The Letter of Abrar Abdul Karim Al-Eryani to her father, who was arrested by Ansar Allah armed group (Houthis) in his work headquarters in Sana’a
Abrar with her arrested father Abdul Karim Al-Eryani
December 25, 2018
To my father:
From the moment you were arrested, my hero, until now, I have become increasingly convinced that we were born in a country where its righteous people and activists are imprisoned, and its corrupt and crooked people, thieves and their families live in “luxury villas”, surrounded by servants and butlers. They do not work to get what they want, but rather the things (all things including people) they want fall into their laps, kneeling, with a shaky smile on their pale faces, forced by the “gun and prison” threats. However, it is a smile that does not resemble the smiles that are carved, instead of being drawn, on the faces of millions of people because of poverty and need, and fear of murder, imprisonment and hunger.
To my father:
I thank God day and night because that smile was not drawn on your face despite the presence of most (conditions) that may lead others to draw that smile and to fake all that satisfaction. Your abstinence from doing so my dear, only prompts me to feel proud and honored to have a father who, despite all the difficult circumstances that surrounded us and tried to feed off of his efforts and his age, didn’t turn into a weak and fearful man terrified of death or imprisonment. On the contrary, he became stronger, mightier and more mature. He is a self-made father who was taken away from his girls without warning, while they were in the small house waiting for his return. He is an educator who spoke out long ago about this period so that we would not be surprised and lost in his absence. He is a builder who did not hesitate for a moment to build a solid edifice within each of us that constituted a source of strength and steadfastness, and a shelter to live in if necessary. He is a commander who had never worried that he had a female army (three girls). A companion whose first comment on our first photograph at the Yemeni Socialist Party headquarters was: “God. A solider and his mate.”
To my father:
I want to talk about me and you now only. I am your little daughter who did not shed one tear on her first day of school, unlike her other colleagues. I am your daughter who did not hesitate for one second to tell you that she set the class on fire as revenge against her teacher. I am your little friend who keeps sending you SMS messages to tell you where to meet, away from home and family, so she can tell you about the disasters she did, a story she finished or a problem she was unable to resolve. When she is done talking, your only answer is: “This is nothing. I will deal with it now. Go back to the house my darling and stop doing such things.” On the way back, you’d tell me your similar stories and friends’ stories, just so I can realize that everything can be resolved and there is no need to be frustrated.
To my father:
Over the course of eighteen years, do you know which sentences I heard the most? “Thank God for you father”, “I wish your father was my father,” “I wish I had a father half as sweet and understanding as your father.” These sentences, my dear, would confirm to me one thing only; that if I was envied for something, it is certainly “you”. You, who even during the worst circumstances, never stopped buying “Al Arabi” and “Majid” magazines for us.
You never failed to read the stories in “Kitab fi Jarida” at night in our room, with a loud voice, whenever you noticed that we were negligent and complacent in our continuous reading.
You are the one who made me an independent woman, whom nobody takes, decisions for or ignores her decisions. You are the one who made the “Abrar” (righteous woman) I am today; a strong woman, a warrior who does not resort to tears at a time when she can use the pen.
To my father:
Prison separates us and my letter may not arrive, but I would like to assure you that we did not inform (my grandmother) about your arrest. Your lack of contact worried her very much, so we had to inform her that you were away for business. However, we heard that she didn’t stop crying that night, insisting that you return: “Bring back my son, bring back my son. It’s not possible for him to be away and not call me.” She does not know, she does not know!
To my father:
My mother prays for you very much, and strongly believes that nothing in this damned land will affect her love. Manar, your obedient girl, tells you she is well and is keeping it together. She asks you to pay attention to yourself and your health. Nebras, your pampered young daughter, writes you a message every day in her diaries, and informs you of her immeasurable longing.
As for me, my father, I no longer write to you because of the pain, but out of anger and indignation at every single thing that brought us here, trying to destroy us and destroy our lives. I write to you out of my feeling of loss, not out of fear. I write to you and wait for your response, and I believe that your reply will surely come. I love you so much.
#LettersToPrison
#YouWillComeBack
