He's coming again. I hear the foot steps but I can't turn around. I could keep acting dead, that worked throughout the past days.
The footsteps come closer.
He stops.
He walks away again.

Thank god. He's leaving. I wouldn't have been ready for another round of this. The last three days were hell. Being in Russia was already hell but this here is even worse. These Sengalans have no conscience, it seems. They're killers, sadistic killers. They're forbidden to kill me, but that makes their sadism only worse.
I can't stir. Everything hurts. My skin is weeping after they left me out in the blazing sun, bound to a pole in the middle of that square. I've been sitting out here in the African sun ever since. There are old, iron shackles around my wrists and ankles. Once or twice, they threw something to eat into my reach. It tasted so badly that I let it be. Then they didn't give me anything anymore. Maybe that's better. Maybe not. I'm starving now. If the threw the same bad stuff in front of my feet now, I probably wouldn't say no.

It's evening now. At least the sun is gone. With some effort, I can straighten myself up to lean against the pole which for sure has been a tree once. This is the only thing that provided shade. Damnit, leaning against it hurts. The skin on my back is burnt by the sun so badly that leaning against the wooden pole instantly hurts. I better turn a little and lean my other shoulder against it. Get out of the sand. The red sand is everywhere. It got into every wound I have and keeps it from healing.
The past days, I just tried to hide in the shadow of the pole so that the sun wouldn't completely burn my skin. From time to time, if somebody went by, the men stopped and let their rage out on me. Today I must have passed out in the sun thereafter. The sunburns are worse than ever. It hurts to move.

The sand is still too hot. In the early hours I threw a few handfuls of sand at my legs to keep the sun away. The sweat made the sand stick to the skin. I hoped it would help against the burns. Not sure if it worked.

My head hurts. Must be the dehydration. I haven't had a single drop of water in days.

The shackles are mounted to chains, they're about two yards long.

I've been on display here, for the whole village, sitting nakedly in the middle of their square. That wasn't it. There must be more to come. The young people have kept away all the time. The paramilitary members let out their aggression from time to time but all in all, they kept away, too. There's one man who is their leader. He was there when they opened up the container for the first time. After such a long time in the darkness my eyes hurt so much that I couldn't see him clearly. But I heard his voice clearly. He gave all the commands.
After they brought me here, he stopped by only once, it was after a pack of soliders had beaten me up pretty badly.

He will come back. I fear the day.

The nights are cold out here. The sun has set just an hour ago but already it's cold.
I lean against the pole and close my eyes. There's the chain hanging from it. I grasp it and hold on to it. There's no position in which sleeping is fine. But I'm tired. And whenever I close my eyes and manage to keep still, the headache stops for a moment.
Finally I can get some rest.

A car. I hear a car! Damn it. That's the third car in two days. It can't be good.

Shall I act dead again? Not move, hope it just goes by and they'll lose their interest in me?

No, come on, that's an illusion. The Sengalans have paid a lot of money to the Russian guards, just to get me into their hands. They won't do nothing.

The headlights of the car find me. They linger. Damnit, the car must be coming right over here.

Three men get out of the car. They're coming right towards me. The one whose voice I remember is also among them.

These are hours that I'd like to forget forever.
Forever.

China is still in my memory – but this is worse. Their sadism is without end. Their brutality is worse than any nightmare of me has ever been.

It goes on for hours, until the daylight comes. I've been shouting and screaming of the pain. That didn't make it better.

The first rays of light are on the horizon and I'm tied against the pole, just a bloody mess, no longer able to stand on my own. I'm hanging in the chains. The red sand beneath me is soaked with blood and vomit.

Now they've stopped for what reason ever. Their car is still over there. They'll come back for sure.

My eyes are swollen so badly that I can't really see what's going on. Different voices are here now. More people have come, they've gathered at the square, as if there was something worth seeing.

After about half an hour, the crowd is really big. I have no idea where they've all come from. During the past days, people have crossed the square, but I had never thought that there were so many people living in this town.
Were they afraid of coming here? Near me? Or instructed not to?

They're staying the back, about twenty yards away. All kinds of people. Men, women, even children. They don't look like soldiers.
There's even that girl who stopped next to pole to look at me, two days ago. Her mother rudely tore her away, when she found her. I can't blame her. I wouldn't want my child to see a suffering naked white man in the middle of the town square either.
But now they're standing in the first row of those people. The girl doesn't understand what's going on. Her mother… I'm not sure what that look on her face means. She's not angry… she almost looks afraid. Are they even here voluntarily?

I manage to turn my head a little and see that a few more guards have arrived. They're brutal to the visitors. A woman to my right gets the shaft of his gun beaten right into her face.

These people aren't here voluntarily.
They're suppressed by these soldiers. They're suffering under their rule.

The man with that special voice is back. He's talking to them in a foreign language that I don't understand, shouting… holding some kind of a speech.

He's closing in on me. There's no doubt that he'll use me to make an example.

Guards are coming. I'd try to yield back but I can't. If my hands weren't tied up, I'd probably cling to the pole because it's the only thing I have.
They're at arms length. I could hit them. But the shackles are so tight that nothing works. I'm at their mercy. They don't have any mercy. One of them loosens the chains and I collapse to the ground even though I would have wanted to use my few seconds of freedom to fight back. Not a chance in this condition.

They drag me along. I need to fight them. Do something! One of my kicks hits the second soldier. He retaliates promptly. For a moment they stop dragging me through the sand. I need to fight back, now. Even if it's just one blow that I'll manage to do. There's so much anger inside me, it gives me powers that I had already lost.

They come back at me, three of them now. Last thing I see is how he swung his arm.

I feel like falling.

There's water everywhere. Don't breathe. Your lungs are empty but you must not breathe now. You're under!

I struggle like I always did. Their voices are there, shouting something that I can't hear. I'd like to shout back but I need to save my breath. Air. Water. There's even more water. Even though it's senseless to struggle, I still do. You can't fight being waterboarded.

Air! I catch a deep breath before they're pushing me back under again. For the first few seconds it's almost okay and I keep still, but then the panic takes over again. What if they go too far and won't stop. I start to struggle again, to fight them off. How many times have they done this already?

The floor of that interrogation room must be flooded by now. They reapeat it again and again, I'm so in panic that I can't hear what that guy is shouting at me. Is it a question? Does he want me to talk?

I won't talk anyway. I'd rather die. Fight that stupid survival instinct. Fight it! There's no use in continuing to live. Every since I've been here, in this hell of a Russian prison, I've come to terms with dying. I'm at the end of my road.

The next wave of water comes over my face. Let go. Damnit, don't fight it.
It feels like drowning, like I'm sinking deeper and deeper, while they're having the time of their lives, laughing sadistically while they're enjoying their power over me.
Don't breathe. My lungs start to hurt. That damn instinct. I need to breathe… I'm suffocating, damnit, do something. How did I ever get that stupid idea, not to fight back?

The harder I struggle, the harder it gets to move. Something is holding me down and there's still water everywhere. Won't they ever stop? I'm close to suffocating. Not long and my lungs will breathe, no matter if it's air or water.
Finally, I feel how one of them pulls me up again, from that awful position. I cough hard, fighting for air. If I could only fight back. For now I can breathe but I still feel water splashes.

Breathe. Damnit breathe. Now you can. Noone knows for how long.
I try to get as much air into my lungs as possible.

And then it suddenly goes dark.