From your imprisoned brothers in the Guantanamo of Britain (Belmarsh Prison)
To the Muslims all over the World:

This is the second letter in which we describe to you the oppression we experience at the hands of the British, as a result of what you know of the policies of this country and its engagement in all forms of oppression as done by other countries like Israel and US against the Muslims, but (this oppression is done) in a manner that fools the weak and simple minded.

We had mentioned to you before that the situation here in Belmarsh is akin, without any difference except in its portrayal from that which occurs to your Muslim brothers in Guantanamo, and their newspapers, and some of the more truthful journalists testify to this; but the government tries to conceal all this from the media and strives to do as it wishes in a secretive manner.

When the government began to find out that the knowledge of its oppression had begun to leak into the public domain it brought a TV crew which began to take photos of Belmarsh prison which had become a source of shame for it, like Guantanamo became a shame on US, in an attempt to enhance its image. It further took photos of some of the short term benefits, such as the provision of good food and interviewed some of the prisoners who were benefiting from some of these benefits, and likewise photographed some of activities that occur within the prison, making the prison out to be a paradise that someone outside it would desire.

Frankly, your brothers here didn’t know of this deception that was happening in this land, nay, they thought it was restricted to our home lands, but it became clear that all the lies that are told in our lands, were taken and derived from the policies of this country and its government.

The situation of your brothers has become unacceptably bad, for some of your brothers almost lost their minds, and others have begun to suffer from psychological diseases. This is not as a result of nothing; rather this was a pre-planned evil and malevolent policy to cause your brothers to reach these levels.

We had previously informed you of the issue of the food provided, and your brothers still do not eat the meat that is offered to them, as the prison administration had confessed that it was providing non-halal meat for over a year, it still lies about this, and we have documentation that proves this. This was a shock that gave them much grief!

Attempts at humiliating your brothers and destroying them still take place, and the most crucial and dangerous of them, are the continuous attempts at searching your brothers and causing them to undress in every movement they do; even when they are visited by their families, and they perform this in a sadistic manner that is no less than what you hear from what their soldiers do in Iraq. In fact, some brothers have begun to have severe hallucinations that the prison guards here wish for him evil in doing this (i.e. undressing them) from those things that they do to each other without shame (i.e. homosexuality) and they know its severity and brutality upon the Muslims.

Our brothers:

Your obligation is to know that this state has tried to improve its image with Muslims in recent periods, and this was after appalling investigations conducted by advisors and monitors were given to the government, especially after it learnt that what it does to the Muslims does not bring her any benefit except vacating its hatred on us. By the grace of Allah, many Muslims know that this state is at the forefront of showing enmity to the Muslims alongside other nations, seeing that over three-thousand Muslims have been stopped by the police under the pretext of terrorism, and a Lord with a Muslim background admitted that [he] was stopped three times, so what of someone other than him? What we mention here is a witness and a call to you, that the reality has not changed, for they are ongoing in their plans to destroy the minds of your brothers.

The undressing of your brothers here, and their insistence on it is a calculated policy by which they wish that the imprisoned Muslims attain diseased conditions by it, and after this policy was uncovered in Iraq, it became clear that their policy is in truth one.

We write these words to bear witness and clear our consciences, and we know that there is none other than Allah that will expose it.

And Allah is our Master and Ally.

Your imprisoned Muslim brothers in the Guantanamo of Britain

Belmarsh Prison,
London

This letter was received by the Islamic Observation Centre in 2010, from behind the bars of Belmarsh high-security Prison in Britain.

“May peace, God’s Mercy and Blessings be upon you. I miss you a great deal and I’m trying to write a poem for you.”

I felt guilty about this. Will he write a poem for me when he is no poet, while I, who claim to be a poet, have written nothing for him?” Abdullah Al Noaimi (ISN 159, Bahrain) Released November 2005; Rearrested 2008

Update:

Three years after his return from Guantánamo, al-Noaimi was working as an electrician, and was married with two children, but on October 29, 2008, as he made his way along the King Fahad Causeway, which joins Bahrain to Saudi Arabia, he was seized at a Saudi checkpoint and appears to have been detained ever since. An article in Gulf Daily News stated that it was “understood his name was included on a list of nearly 1,000 Al-Qaida suspects accused of carrying out ‘acts of war’ against Saudi Arabia,” but, as Nabeel Rajab, the president of the Bahrain Centre for Human Rights (BCHR), explained, al-Noaimi (described as al-Nuaimi) “had not been allowed to hire a lawyer or see any of his family,” and “had no idea of the charges against him, violating numerous articles in the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights.”

