Ali and Abed Hamadi

My name is Abed.

I was 25 years old and had just gotten my degree in Mechanical engineering in the exUSSR where I had studied.

On the day I disappeared, I was sitting in front of the house, drinking my coffee and enjoying the warmth of the autumn sun. Having gotten back to Lebanon just a few days ago, I was questioning my future in Lebanon and the possibility of having to immigrate again for work.

The house was quiet. My family was spending the winter in the Qmatiyeh mountains. Suddenly, armed men erupted in front of my house. They asked me where my brother Ali was. Attempting to win us some time, I asked them about what they needed from him and whom had sent them here. But they felt provoked and decided to take me and my brother.

I noticed there and then, while in shock, that the years of violence and unpunished crimes - from which I was safe being abroad – have made it possible and almost harmless to kidnap people midday without even having the urge to cover their faces. My neighbors would later tell my relatives that before we disappeared, they had seen a car – a red Mazda – wandering around our house.

My family was later told that we were part of the people that got kidnapped and executed to avenge the death of the president that had been recently assassinated.

Today, my family still lives in that house from which we were kidnapped. My mother often stands at the door looking out at the road, wondering had she been present in the house at the time, if she would have been able to stop our kidnapping.

My name is Abed Hamadi, my brother is Ali Hamadi. Do not let our story end here.