely humble, never making people feel beneath her. She was not the scholarly type, but she practiced what she knew. If you could prove it from The Book (Quraan) and the Sunnah (Prophetic Way), she would not argue, but submit to the proofs. She feared Allah so much! I remember her telling me while crying as if she had lost a beloved one, that she committed a grave wrong when we first became Muslim. She explained that she feared she would never be forgiven. I asked her what it was.

She said that she once exclaimed “Jesus Christ!” when angry or surprised. I asked, “Were you calling upon him (in invocation)?” She cried, saying “No,” explaining that it was just something she grew up saying without meaning (as is common among many a Westerner). I laughed in admiration and told her not to worry, that she did nothing wrong, and the fact that she feared Allah so much that she worried over something that any new Muslim would do, made her even better! I truly miss her. May Allah accept her and reunite me with her and our children in Paradise, ameen.



Interrogated by the FBI

In the days after the news of my wife’s death I would be pulled out of my cell, blindfolded, shackled, ear muffed and a bag put over my head. I was put in a car and driven away. I could hardly breathe…all I could think was: “They are going to shoot me.” I believe I thought this because I could feel the road change from pavement to dirt. I figured: “Bag over my head, ear muffs, blindfold, dirt road, threats a day before…I’m dead.”

I just repeated the shahadatain (Islamic testimonies of faith) again and again. I would end up at a sort of safe house where the FBI would question me. It became increasingly obvious that someone had snitched on me, as they knew everything. But what bewildered me was that this “someone” had lied about a lot of things, unless that was just a tactic. Nonetheless, that misinformation was to later be in my paperwork, stating that they were given by a co-witness, a close associate of mine! The details of the few truths made it clear who did some of the talking. I understood then, that one of my beloved brothers had turned on me…I forgive those that did, as the conditions were unbearable. May Allah have Mercy on them.

Reunited with my Children

I was brought to another prison to stay at and was joined by my two daughters! I asked my four year old, while holding the baby, “What happened to Mommy?” She said in a soft, yet very hurt voice: “Mommy got hot with the fever…..She went to Allah…They put her in the ground….” I burst into tears and held her, telling her: “I’m sorry. Daddy’s sorry…” Then I asked her, “Where is your brother?” She paused and said, “He ran away into the jungle…he only has one sandal Daddy...” I asked the police if they had a little boy in custody. They replied in the negative…

That night I was put in a cell while my daughters were kept somewhere else. Perhaps they were with the woman whom they were arrested with or with female police officers across the street. I thanked Allah, praised him and asked Him for a miracle regarding my family being put together. I called on Him saying, “You are the One who gathers. Gather me and my family here!”

I later awoke to the sound of a voice at the reception desk. It was a familiar voice, a young boy explaining why he wasn’t in school. It was the voice of my son! I jumped up and yelled his name through the door. He ran past the police to the door crying, “Dad? Is that you?” They opened the door and he embraced me without any hesitation. We cried together in each other’s arms…The police asked me: “This is your son?” It became obvious that their bringing him to that police station was unintentional.

I asked Muhammad what had happened. He told me that his mother got sick and the brothers told him that they were taking her to the hospital. This was miles and miles deep in the jungle on the road to Kenya. They clearly said this not to upset him. Muhammad had been with the men bringing the women over the border. He told me that jets had attacked them and everyone fled. He said that he saw his “uncle” getting his stomach blown out.

He explained that he got down, and when they came again he ran into the trees. The brothers called out to him, but he couldn’t find them. He got lost in the jungle for two nights, surviving on berries and dirty water that he’d found. He would retrace his steps back to where they were camped. He told me that everything was black and burnt. Even the wheels on the car were melted.

Muhammad found his way to a village where “a man with a cow” took him in and fed him. Later this man handed him over to the Kenyan military. The next day, all my children were reunited with me, alhamdulillah!

I had to tell my son about his mother… I explained that I had something to tell him that will be difficult. He stood there awaiting this important news as if nothing was wrong. I said, “Your mother has left this world my son.” He said, “No dad, they took her to the hospital.” I told him: “Son, they said that to you so you wouldn’t get upset…I’m sorry; your mother died.” He looked at me weeping, and without a tear in his eye he looked towards the heavens and said, “Allah has willed it. InshaAllah I will see her in Paradise”

I could not believe how well he took it; how faithful a reply! I hugged him and said, “I’m sorry.” He told me, “It isn’t your fault Dad! You did the best you could do!” I am a 28 year old man who has been through a lot, and my heroes are a woman who has left this world and a nine year old boy…

Echoes of Guantanamo–Style Treatment
Eventually, my children and I were taken out of prison and put on a plane heading for America. I had to sign papers to temporarily grant custody to my parents seeing that I was “in quite a bit of trouble” – as the FBI agent put it. We landed at a military base where my children would be separated from me. The agents let us say our goodbyes. They assured me that my children would be taken good care of, and sent directly to my parents. They did keep to their word.

I would stay at that base for three days. After starving in the jungle and being imprisoned in Kenya, I felt like I was in a 5 star hotel!