He said, “While we fully respect and appreciate our brothers in Saudi Arabia, we do not accept any of our citizens to be arrested in this arbitrary manner, which violates the simplest international norms. Today, there are international standards and charters that should be respected as part of every country’s role in the international community.”

No explanation appears to have been provided by the Saudi authorities. 16 April, 2013 members of the Bahraini parliament protested by walking out of session and complaining that the Foreign Affairs Minister Shaikh Khalid bin Ahmed Al Khalifa and the Bahraini governemnt had not done enough to demand the realease of Abdullah Al Noaimi and fellow Bahraini and former Guantanamo detainee, Abdulraheem Ali Al Murbati.

Omar Khadr, Guantanamo Bay, Date Unknow

Zachary Adam Chesser #76715-083
USP Marion
U.S. Penitentiary
PO Box 1000
Marion, IL 62959
USA

But since I started the hunger strike, my concerns about all this have pretty much been overridden by the endless desire for food.

My treatment was bad before, but since the beginning of April I have been treated with particular venom. They started by taking my medical things. I had an extra blanket to lessen my rheumatism, but that was soon gone. My backbrace went at the same time. The pressure socks I had to keep the build-up of water down did not last long. Then they came for my toothbrush. Next, my sheet was taken, along with my shoes. My legal documents vanished soon after, leaving me only my kids’ drawings on the wall. They were the last to go.

And now I am left alone. Since 8am Monday, April 15, I have had nothing, not even my flip-flops. I am meant to sleep on concrete, and when I say alone, I mean alone in a very lonely world. The bean hole is what they call the small hatch on the door through which they normally pass my food. Recently they have started using a padlock to close it all day long. The OIC [Officer In Charge] keeps the key so no one else can open it.

One reason they do this is that, despite my being on hunger strike, they were making me take the meals through the bean hole at lunchtime, and then refusing to take the clam shell [the polystyrene platter] back until the evening meal. I couldn’t throw it out of my cell, since the bean hole is locked. So it just sat there. I used to think the food round here smells disgusting, but when you’ve not eaten for two months or more, having any food sit around in the cell is pure torture. But then that’s the point, isn’t it?

I often quote 1984 by George Orwell (it’s probably the book I’ve read more than any other but the Holy Koran): ‘Torture is for torture, the System is for the System.’

They have taken to sending the FCE team in for everything. That’s if I’m lucky. Normally, if I ask for something, I just don’t get it. That includes my medicine. Then, if I want water — and I have to ask for a bottle, as you can’t drink the stuff that comes out of the tap — they don’t bring it until the night shift.

The FCE team comes in, some 22-stone soldier puts his knees on my back while the others pin my arms and legs to the floor, and they leave me a plastic bottle. You’re allowed only one bottle at a time, as having two is somehow a threat to US national security. That means from morning until night, I have nothing to drink unless I conserve it carefully.   

My lawyer, Clive Stafford Smith, has talked to me about this. He told me about Hurricane Carter, the black American boxer who was wrongfully jailed for murder – Bob Dylan did a song about him. Carter realised that American prisons try to control you by taking away every choice you might have, as that’s what we humans use to build our sense of who we are, whether it’s something trivial like what we have for dinner, or something important. They try to reduce you to nothingness. It’s ironic, but that’s what the authorities do to the soldiers too, to make them into automatons: they’re just meant to follow orders.

This is what they try to do to us. For a while I was doing better, mentally, because I just refused to do what I was told. If they told me to come in from recreation [in  Shaker’s block, prisoners are normally allowed two one-hour periods outside their cells each week], I told them I wanted to just sit there, on the ground, as a peaceful protest.

So they would send the FCE goons to beat me up. Sure, that hurt physically, but it meant I was not just their robot, their slave. And for a while that worked for me. I was making my own decisions.

But now there’s nothing I can refuse to do. Sometimes I have not even had my bottle of water. So I have no food, no water, no meds, no linen, no books, no rec, no shower … nothing. I have been deprived of everything but my life. So that’s the only decision I have left: to live or to die.

