On Dangerous Borders

The car lurched forward at a frightening speed. I had been shoved face down on the back seat, unable to see my abductors. Based on what I could hear, there were about three of them—one guy in the back with me, two in the front. They were shouting at each other in Urdu. I was afraid to move a muscle. A few minutes later, the voices simmered down. I didn’t think they’d been arguing; it sounded more like they were shouting words of caution to each other. “It’s ok,” the guy next to me said in English. “You’re safe now, but it would be best if you remained out of sight. No one should see you.” I remained hunkered down in the uncomfortable but safe angle I was in, twisted at the waist toward the side and slumped over on the seat. I dared to turn my head to sneak a peek at the others. They all looked pretty much the same—young, dark hair, dark eyes, medium skin tones. I turned my head further and looked at the guy sitting next to me. He smiled, and I found the smile to be non-threatening. “Who are you?” He simply shrugged. “Friends or family of Officer Ahsad?” “Yes,” he said hesitantly. “Cousins.” “Where are we going?” “You’ll have to stay with us for a while. It’s not safe at her place at this time.” The idea of staying with three strange guys—even in my own country—didn’t thrill me. But I could see where it wouldn’t be safe at Ahsad’s home. If she were the last one to see me, wouldn’t her home be the first place searched? “Do you think the police will really suspect her of helping me escape?” The young man shrugged again. “You never know. But it is better to play it safe.” “Yes, it is. Especially since I was coming to doubt I would ever get out of there.” The man said nothing. “Ahsad—I don’t know her first name—said that she learned some things. Things that weren’t good. I assumed they had to do with my case.” “We don’t know any details or have any meaningful information for you. We were instructed simply to house and feed you, and to see to your basic necessities.” I hesitated, unsure of what to say next. “Well, thank you for helping to get me out of there,” I finally said. No answer. The men began to speak amongst themselves again, this time much more calmly. I longed to raise my head, even just a little, so I could see where we were, but I knew it would be best not to. My neck was cramping, and my twisted muscles were beginning to protest. I tried not to fidget and hoped we would arrive at our destination soon enough. Every so often, the guy next to me would look out the back window, obviously on the lookout for anyone who might be following us. From the sound of their voices, no one was. I couldn’t imagine it being that easy—even if a guard assisted—to break out of jail in America. The charges and punishments there weren’t usually as barbaric, but the jails weren’t easy to break out of. A car couldn’t just drive up to where the inmates were and whisk one of them away. The car finally slowed, taking more turns than before. A moment later, the interior darkened, and I assumed we had pulled into a garage of some sort. “Can I sit up now?” “Yes, you may.” I sat up and saw we were in what appeared to be more like a barn. It was a dark wooden structure with all kinds of farming equipment visible. There were bales of hay, shovels, pitchforks, and even a small tractor. “Where are we?” “Come,” was the answer I got as the guy I’d been sitting next to held the car door open for me to scoot out. I slid out of the car and rose on shaky legs. “Here. Put this on.” I looked distastefully at the lilac-colored hijab he held out to me. “Uh, I don’t think I…” “You must. You must not let others see your light hair.” Realizing his point, I took the silky material and covered my head with it. “Follow me.” We stepped through a side door in the barn-like garage, and I could see a small brick house painted pale yellow about twenty feet away. That was when I began to get a little nervous. How could I know they wouldn’t rape me? Hoping there were some women inside, I followed the guy through a side door of the house behind the other two. The house was cool and dark compared to the bright warmth outside. I never saw anyone else inside. By the time I entered, the other guys were already well ahead of us and out of view. I was led through a utility area with a washer and dryer, then into a narrow hallway. A kitchen appeared to be at the far end, while I guessed there was a living room in front. I was then led to a small room in the back of the house. “There is a bathroom with a shower through there,” the guy said, pointing toward a narrow door at the back left corner of the room. “Remain in here at all times. Your food will be brought to you. Do not open the window or raise the curtain. There is a glass on the bathroom sink for you to get water whenever you need it. Clothes are in the drawers.” “How long will I be here?” I asked. “Do not ask questions,” he said, now seemingly anxious to get away from me. “Ok, thank you,” I said as he exited the room, closing the door behind him. I simply stood there, dumbfounded and dazed. Again, I had to wonder how my life had come to this. And why me? The person I had been less than a year ago now seemed like a distant stranger in my mind. Who was she? Where was she? Would I ever be that person again? I took in what was around me, which wasn’t much. A small bed. A small dresser. A small table with one chair. The room had no closet. Atop the dresser was a bottle of deodorant and a hairbrush. I went through the dresser’s four drawers, beginning with the top one. Socks, bras, and panties—all colorless and modest-looking. Drawer number two: tops. Drawer number three: skirts and pants. Drawer number four: sweaters and hijabs. Hanging on the back of the entry door were a light blue robe and a few dresses. The dresses were colorful and looked comfortable, although bulky. They all had long sleeves and would easily fall to my ankles. Such a shame that many Muslim women were forced to hide behind so much material to make it “easier” for men to control their desires. I strode into the bathroom. On the small counter was a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and a bottle of shampoo. A single bath towel hung on a rack above the old, rust-stained toilet. I looked down at the beat-up floor, some of its ceramic tiles broken loose, and stepped back into the carpeted room. The tan carpet was old, worn, and stained, but it was better than a busted floor. I could tell by the solidity beneath my feet that the house rested on a slab foundation and had no basement. I plopped myself down on the saggy bed and wondered how long I would have to wait for Ahsad.