As is typical of a “third culture kid” who spent their formative years continent hopping, I have been blessed with many great friends the world over, but no BFF (best friend forever). That is, besides my brother, Mohamed. I am the eldest of five and he’s the closest in age to me. Naturally, we did everything together. Growing up and moving around so much, we learned to transition in and out of new communities and social circles. This left us with few constants, our immediate family being the only one that was guaranteed.
As with most siblings, Mohamed and I fought like hell, but believed deeply that when push came to shove we would only ever have each other to lean on. When my husband and I welcomed our first child into the world, we were blessed to have been surrounded with love and support from family and friends, and Mohamed was at the top of that list. He dropped everything to come meet the little guy and help care for us during this transformative time. He swooned over every small thing our son did and could never get enough pictures and videos of him, or stories about him. Much like a proud new parent who mistakenly thinks others find their child’s every move as fascinating and heartwarming as they do, Mohamed shared these with everyone he knew.
Mohamed has been imprisoned for 17 months and, in protest at the terrible conditions in which he has been held, has been on a hunger strike for a year. He was arrested amid the crackdown on pro-democracy demonstrators who took to the streets following the coup in Egypt in 2013. He was shot in the arm during the violent dispersal of the Raba’a Square protests, then tortured upon detainment. He has suffered from infections and a total lack of medical care. Without any drugs or pain relief, Mohamed underwent ad hoc surgery performed by a cell mate using pliers.
Months after Mohamed and my father were arrested, I had another baby boy. This time, Mohamed was not there to welcome him into the world or to pose for pictures. In fact, Mohamed could not recall my younger son’s name as he would drift in and out of consciousness following the seizures and hypoglycemic comas he experienced in recent months.
Many birthdays, one wedding and countless significant moments later, our family lives on without two of its most vibrant components. I live a seemingly normal life raising two beautiful young children, while he rots away in a dungeon in Tora Liman, one of the most notorious prisons in the world. Our brother has got married and is expecting a baby girl, and our two youngest siblings will graduate from high school and college without Mohamed or my dad in attendance. The days of our lives will keep passing and Mohamed’s absence will continue to form a deep scar in our collective memories.