I do sometimes worry that I am going to die in here. I hope I don’t, but if the worst comes to the worst, I want my kids to know that I stood up for a principle. The guards stare at me 24/7. I hear they’ve been saying that we started the problems here. That’s a sorry joke. There’s nothing I could ever do to them, even if I wanted to. They have all the guns, and they have ten soldiers for each prisoner.

They waste more than $1 million a year for each man they house here, 40 times what it would cost in a maximum security prison in the US. And for what? We get nothing. They just get a headache.

[Later the same day]

I just got FCE’d for no reason. Just as when they did it after the last time I took my lawyer’s phone call, I had asked for nothing, I had done nothing, they just came along: tramp, Tramp, TRAMP … busted in, and beat me up. They just wanted to hurt me.

I try to avoid them all the time now, but they try to provoke me, and when that doesn’t work, they just beat me up. I am trying to keep calm and not react, but it’s hard. They told me that if I wanted water, they would FCE me; then they FCE’d me and did not give me water. They are going crazy in this place. They are driving all of us crazy too.

I wrote their numbers down as best I could. I am known only as 239 here, and like me, they have no names. They are meant to have numbers so we can report them, but normally now they cover these up. But this time I saw two. One, a young man, was A2 06186. Another was E6 08950. Report them if you can. I am sitting here in my cell, waiting for them to come to FCE me again. It’s the only thing I have ahead of me.

Hopefully they won’t hurt my back and shoulder too much next time. It’s so painful I can hardly move them. I sometimes wonder whether this is because I may be leaving soon and they are taking revenge on me. After all, that is what they did to Ahmed Errachidi, who they called The General, for the month before he left in 2007. They treated him so badly.

You may not believe me, but even now I try to see the light at the end of this dark tunnel. For some reason, I am optimistic. After all, I’ve been cleared for six years now, so how can they keep me here?

PS: At the same time as I wrote this, I wrote to the Foreign Secretary, William Hague, but I very much doubt that the US will allow such a letter through. So the best way I can get my message out (and perhaps even to him) is by writing this.

Shaker Aamer ISN#239
Camp Delta, U.S. Naval Station
Guantánamo Bay, Cuba PO Box 160
Washington, D.C. 20053
USA

This letter originally appeared on Andy Worthington’s website on May 14, 2013.

El Sayyid Nosair 35074-054 
USP Marion 
U.S. Penitentiary 
PO Box 1000 
Marion IL 62959 USA

To the one who’s heart is in my chest…

With a broken pen I write, in a month of Mercy and Victory half fled, I sit– the nights, I strive to stand – but weakened and slacked has become my state. What sweet scents I sift through a cool breeze, brought from a home long unseen. What perfumed garments speak of days when attar flowed and fasts fled in the company of dear ones, near in blood and close of heart.

So in the land of each as he pleases, I sit– in a strange world where one day what is given is taken and what is forbidden is free… What a topsy-turvy place, where to write is wrong, and words are buried beneath crimson strands– sticky and sickly.

To our Lord I speak, in gratitude for All He has Blessed us with. And to our Lord I complain– as He is swift to call to account. And let it be known with certitude that every deed is recorded, every word written, and the hearts, like these pilfered pages, are lain bare; the secrets unknown here are there clear– so know that for each action shall you find your reward, and Allah الله is not in the least way unjust.

Every eye shall be dotted and every “t” shall be crossed. By the One Who Sent the Quran in this month, we shall soon meet again, Yaa Samad, Ameen.

(The Itcher in the Dark)

Adel Mohammed Bary 67496-054
MCC New York
Metropolitan Correctional Center
150 Park Row
New York, NY 10007

MOATH AL ALWI, about 35, a Yemeni man whose lawyer Ramzi Kassem received notice he was injured during the April 13 raid on the communal Camp 6 that put the once showcase prison under lockdown, and treated. Kassem said Alwi was shot in the chest with rubber bullet pellets. A federal judge upheld Alwi’s indefinite detention on Dec 30, 2008, denying his habeas corpus petition. He has never been charged with a crime at Guantánamo’s war court.

TARIQ BA AWDAH, 34, a Yemeni man whose lawyer says he’s been on an uninterrupted hunger strike since February 2007. “I haven’t tasted food for over six years,” he wrote his lawyer, Omar Farah, in April. “The feeding tube has been introduced into my nose and snaked into my stomach thousands and thousands of times.” He has never been charged with a crime at Guantánamo’s war court, and his status is not known.

