by Puk Damsgård
They were given water bottles and two blankets to be shared between eight prisoners. They also requested the most important thing: a bucket they could use if the guards forgot to let them go to the toilet.
When the blankets were distributed, a debate about lice arose. In the cell under the children’s hospital Daniel had discovered some lice and lice eggs along the edge of his blue underpants and this had caused panic among the prisoners.
They asked him to check if he still had body lice. He found the small black insects and white eggs in his clothes, and when Pierre inspected his own clothing he discovered a large colony as well. The rest of the group refused to have lice near them, so Daniel and Pierre were sent to a space at one end of the cell, because there was an unwritten rule among the prisoners that the spread of diseases and pests should be avoided. If he tried to move into the ‘lice-free’ end, Daniel would immediately be asked to go back to his area. He protested loudly that they were treating him as if he was dirty and should be expelled from the group.
‘Check your own clothes,’ he said. ‘It just can’t be true that you don’t have lice. If Pierre has them, then it’s likely the rest of you have them too.’
It turned out they all had body lice, except for the newcomer, Steven, who lay without a blanket in the middle of the hard tile floor to keep as far away as possible from the others. Daniel was relieved that they were all infested. Lice had suddenly become common property – and they were also the world’s greatest pastime. Daniel and Pierre sat beside each other for hours squashing the small insects and debating whether it was enough to squeeze them flat or whether they should have their heads ripped off. Pierre was good at finding them with his long nails; every day they counted how many they had found and compared their size and colour.
They also talked about what might be happening outside the basement room. They could hear that someone was sawing, hammering and drilling, and by peeping out through the keyhole, they could see that a group of workmen was busy building something. They couldn’t see what it was, but it was clear that the guards didn’t want the workmen discovering the eight hostages in the cell. Toilet times were limited to early morning and late evening, when the workmen weren’t there. The guards also impressed on the prisoners that they should be quiet inside the cell during the day.
After almost a week, the guards elected to move the hostages upstairs to a room the prisoners began calling the Cigar Box. It measured just 6 feet by 13 feet, and the eight hostages had to lie in a row across the room, even though they were still sharing just two blankets.
‘If you look at us, you will be executed,’ said one guard firmly before closing the door.
The air didn’t circulate in that claustrophobic room, which had only a small window overlooking a wall, and the prisoners were so closely clumped together that they all knew everything about everyone else.
When Daniel and David were whispering about opening a kind of stress centre together, in a country house with lakes, trees and animals, one of the others interrupted them.
‘Shut up, you two. What a stupid idea. What do you think you can do with your skills?’
‘Stay out of our conversation,’ said Daniel, who felt he was about to explode. After all, he didn’t grumble when the others talked about their travels around the world.
And when Nicolas later got up and pulled himself up into the cell’s small window to look out, some of the others dragged him down roughly.
‘Don’t fucking do that again! You constitute a security risk,’ said Federico, reminding Nicolas that they had been given strict orders not to look at the guards. There could have been a guard standing there, staring at the window.
Frustrations grew in the unbearable heat of the Cigar Box, where they were all hungry and mentally exhausted. They were often given only a biscuit or a plate with a thin layer of hummus for sharing and the guards drained them psychologically with false promises. They called on the hostages to choose two or three among them to talk to a doctor from the Red Cross as part of a possible negotiation, but nothing happened. They realized it was a false hope that the guards had planted in their minds so that they wouldn’t try to escape.
As a defence against the tension, hunger and mental games, Daniel passed the time by playing the tour guide. The idea was that the hostages would visit each other for a few days when they were released. They would each tell the others about what they could offer in the way of experiences.
‘After you land at the airport in Billund, we’ll drive to my parents’ summer house, where there are exactly eight beds,’ began Daniel. ‘My mother, Susanne, will come and prepare meatballs, gravy and potatoes. Then we’ll go to my old boarding school and bounce on the trampoline and go canoeing on the lake and make a camp fire.’ They would grill and drink beer and Daniel’s cousin would serve her special chocolate layer cake.
‘We’ll also go to Legoland, where my mother works,’ said Daniel.
Pierre played along and told them that it would be best to visit him in the autumn.
‘This is my favourite time of the year, because then there are apples on our apple trees,’ he said. They would pick apples and make cider and cakes, which they would enjoy in the garden.
The game eased the atmosphere, as did the industrial fan the guards put into the cell. It made so much noise that some of them got migraines, but under the cover of the noise, the prisoners could talk together in pairs without everyone being able to listen in on the conversation.
Someone knocked hard on the door – harder and faster than usual.
‘Hands on the wall!’ shouted a man with a British accent.
Daniel noted that he had a much firmer tone than the French guards who were the most frequent visitors. He found it both frightening and dangerous, because the man spoke fluent English and he understood every word.
