Just before sunset, the bus came to a lurching stop. I was the first prisoner off the bus and the first one to see the place. The ancient, menacing, brown brick fortress was the same color as the endless, featureless sands that lay siege to it. More armed soldiers prowled along the tops of the wall, their young faces twisted into angry scowls at having to be in this miserable station at my invitation.

The lonely dirt road that wound back into the distance, that wound back toward everything, would be the last vestige of humanity that I would see with these eyes. I stood beside the bus in my bare feet as the others were led off, my shoes draped around my neck by their tied laces. I visualized myself walking down that road on bare blistered feet back toward the world, ‘would that not be penance enough for them?’ I would never survive it, no one could, but there would be a goal, a promise of something before I met their justice. Anything but inside. I wondered if they would shoot me if I just started walking home. The guard grabbed me by my shirt and shoved me in line with the others as they filed willingly through the open steel gate. Again, I went quietly, my head down, looking at the hardened, bare, brown feet of the Arab in front of me.

I knew immediately that it would be rough. The guards spoke to their countrymen and treated them with apathy where I received a shout and a harsh shove. The first stop on the inside was a delousing shower of white lime. Each of us stripped naked and walked through the white dust cloud, breath held and eyes covered. I was held back and forced to go last. A new set of red and white striped cotton prison fatigues awaited me on the other side. No shoes or socks were provided.

"Hey, what about shoes?" I asked and pointed to my feet.

The unseen baton blow behind my knees knocked me to the stone floor. The pain curled me into a defensive ball as they delivered more blows across my back and head.

"Yala!" came a barking command from behind the circle of blue-uniformed soldiers. I fought to force air back into my bruised body as soon as the blows ceased.

"Get up," said the sergeant in two thick syllables. His blue uniform was stretched tight across his distended, obese stomach. Faded yellow chevrons were stitched to his short sleeves. A dense shadow of black stubble lay on his full tanned checks below the small sadistic eyes that looked out from under the wooly line of his single eyebrow.

I struggled to my feet and stood in a slumped posture. He stood before me, silent as a statue, sizing me up, yet showing me his size at the same time.

"You no talking," he said with loud confidence. "Understand?"

"Yes," I answered between shallow breaths.