She drew a toothless previous man with an evil look, squeezing a hen in his fingers.
“Wow,” the interrogator stated, because the others crowded round, impressed. “That is us. We do that.”
Afraid, the artist demurred, saying, “This isn’t you, that is another person.”
“No, no,” he replied. “That is what we do. We all know it, we’re pleased with it.”
“And this,” he stated, pointing to the crushed hen, “is you.”
“The Women of Cell Quantity four”
Situations improved when Ms. Abo Rebieh was moved to Adra, an official jail, the place she was lastly in a position to persuade guards to deliver her paper and pencils, and he or she started drawing the folks she was confined with:
“There have been no mirrors contained in the jail, so the drawings I made from the ladies made them see how they appear. They’re much more lovely than the best way I draw them. There’s nothing to do, so that you make up your face, your hair; some women ask their dad and mom to purchase them make-up. They’re very younger. They dance at evening, and compete over who dances higher. Typically they cry once they dance.
On New Yr’s Eve, the guards allow us to have a celebration. I drew on the ladies’ faces, one a cat, one a butterfly. The guards agreed to permit it for one evening solely. So we wrote them a card, saying ‘The women of Cell Quantity four congratulate you on the New Yr.’
When the guards noticed that we referred to as ourselves ‘girls,’ they went loopy. They stated, ‘You might be terrorists, not girls.’”