Getting tortured sucks.
Published on August 4, 2009 by E Aude · No Comments
It was the day after I got arrested. I had gotten very little sleep from the screaming of the prisoners being interrogated throughout the night. Having no blankets either, and having to sleep on a hard cold cement floors doesn’t make it any easier. I was given some chai(tea) from the cops for breakfast, but nothing to eat. The airports customs police came and picked me up to take me to the court house to see a Magistrate to find out my fate.
These court houses were straight out of a Mad Max thunderdome movie. I was escorted through the bazar, shops, small restaurants, and crowds of people. Easily over 100 yards through the small cramped winding dirty alleyways. My wrist had medieval chains digging into them that had a long chain connecting to the belt of a small fat guard leading the way. Everyone wanted to see me and know who i was. Even the beggars would still come up to me, handcuffs and all, and want money from me. Unbelievable.
The court house reminded me of a fort in someones backyard. The walls were lopsided and the desk was super big. The Ceiling looked like it was going to fall in. The Courtroom was completely packed. Standing room only. I’m not sure if this one even had chairs in it. Filled with prisoners, a few lawyers, and just random people with nothing better to do than to loiter at the courthouse. Two people from the embassy were there that day. An interpreter and a pretty girl that looked terrified. I couldn’t help but flirt with her. Even in my current predicament, I had to give it a try. She watched and was just there to observe. Not get involved. The customs prosecutor spoke with the judge. The judge spoke back in their weird alien language. I had no clue what was going on. I was just along for the ride bad or good.
The judge then spoke English to me, asked me if I had counsel. Told him nope. He told me I was going to be sentenced to 10 days physical remand. I told him “Less talk, more rock. Let’s do this.” That’s when the pretty girl from the Embassy did something she wasn’t supposed to. She intervened. She spoke in Urdu to the Judge. They exchanged some words back and forth. He nodded and agreed with whatever she had said. I feel it’s also important to add that he kept dropping his eyes during his conversation with her. She was definitely cute.
She turns to me and tells me, “Physical remand is exactly what it sounds like. They figure they can beat the truth out of you. There’s nothing we can do about this. They wanted 10 days. I got you 3.” To which I flirtingly replied ”I could’ve done 10.” She surprisingly smiled back at me as she said “You’re welcome”.
As I was lead away, I was hounded by the masses again. Beggars wanting money, lawyers wanting me to sign papers to obtain their services. A bunch of chaotic nonsense. I was taken by taxi actually to a building and lead down into the dark underground hallways that would lead to my torture cell. This room and I would become good friends over the next 3 days.
They started me off with the chair. An old wooden chair with splinttered legs and lose nails. My boots removed. The first of my many feet beatings with a long thin cane. The questions I was being asked were nonsense. All over the charts. The interrogators English wasnt good. I believe he could speak it way better than he could understand it, and his speaking was garbage. So he wasn’t gonna understand much from me.
After the bottom of my feet were beaten, i would be hung up to hooks by my wrist on the ceiling and the guy would go rocky on my ribs. This sucked. Getting punched again and again by some little midget with no balls other than to hit me when my hands are restrained. Real big man.
After this station was over, i was moved over to the waterboard. Laying on a wooden platform face up. The platform was lifted into the dirty water tank. I knew not to panic. I remember the fear factor episode where they had to all hold their breaths in a water tank. Whomever held it the longest was gonna win 50 grand. Shortly after watching that episode of fear factor, i would regularly practice holding my breath when I was by myself. In the shower, before going to bed, at a stop light, while driving on the freeway, in line at the grocery store. Got very good at it too.
Had I of been on that Fear Factor Episode, i would’ve dominated those other guys and snagged that money up. What were the odds that watching a television show would help me prepare myself for this torture? As the wooden platform was raised and the water krept over my face mouth and nose, I counted. And stayed calm. This was happening and there was nothing I could do about it, except staying calm. The Fear Factor record was going to be broken.
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Tags: Erik Aude, Tortured