They survived Assad's prisons, now trying to rebuild their lives - As-salamu alaykum
As-salamu alaykum. Food tastes flat to Ahmed Merai and sleep, when it comes, brings little comfort. Months after his release from Syria’s infamous Sednaya prison, the memories of torture remain painfully clear.
He spent five years in the regime’s dungeons under Bashar al-Assad and still carries the weight of it. At 33, Ahmed sometimes stares into space as he speaks, pausing often and nervously fingering his prayer beads.
“Sednaya is a long story. I can tell you a lot about it,” he said, voice breaking and eyes filling with tears.
He spoke of brutal beatings by guards, constant hunger eased only by mouldy bread, and terrible hygiene. Prisoners were allowed one weekly shower in freezing water. On one occasion they survived two weeks on half a cup of bulghur a day, “barely enough to live on,” he said. He watched fellow inmates die from exhaustion and torture.
Ahmed had been arrested after leaving the army during the civil war. Freedom from the prison didn’t end the suffering. “You can’t go through that and stay the same. I feel a constant anger in me,” he said. Since his release he’s mostly managed to eat only vegetables and struggles to sleep.
It took months before he could talk to family and neighbours without breaking down, and he still argues with them a lot. Even with a factory job, he says reintegration feels unfinished. “It’s hard to settle,” he admitted.
He realised he needed support. Former detainees encouraged him to join a mental health programme run by a humanitarian NGO in coordination with Syria’s Health Ministry. Launched as a pilot in Homs, it offers individual and group therapy led by trained social workers, counsellors and psychiatrists.
When rebels toppled the regime in December and freed many from a vast system of arbitrary detention and torture, the depth of trauma became clear. “We saw an urgent need to help former detainees reintegrate,” said Hala Kseibi, the project’s area coordinator.
About 308 former detainees have attended over 1,600 sessions and are for the first time able to speak openly about what they went through. Progress is slow, she said, but some are gradually returning to normal life. Only about one in five need medication for their trauma.
Ahmed attended his first session at the centre and hopes therapy will help him rebuild and calm the anxiety he’s carried since release.
For Jihad Al Azouz, 50, therapy changed everything. A former construction businessman, he was freed in December after 11 years in Homs Central Prison, five of them without a visit. After years of abuse, the hardest part was relearning how to relate to people. “They turned us into beasts,” he said. Therapy helped him reconnect with his wife and five children, the youngest of whom was one when he was jailed.
Khaled El Taleb, 46, lost his thirties to overcrowded cells and emerged having to rebuild a life that was taken. He and his wife separated after his release and he has no children. “I missed out on a lot. It feels like I’m starting from below zero,” he said. Thirteen years away changed society and technology; he felt lost and often angry or depressed.
Depression is a common issue, said Hadeel Khusruf, a therapist at the clinic. Many former detainees also lack the social and technical skills needed today. “Some see the outside world as hostile. They feel unsafe around people. Others have forgotten their trades,” she explained.
Tensions at home are frequent: children struggle to accept fathers who were long thought dead, and spouses find it hard to reconnect. PTSD from cruel treatment is widespread. “Almost everyone describes torture,” she said, mentioning practices like the dulab and electric shocks.
She also described psychological abuse, including guards deliberately forcing detainees to break fast during Ramadan to crush their will; prisoners often only knew the month had started when guards forced them to drink at dusk. There were also accounts of sexual assault against women, a subject surrounded by social stigma. The social burden is often heavier for women.
Moemina Al Ater, 47, said therapy made her feel free again. “There were humiliations I’d never spoken of. In therapy I could open up. That was healing,” she said. She spent 51 days in prison after a local official fabricated accusations to please the regime. She suffered severe beatings that left lasting physical damage and lost motivation to finish her law studies; she now works as a delivery woman.
Torture changed her, but now she feels able to speak about what happened. “Before, I hid that I was a former detainee. Today I’m so happy I can finally share my story.”
The centre runs programmes for female former detainees as well. For many survivors, counselling - alongside community support and the mercy of Allah - is a step toward rebuilding a life shattered by cruelty. The road to healing is long, but for some, therapy is helping them reclaim what was taken and learn to live among their families and communities again.
https://www.thenationalnews.co