We were living and continue to live through days that taste like death

How does one remain steadfast when everything around them seems to push them towards falling down? This question is particularly relevant for those living in a war-torn country, where some are forcibly disappeared due to injustice, suppression, and tyranny.

Baset Naji (pseudonym) is a 27-year-old man from Taiz governorate who suffers from epilepsy. Along with his sister and mother, he was displaced from Taiz to Dhale’ governorate in search of peace and safety, after their lives in their hometown became endangered by the ongoing war and shelling. However, life doesn’t always go as planned.

Reham (pseudonym) recounts the tragic story of her brother’s detention with a heavy heart:

“We had to leave our home in Taiz because of the war. Our area was heavily bombed, and we didn’t know where to go. My aunt, who lives in Dhale’, offered us a place to stay, as she lives with her husband alone and has no children. She didn’t allow us to rent a house and asked us to stay with her.

On the evening of Thursday, October 15, 2020, my brother, aunt, and I went to the market to buy some clothes, as we had planned to go to Aden for Baset’s treatment in two days. Being an epileptic, Baset cannot walk for long during the day or under the hot sun as it causes him to faint.

My brother, who works in Saudi Arabia, sent us eight thousand Saudi riyals. When we received the money, Baset put it in the inner pocket of the jacket he was wearing. My aunt suggested that we exchange the Saudi money to Yemeni riyals at the gold selling shop next to the complex because, as she said, it was the best and closest.

After Baset had left the gold shop, two masked soldiers with guns stopped him. They told him, “Come with us. We want to talk to you.” He replied, “I won’t go with you.” and tried to run away, but they held him firmly. My aunt and I asked them to leave him alone, asking them, “What do you want from him?” They did not respond and asked for his ID card. When he handed it to them, they refused to give it back and said, “You are a Dihbashi (i.e., you are from the North). Why did you come here?” My aunt tried to reason with them and said, “Oh sons, let us go. What do you want from us? What you are doing is wrong.”

They told my aunt and me, “You both can go. But he will come with us and return to you in half an hour.” When Baset resisted going with them, they beat him, causing him to have seizures and scream in agony. They forced him into a car where there was a masked soldier sitting next to the driver. There was another soldier standing next to the gold shop. We were crying and screaming for help, no one came forward. All the people around us were afraid of the soldiers. We didn’t know what to do.

I called my brother Najib (a pseudonym) while I was walking down the streets of Dhale’ in a state of panic. I told him what had happened and he panicked too. He told me, “Go home with my aunt. Do not stay on the street. It’s getting dark.” I was almost out of my mind with worry and fear for Baset. I was crying and praying for his safe return. Then my aunt and I went home.

When my mother knew what had happened, she fainted. My uncle took her to the hospital and I went with them. My brother Najib kept calling me to be reassured about our mother. I was worried about my sick mother and my brother who had been arrested. At the hospital, the doctors checked my mother and told us that she had a mild heart attack. They advised her to take medication and avoid stress.

On that day, I couldn’t sleep because of the events that had occurred – my mother had fallen ill, Baset had been arrested, and Najib kept calling repeatedly. Horrible thoughts kept swirling in my head. Najib also called my uncle multiple times, who promised to go out the next morning to search for Baset. I pleaded with my uncle to let me accompany him on the search, but he refused, insisting that I stay with my sick mother.

The next day, my uncle went out looking for Baset, but returned home at noon with no luck in finding him. My mother’s condition worsened, particularly since my brother did not have his medication with him and had never been to jail before. We were living and continue to live through days that taste like death.

When my uncle went out searching for Baset for the second time, I went with him. We visited the Security Department, the Criminal Investigation Department, and then the Prosecution Office. Everywhere we went, we received the same response – “We don’t know where he is.” We even reached out to one of our neighbors who works with the Southern Transitional Council to help us find Baset, but he didn’t do anything. In addition, my uncle reached out to some of his acquaintances, hoping they could use their connections to locate Baset, but to no avail.

We didn’t know where they took him and why. Was it because of the money he had or because we were strangers in that area? We had many questions in our minds, but couldn’t find any answers. The closest assumption we could come up with was that he was taken because of the money and cellphone he had on him. Baset disappeared so suddenly. We had planned to take him to Aden for treatment and return, and even help him start his own business so that he wouldn’t have to stay at home all the time with nothing to do.

About a week or ten days after my brother disappeared, I received a call from an unknown number. No name or number appeared on my phone screen. When I answered, a man told me he knew where my brother was but demanded money to mediate his release. He asked for ten million riyals (equivalent to 12 thousand dollars). I explained that we could not afford that amount. He responded, “If you don’t have that amount, your brother wouldn’t even have eight thousand Saudi riyals in his pocket.” I told him that the money was for my brother’s treatment as he suffered from epilepsy. I asked him if my brother was alright, to which he replied, “Yes, he is fine, and I swear to it.”

He then quickly ended the call, saying, “Bring the money if you want him out of prison.” When I asked for his name, he claimed to be a philanthropist and promised to call back but never did.

When I told my brother Najib about the call, he said he would try to get the money, even if he had to borrow it. However, we agreed to wait to make sure the man was not a fraud. Najib advised me to ask for a specific time to secure the amount if the man called back. But we never received another call.

I spoke to my aunt and her husband about the call, and they agreed with Najib’s opinion that the man was likely a fraud. It was me who wanted to clung to a ray of hope by believing that man.”

[At this point, the sister broke down crying and directed her talk to me], saying:

“If you could see my mother, you would understand how the days after Baset’s disappearance have enervated her body. Baset was beloved by all of us, and we took great care of him, ensuring his treatment and cleanliness. Whenever he had seizures, we would cry for him, and his eyes would tear for us. We took him to many physicians in Taiz to try to help him, but nothing seemed to work. Recently, my brother Najib had to travel to Saudi Arabia for work, and we lost him too when we needed him for Baset’s treatment.

I just want my brother to return safe and unharmed. Before his disappearance, he would not leave the house due to the heat of the sun, which would increase his seizures. He would usually go out after Isha’a prayer to sit with the neighbors for a little while before returning home to eat and sleep. During the day, he would stay at home. He is not a troublemaker and doesn’t even talk about politics. So, why have they taken and disappeared him?!”

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