The prisoners weren’t allowed to turn around towards the British man, who demanded answers on how often they were given food and if they were allowed to use the toilet.
‘We don’t get much food,’ said one of the prisoners.
‘You should be happy with what you get,’ said the Brit, adding on the way out that they would soon be under his custody.
When the door closed, the hostages turned and faced each other. Federico and David were deathly pale and their hands were shaking. They recognized the voice and the British accent.
‘There were three Brits when we were in the Box,’ they explained, referring to the place where they had been held before Daniel met them.
‘What did they do to you?’ someone asked.
Silence fell in the Cigar Box. They didn’t want to go into detail and Daniel imagined that the Brit had been their torturer, their Abu Hurraya.
‘It will be a completely different daily routine if we are put under the control of the British,’ said David and Federico.
They went through their advice for best behaviour. Look at the wall. Always respond succinctly to their questions. Be humble. Don’t answer back. Be extremely grateful. Never ask for anything.
There was disquiet in the cell. What would this mean for their release? What would a negotiation be like under the control of the British jailers?
· * ·
In mid-September 2013 Arthur received information that Daniel had been moved to a new location in Aleppo. There was no indication of where exactly or where the many other kidnapped journalists were – including James Foley, whom he had been trying to find for the last ten months.
There had been total silence since Susanne and Kjeld sent their personal appeal to Emir Abu Athir. They didn’t know whether or not he had even received their letter. Every shred of information about Daniel gave them new hope, and with Anita they made regular trips from Jutland to Copenhagen to attend meetings at the Foreign Ministry, where they were served coffee, lemon moon cake and pastries. There was a definite culture clash when th
e couple from Hedegård, who were used to being in control of their lives, met the rather stiff and bureaucratic officials.
The Foreign Ministry’s primary role was to host meetings at which the various actors who were dealing with the ‘Daniel affair’, as the Ministry called it, could exchange information and discuss strategy. Arthur was present every now and then, if he wasn’t in Turkey.
Kjeld felt that the officials were friendly and welcoming, but it seemed to be part of their job to talk for hours without saying anything concrete. Decisions were often handed over to Kjeld, who felt totally unprepared. Neither he nor Susanne knew anything about kidnappings.
‘We’ll support you one hundred per cent in whatever you decide,’ was the usual message.
It could, for example, be a question of whether the family should spend another 50,000 kroner (about £٥,٣٠٠) so that Arthur could send several local investigators into Syria.
There was also material that the Ministry held back for good reason, such as information that other states had shared with Denmark and therefore couldn’t be disclosed. It gave Kjeld an unfamiliar feeling of having lost control of the situation.
Another problem also weighed on the family: the insurance payment of 5 million kroner had run out. It had been used up during the last few months on Arthur and others who were working around the clock to get Daniel home. Kjeld and Susanne asked cautiously at the Ministry if there was any help to be had for certain expenses, such as Arthur’s salary. But the bureaucrats were following the orders of the government, which insisted that they couldn’t cover Arthur’s work or any other costs in connection with the case. Luckily, they had some savings, and Arthur agreed to wait for payment.
The Ministry and the other authorities involved in Daniel’s case kept a low profile and took on the role of informing the government, while Arthur was in charge of the search for Daniel and in close contact with the family.
Anita didn’t experience culture shock with the Ministry in the same way as Susanne and Kjeld. She was used to going to meetings at ministries and other agencies as part of her work as a chemical engineer. She was able to keep some distance from the case and to understand it from several angles. However, she completely understood Kjeld’s and Susanne’s feeling of helplessness and their need for almost daily updates from Arthur. For them, no news quickly became bad news.
Every morning when Susanne dragged her body out of bed, she brewed herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the computer to check whether there were any important messages about Daniel. In addition to all the other new routines she had acquired to cope with the situation, she also listened every morning to the song ‘Small Shocks’ by the Danish band Panamah. For the three and a half minutes the track lasted, she let go, allowing herself to be in her grief, fear and longing, and cried from start to finish. Some mornings she played the song several times.
Although it was a love song, the lyrics expressed how she felt.
Will you come back home?
Here in the wee small hours, time goes by so slow
and when I think ahead
Knowing I have so much to do makes me feel so low
‘Dawn’s breaking soon, brothers’
‘Dawn’s breaking soon, brothers’
Promise me my love it’s not over yet
It’ll all work out
It’ll all work out
When the time is right
I miss you so
It’ll all work out
Now I pray with all my might
Hoping that the time is right
While I’m waiting here,
my lips go stiff and frozen without me knowing why
the small shocks that follow me no matter what
and why do I feel this longing
when all things pass away
‘Dawn’s breaking soon, brothers’
‘Dawn’s breaking soon, brothers’
· * ·
The hostages were moved from the Cigar Box back to the basement. The guard took Daniel by the shoulders and removed his blindfold, so that he could see the surprise that awaited him.
