Imad Abdallah

My name is Imad. I am the youngest in a family of 5 children. My eldest sister, Samia and I, were very close. I was only 9 when she got married and moved out. I used to visit her every day after school and on the weekend, we used to take her son to the beach. My 2 brothers often teased me because I was very quiet and romantic. I loved to keep a journal where I would write love letters and poems. I was about to get engaged to a girl called Samira, but my plans for a new life with the girl I loved were cut short on a tragic day in 1984. That day I was with my two friends, Mohammad and Dorgham. We were driving back from a wedding in Tripoli to Beirut when we were stopped at a checkpoint. Dorgham was killed immediately but Mohammad and I were taken away. Years passed and the war ended but I did not come back, along with thousands like me.

By the end of the 90’s many people were released from Syria. Among them, were people who told my sister that they had seen me in detention. You can imagine the relief and joy my relatives felt. In 2003, after a man from Saida visited his brother in a Syrian prison, he brought back with him a hand written letter I entrusted him with, and delivered it to my sister. It was a confirmation that I was still alive and that I would someday return home to my family. This letter was followed by a second and final one. When the war in Syria started, my family was hoping I would be released but their aspirations fell apart, just like those of hundreds of other families.

They don’t know where I am and whether or not I’m still alive, but even after 32 years, they still believe I might return. You might think this is foolish, but a few years ago a person came back from Syria after being detained there for over 30 years. Why stop hoping when there is even the smallest possibility?

My name is Imad Abdallah. Do not let my story end here.