Hope and Heartache

The quest to get my kids home had failed, and I had to return the kids to their father’s house in Sanaa. We got a ride and sat through the 7-hour ride back to Sanaa in quiet with heavy hearts. As a mother, I couldn’t imagine having to send my kids back to a place they hated so badly, but there were no other options left. When we arrived in the city, we went to a restaurant that had a playground. We got something to eat, and then I called Ahmed, telling him where to pick up the children. I took the kids in the back to the playground, and I sat and watched them play for the last time.

Kids are amazing. They knew what was coming, but for that short time, they were fully involved in their play, and they were happy. I heard, “Mama, watch me slide down the slide!” with a big smile on their faces. I pushed them on the swings and listened to them squeal with delight. I wanted to be with them forever, and to spend as many years as possible making them smile like that. But, of course, it only lasted for less than an hour. Then their father came to pick them up.

He brought his brother with him to get the kids. Once the kids and I got in the car, reality hit them - hard. They started crying uncontrollably, and my oldest daughter kept grabbing for my hand to hold it. Ahmed kept pulling her hand off of mine and told her to quit touching me, that I was bad and was out to hurt them. Of course they knew that wasn’t true, but he wouldn’t let them speak to me in the car or touch me. We sat and cried by ourselves, without being able to speak to each other or touch each other. I wanted so much to grab them and hug them and tell them how much I loved them and how wonderful they were, but now they were in his territory, and that meant they had to abide by his belief that I was evil and shouldn’t be touched or spoken to.

Ahmed told me that I was not allowed in or near his house and that I would never see the children again. He said that I had “embarrassed” him and his family by taking the kids. He couldn’t care less about how the children felt. He cared about what damage his reputation might have suffered since his wife had taken his children out without his permission.

He took the children to his house, and he put me in a hotel. He told me there was an arrest warrant out for me, and that I would get arrested if seen on the street, so he told me to not go outside because he had the police watching. He said that I would get sentenced to at least 5 years in jail for kidnapping. I told him I didn’t care. He had already done the worst he could possibly do. He took my children away from me, and instead of loving them and treating them well, he spent his days hurting them in so many ways. There was nothing more he could possibly do to me that would be any worse, and the prospect of spending years in a Yemeni jail didn’t bother me in the least.

He didn’t have me arrested, for some reason, but I spent the next two weeks in that hotel room, trying to get money wired to me to buy a plane ticket to go home. He would come every day to bring me some food and let me know just how much he hated me and how hard he was trying to convince the children how horrible I was and what a bad mother I was. He rarely brought the kids to see me in that hotel room, but he did bring them a couple times. When they were there, they weren’t allowed to speak to me or hug me. They had to sit in the corner while he made them repeat sentences like, “My mother is bad and she doesn’t care about me”, etc. Seeing them sit there and suffer and cry was absolutely horrible. Oh my God, I can’t tell you how much I love those three children.

Two weeks later, I received the money and bought a plane ticket home. He took me to the airport, and he wouldn’t let the kids come to say goodbye. I got on the plane and cried myself halfway around the world to America.

After arriving home, I tried to call them. He told me that he was going to disconnect the home phone so I couldn’t call the kids anymore. He said that he would place the children with a family in the rural areas or in Pakistan so that I’d never be able to find them again. I tried my best to apologize to him and do whatever he wanted, so that I could still talk to my kids. I sent him $2000.00. He got angry and retorted, “We don’t want your money. I’m sending it back!”. He kept the money, but he never told the kids that I sent it. So I bought the kids a bunch of toys and games and some new clothes and shoes for each of them, and I sent them via DHL. He got even angrier. “Don’t send them anything! They don’t need anything from you! The next time you send something, I won’t go pick it up”. I later called and got to talk to the kids while he was at work, and I found out that he had given most of the gifts away, instead of giving them to my kids. He let them see them first, though, then he took them and gave them away.

It has been 5 months since I got back from Yemen. I still call every week, and he hasn’t disconnected the home phone yet. When I call, he has to stand there and monitor everything I or the kids say, which means that no one is allowed to say anything except, “I love and miss you”, but I’m grateful to be able to hear their voices. For the first 4 months, my oldest daughter refused to speak to me or get on the phone at all. She was so angry at me for failing to fulfill my promise to get her home where she desperately wants to be. The last three times I called, though, I got to hear her voice. I’ve tried to be civil and nice to him, but all he can do is be mean and nasty. He often takes the phone from the kids and starts telling me how horrible I am, how hard he is working to convince the children that I abandoned them, etc. Then I just hang up, because I refuse to pay to listen to a bunch of nasty lies from a man who cares about nothing except himself and what people in his community think of him. That is the only motivation he has - to make people think he’s this awesome man who will one day die and get the highest level in Heaven for being so wonderful. He works very hard to look good and dress well, and to say and do whatever people would expect a wealthy, upstanding citizen to do. He is a deceiver.

But this story isn’t about him. It’s about a mother’s love for her children, and, more importantly, it’s about three wonderful children who have so much joy and intelligence to share wth this world, but who are being brainwashed and tortured on a daily basis. It’s not his story - it’s ours.