Ragaa met Adel Abdul Bary, the man who would become her husband, in 1981. Her Egyptian family had moved from the countryside into a flat near the centre of Cairo. In those days she was a girl in tight jeans and a T-shirt, with long hair below her waist, though at her parents’ insistence she tied it back in a plait, and was not allowed to wear makeup. At Cairo University, Ragaa found herself doing business studies instead of the art or music she had wanted to do, because her final school exam results were not good enough.

She hated her course but was entranced by the university world. Before long, other girls from her class, wearing hijab, began to take her aside and talk to her about how her beautiful hair should be hidden, encouraging her to come into the mosque area of the college. “I went,” she says. “It was something different. I felt calm, peaceful in there.”

Ragaa and her sister began to follow Islam more strictly than the rest of their Muslim family. It was the fashion for the educated young back then, she says. The two girls went to an all-female Islamic study circle where the male teacher sat the other side of a curtain. One day, Ragaa saw him after class in the street, a handsome man with a little beard and turban, and imagined how lovely it would be to be his wife. Later, his sister spoke to her about a marriage, and then to her great excitement, he and his family came to visit hers. The marriage was decided.

At the time Egypt was a tinder-box of political and religious tension. On 3 September 1981 President Anwar Sadat had ordered an extraordinary mass round-up of religious leaders, politicians, journalists, army officers and others. He mocked the girls wearing chadors, “going about like black tents”, and the young men with beards. Sadat was assassinated shortly afterwards, during a military parade, by a handful of young Islamist officers, and was succeeded by another military leader, Hosni Mubarak.

After Adel’s return from a year’s study in Yemen, there was a formal written Islamic marriage. Ragaa thought the life she had imagined was about to begin but soon Adel was arrested like so many thousands opposed to the Mubarak regime. She spent six months travelling with his sister to every prison in Egypt to try to find him. When she finally did, he was a veteran of torture – by hanging, electric shock and solitary confinement underground. There had been a period of hospitalisation, followed by ordinary prison. No one knew when Adel would be released, or if he ever would.

Tensions grew between the families, but Ragaa, for all her unhappiness, would not give up her marriage. “I was a stubborn teenager,” she says. “Of course I resisted. It was pride. He was the first man in my life, and I wanted to support him, out of duty.” Giving up her idea of work being haraam (sinful), she registered for a dressmaking course, only to have her sister-in-law tell her it was not allowed. Under his son’s influence, Adel’s father had also grown a beard; his sister was wearing a face veil. Adel himself had taken all the family photographs and burned them. So Ragaa stayed at home, and regretted it bitterly decades later.

Her husband came out of prison, but for those first years of their married life he was in and out again every six months or so – torture became the almost unspoken constant of his experience, and for her a dark corner where she didn’t want to let her mind go. “Miserable me,” is her description of the person she had suddenly become.

Eventually Adel left for the US, and then later the UK. He had finished his degree in prison and was soon a well-known human-rights lawyer; he had strong contacts with Amnesty International in those years when arrests in Egypt of suspected opposition figures were in the thousands. In 1990, Adel gained refugee status in the UK, three years after he had arrived. Ragaa and the children joined him, and for five years they lived a quiet family life in London. Ragaa spoke little English, only went out occasionally, always with her husband and his friends and their wives. “He did everything, everything, for me and the kids here in London,” she says. “And I was happy because he was with me, playing with the kids, taking us to the park – it was the normal life we never had in Egypt.“

In the summer of 1998, al-Qaida blew up the US embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, killing 220 people and wounding nearly 5,000. It ended that normal life in London. There was a dawn raid by British police in white contamination suits, brandishing truncheons and breaking down the front door. Ragaa and the children were traumatised. A dozen or so men were suddenly in their bedrooms, shouting for her husband, searching the children’s clothes, tearing out pages from any books with telephone numbers.

Adel was led away, and Ragaa, hurriedly putting on her black hijab and abaya, was told to get into a bus with her five children, one of whom was a small baby. They were taken to a hotel where they stayed in their room for three or four days, without any information about why they were there, or how long it would be. She did not know how to phone her family in Egypt, and felt desperate and alone.

When they were finally taken home, she found her house upside down, drawers open, the front door broken and a metal gate across it. “I had absolutely no idea what to do – he was the one who always knew everything,” she says. After five days, however, her husband came home and family life resumed, without him discussing what had happened.