‘Toilet!’ shouted the guard enthusiastically.
The workmen had built a toilet in the basement room. This must mean they were going to be there for a long time.
On the other side of the corridor in the basement, a number of one-person cells, which already contained prisoners, had also been built. Daniel had heard them screaming when they were being beaten late at night.
Their own cell received yet another prisoner. Spanish war correspondent Marc Marginedas became the cell’s ninth foreign hostage. He was in his mid-forties and an experienced correspondent for the newspaper El Periódico in Barcelona. He had been in prison for a month in the basement of the children’s hospital in Aleppo before he joined Daniel’s group, but he still arrived with news from the outside world.
‘Denmark won the Eurovision Song Contest,’ he said, and told them about the Danish singer Emmelie de Forest performing in bare feet.
The more sombre news was that there had been a massive poison-gas attack at the end of August in the rebel-controlled areas on the outskirts of Damascus. Hundreds of people had lost their lives and the Americans had come close to intervening against the Assad regime, which they accused of being behind the atrocity. US involvement had been averted, however, because Russia put pressure on the regime and an agreement had been reached with the UN that Syria would allow its chemical weapons to be transported out of the country for destruction, including chemical warfare agents and the nerve gases sarin and mustard gas.
Daniel listened to the news from outside, which seemed strangely distant. Nothing other than the reality of captivity had existed for a long time. He had become accustomed to the days passing slowly and the now routine dramas of lice, faeces, blankets and food. After nearly five months in captivity, he had grown accustomed to being a hostage.
It was noon on 14 October. Daniel had just eaten a piece of bread with jam when they were asked to sit with their backs to the door.
He stole a glance under his armpit as more people entered the room and he saw a short man in a long camouflage tunic. Mattresses and pillows were dragged into the cell.
When the door was closed, Daniel turned round and instantly recognized James Foley and John Cantlie from the hospital prison. It was easy to remember James’s underbite and striking brown eyes beneath wide eyebrows. He hadn’t seen the man in the camouflage tunic before, but it turned out to be a German, Toni Neukirch. He was a trained chef and had travelled to Syria with a tent and sleeping bag to be a volunteer aid worker.
‘Oh boy, it’s just great to see you all!’ exclaimed James. First he gave his compatriot Steven a hug, after which he greeted the rest of the prisoners. There were now twelve hostages in the same room.
James said that he, Toni and John had been moved from the basement under the children’s hospital at the same time as Daniel and the others. They had been in the same prison, but in a different cell, until being moved together with the rest of the group. They rearranged their sleeping places, so now Daniel was in the corner furthest from the toilet beside Pierre. James took the spot by the door.
He was cool and collected and Daniel was extremely happy to see him, even though he didn’t really know the man. He felt as if they had received guests in their cell and he took pains to eat in a civilized manner.
James arrived with his broad smile and some pages that the guards had copied from books on Islam and given to him and others in the cell, as well as a ballpoint pen and a chess game made out of cardboard, with black and white pieces. Daniel noticed James’s long toes and that he also had a scar around one of his ankles. He couldn’t help but smile when James’s daydreaming and long limbs caused him to stumble or knock things over in the cell. When he reached for a water bottle, he was prone to tipping the other
bottles over like dominoes. On the other hand, he took his conversion to Islam very seriously and prayed five times a day.
James and John had been kidnapped in Idlib province on 22 November 2012, during their last scheduled hours in Syria, where they had been for several weeks. They had been heading towards the Turkish border, when they stopped at an Internet café that they had used before. It was Thanksgiving and James chatted with friends in the United States, while sending off articles and photos.
As they were driving the last stretch towards the border, they were stopped by armed men and driven away.
While the US authorities and Arthur were still looking for James and trying to get information about him from the Syrian regime and other sources, he had been with Daniel and the others the whole time – now in a basement in Sheikh Najjar under ISIS control.
Despite the fact that James had been a hostage for nearly a year, he was spontaneous and easy to be around. He organized equal distribution of the food, of which there was never enough, and gave the impression that he was trying to survive by creating a good atmosphere. James had a strong sense of justice, willingly leading the way and taking it upon himself to ask the guards for more food.
‘By the way, it’s my fortieth birthday today,’ he remarked late at night on 18 October.
‘Congratulations,’ said Daniel. ‘I really hope that your birthday next year will be better.’
The atmosphere in the cell was lifted with James’s arrival, which gave Daniel renewed energy and confidence. He resumed his exercise routine and persuaded the others to do some too.
‘Put your forehead against the floor, not the top of your head.’