The British police found there was no terrorism case to charge Abdul Bary with. He was charged with possession of gas canisters, bailed, and then acquitted in a jury trial. (An official letter from the anti-terrorism police at the time stated that after nine months of exhaustive investigation, they found that he and the other Egyptian men arrested with him had no connection with al-Qaida, nor any connection with terrorism in Britain.)

However, six months later, Ragaa more than once noticed someone who seemed to be following them. Her old anxiety from the Cairo years flooded back. Her husband reported what she’d seen to the police. A week later he was rearrested. His extradition was requested by the US on exactly the same evidence dismissed in Britain the previous year. It had been sent by the UK to the US as part of the great fishing net of shared intelligence in the war on terror. His lawyers began to fight the extradition in a process that soon took on the character of Dickens’s Jarndyce v Jarndyce in Bleak House.

An entire roomful of documentation built up. The committal papers from the US amounted to more than a dozen ring binders of documents, mostly in Arabic. Between 2002 and 2008, successive UK secretaries of state spent six years coming to a decision to extradite him. Representations for judicial reviews and appeals were made by his lawyers, including several medical reports, which over the years warned of his serious depression and risk of suicide in prison.

In those family milestones that mark a person’s life – his own mother’s death, his daughter’s wedding, his boys becoming men – he was the unreachable ghost figure for his bewildered and overwhelmed family. Ragaa, unprepared in language or custom, overnight became a single mother, linked to her husband only by the daily telephone call from prison, or visits when a Muslim charity drove the family to Belmarsh, Brixton, Manchester or Long Lartin prisons.

“In the visits I left the kids to talk to him, play with him, sit with him, and I just watched,” she says. “I thought about how unfair for them this is – this is only how they know their dad.” For her and the children the security checks for the visits were an ordeal, with women officers touching their bodies in the searches and police dogs sniffing them. They always felt hostility towards them – for being foreign and the stigma of visiting a Category-A prisoner.

Years of dark depression inside the home crept past, Ragaa struggling with six children in isolation. She rarely phoned home to Egypt, gradually leaving the family bonds to wither. In 2004, her mother died. She had had no passport to visit her mother while she was ill, and she could not forgive herself for not being there.

As the children got older she began to hear about the London world outside her flat from the older ones, with stories about drugs, violence, knife crime and truancy among their schoolfriends. It terrified her. She took most of them out of school and taught them their GCSEs at home.

The exhaustion of doing all this, the weight of the responsibility, took a big toll on Ragaa’s health. Money was very short. There was a time she slept on the floor as the family were a bed short, winters when she didn’t turn on the heating. She developed health problems.

Her oldest daughter was married early to a cousin, something that Adel arranged from prison. Her babies were often in Ragaa’s care too, as her daughter, with fluent English, took on the time-consuming and never-ending administrative battles with the local council or benefits office, set up hospital appointments for her mother.

One of Ragaa’s two youngest girls wrote a poem after their father when he had been gone about six years. It was about her “honey-coloured teddy that was given to me from my Dad/Each time I looked at it, it made me feel sad.” They wrote letters to their father, drew him pictures and talked to him when he phoned. All over the flat were the pictures he had begun to paint in prison – some of bright flowers, but most heavy with the symbolism of prison: keys and cell bars. That atmosphere lay over the home.

Adel was stuck – a bit player in one of the landmark cases of the war on terror, facing the prospect of lengthy pre-trial detention in a US supermax prison, a trial that none of his defence team believed could be fair, and then a possible life sentence. He and many others were named as defendants in the terrorism case called USA v Osama Bin Laden et al.

In London Adel’s work had focused only on his own country, and he ran an office called International Office for the Defence of the Egyptian People. He put out a newsletter on Egyptian affairs, for which Ragaa, while looking after her children, used to write a weekly women’s column.

The extradition case would put Adel Abdul Bary on trial with a large number of other defendants whose names were added over the years, charged with general conspiracy to kill Americans and with substantive charges in the east African embassy bombings. Ragaa blanked it out – it was all too frightening to think about. The one concrete thing her husband was on trial for was his possession of a fax sent to him – found in his office weeks after the events – about the bombings of the US’s East African embassies. (These faxes were everywhere in the Arab areas of London at the time, handed out in places such as outside the Regents Park and other mosques and sent to news organisations across the world.) This fax – along with the al-Qaida defector Jamal Al Fadl’s testimony on Egyptian Islamic Jihad’s supposed al-Qaida links – was apparently enough for the Americans to jump to the conclusion that Abdul Bary (never named by Al Fadl) had prior knowledge and responsibility in the bombings.

In 2001 three people were convicted for their roles in the bombing and a fourth for activities in the East African al-Qaida cell that carried it out. In 2011 another defendant, Ahmed Ghailani, was tried on 286 charges, found guilty on just one and received a life sentence.

For Ragaa all this detail, over so many years, passed her by – she blanked it. “I don’t read anything about it, I’m just not interested. Twenty years of all this politics has been too much. I have to live my kids’ lives.“

Ragaa enrolled in a dress-making course at a college of higher education with her husband’s permission. It took her three visits to the college to persuade them to take her, because her English was weak. Every day she set off in the bus with her packed lunch and plunged into a class of giggly British women 20 years younger than her. The living room table at home became covered in cut-out paper patterns; she borrowed books, went to museums, searched the internet and sewed elaborate dresses that won prizes at her college. Ragaa’s English made a leap forward and she ignored her acute fatigue, pain while walking and continuous confusion over benefit payments and the boys’ schooling.

At the end of the year she passed with distinction and was accepted for a two-year higher level course – although this time her husband told her he would prefer her to stay home.

He also told her he worried about her safety and preferred she did not make a trip to Cairo in 2009 when her British passport finally came through. But she went anyway, with her little girls and one boy. After 17 years she saw her own family again, and got a measure of how far the hard, lonely, years in London had taken her from an Egyptian life. Her family told her they found she had become cold and British.

In late 2010 her husband and the small group of Muslim men, all fighting deportation orders, were moved to Manchester prison while Long Lartin, where they had been for years, was refurbished. Soon the daily phone calls were punctuated with complaints about disrespect, racist behaviour by guards, new rules about phone calls having to be in English, not in Arabic. Manchester was so far that Ragaa did not manage to visit.

Then her husband told her he was going on hunger strike to protest about his treatment. The girls became convinced their father would die and spent tearful nights without sleeping, and days phoning their lawyers to ask them to make emergency visits to him.

Even after the Muslim detainee group were returned to Long Lartin, a new anxiety came to dominate her everyday life when her youngest daughter turned 10, and Ragaa’s income support was reassessed. A Social Security or First Tier Tribunal assessed Ragaa as fit for work, despite evidence that she could only walk extremely slowly because of pain in one foot, and a sheaf of letters from doctors and hospitals about the various treatments she was undergoing.

Alternate Monday mornings became a humiliating ordeal as she went to sign on to get benefits. She did not complain, but her daughter, who went to physically support her and to translate, came back exasperated, with story after story of casual racism. She detailed the pain of experiencing open disrespect towards her mother, a woman in her 50s who had brought up six children, who was queried by a young official about why she “had never worked”, or why she “didn’t speak better English after all these years”.

It is now four months since Ragaa and her children said goodbye to Adel in prison in Britain. Extradition had become inevitable in the autumn of 2012, after the European Court of Human Rights refused his final appeal. They brought his bed-clothes, his paintings and a few possessions home to London. The next day his usual phone call never came.

Since then, Ragaa has had only two 15-minute phone calls from Adel in his New York prison. He spoke to each child, leaving just time for a quiet word of greeting between husband and wife. Ragaa knows he is in solitary confinement and sees only his lawyers. The trial will be in October.

Alone in London now, she says: “My life, it is just my kids now … but maybe, after 20 years of nothing but anxiety, maybe, maybe, I can say I’m recovering myself … maybe.“

[Extract from Shadow Lives: The Forgotten Women of the War on Terror by Victoria Brittain, a journalist and former editor at the Guardian, has authored or co-authored two plays and four books, including Enemy Combatant with Moazzam Begg. Her latest book, Shadow Lives: The Forgotten Women of the War on Terror (Palgrave/Macmillan, 2013) has just been published.]

You can write to Adel Abdel Bary letting him know that he and his family are in your du’a and that he has not been forgotten or forsaken.

Adel Mohammed Bary #67496-054
MCC New York
Metropolitan Correctional Center
150 Park Row
New York, NY 10007
USA