When Halima Bashir spoke out about the atrocities she had witnessed in her native Darfur, Sudan's military was incensed. The young doctor describes the horrific price she had to pay

HALIMA BASHIR

September 13, 2008

Around midday I heard a car pull up outside the clinic. For a moment I hoped it might be the United Nations men r eturning with the promised medical supplies. But instead three men dressed in scruffy khaki uniforms strode into the clinic.

With barely a break in their stride, they hauled me to my feet by the scruff of my white medical tunic, knocking over my desk thi ngs as they did so.

"Move!" a soldier ordered. "You're coming with us!"

For a moment I tried to resist. "What d'you want? What d'you want? Get your hands off me!"

A face was thrust into mine, hatred burning in bloodshot eyes, a savage mouth flecked with spittle: "Shut up! Shut up! Shut u p! SHUT UP!"

They marched me across to the waiting jeep and threw me into the rear. There was a dark, terrifying silence in that vehicle as we drove away from the clinic. No one spoke a word.

I didn't even try to ask where they were taking me. I knew that, this time, it was deadly serious.

My heart was pounding, pain drilling like a jackhammer inside my skull. A voice kept yelling inside my head:

"Today they're going to kill you."

I didn't know exactly why they were going to kill me. Was it my help for the injured fighters? My help for the rape victims?

Who else had I helped that might mean that I had to die? In a way I was past caring.

Evil stalked the land. Sooner or later all of us Zaghawa, Fur, Massalit - all of us black dogs and slaves - were going to get som e. You might be lucky, and live. You might be luckless, and die. It looked as if my luck had run out.

They took me to the far side of the village, to a military camp. We stopped at three huts, and the soldiers dragged me out and ma rched me into the nearest one, and without warning the beating began.

I was kicked hard in the stomach. As I bent double with the pain, further kicks and blows rained down on my legs, hips and should ers.

I fell to the floor, and tried to cover my head with my arms. A boot made contact with my face, a searing white light shooting th rough my eye socket. Another kick to the head, this one smashing into the fingers of my hand with a crunch of breaking bone.

The scrunch of soles turning on the bare concrete floor. The dull thump of booted feet slamming into my soft, fleshy parts. Then silence. Tensing myself for the next blow, but none coming.

Now you know what rape is'

September 13, 2008

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"You speak to the foreigners!" Another voice screaming. "You tell them lies. LIES! Why do you tell them lies?"

A hand gripping my hair, dragging my head upwards. A series of savage blows to the face, whipping my head from side to side.

A soldier crouches down, his face a mask of loathing, his putrid breath rank in my nostrils. His dead eyes are staring into mine, as he twists his fingers into my hair and drags my head higher off the floor.

"Listen - we know you gave information to the foreign people," he rasps, his voice cold and laden with hatred. "Why d id you do this? Did you forget? You signed a declaration to keep quiet. You promised to. Why did you break your promise?"

"This time we will deal with you!" A voice off to one side, screaming again. "This time we will teach you a lesson yo u will never forget!"

Learning a terrible lesson

from a terrible 'teacher'

The crouching man glances upwards. He smiles thinly at his colleague, the Screamer. "Zenil wants to deal with you. In his own , particular way. Shall I let him? Would you like me to?"

"She speaks about rape!" The Screamer again. "This dirty talking! About rape! Lying to the foreigners! About little g irls ... She knows nothing of rape! Nothing ..."

"We have the power to make you do anything," the Croucher hisses, his fingers still locked in my hair. "Anything, Doc tor. Anything we want. Don't you know this?"

I feel the Croucher get to his feet, releasing his hold on my hair. My head drops to the hard floor. He turns and speaks to the t hird man, the Driver, the man who has taken no part in the interrogation so far.

"Ali, fetch some rope and tie her. Tie her firmly. I don't want her going anywhere before we've dealt with her." The Crou cher turns to stare at me. "Put her in the detention hut."

With the Screamer kneeling his weight on me, the Driver binds my wrists together. He gets my arms and forces them up behind my ba ck - up, up until I'm burning in agony. It feels as if they are being torn from their sockets. He binds them tight in that position, so tight that my joints are burning with pain. I can't help myself now. For the first time, I start crying.

"Bring some rags," the Screamer orders. "We need to stop up this black bitch's mouth. No one wants to hear her dumb c rying." A dirty piece of cloth is jammed into my mouth and tied tight around my head. The Screamer gets off me now. I see the tw o of them make for the door. The Screamer turns.

"Don't go away now," he sneers. "We'll be back later. For your first lesson." It is dark in the hut. Pitch dark. I am alone in there - apart from the mice and the rats. I can't see them, but I can hear them. I kick with my legs to let the vermin know that I'm not a corpse yet. Not yet for the eating.

I know what is coming now. It is rape and death.

Death I can accept. It is the violation by these devils that I cannot face, that I cannot allow. Is there a way out - if I untie the ropes, perhaps I can hang myself from the rafters.

I try. I struggle to free my hands. I twist my arms and strain my muscles, but each time I try to break free it just causes me mo re pain. Eventually, I am too exhausted to continue.

That night they come for me. It is dark outside. I can see this when the shadowy figures unlock the door. One of them lights a la ntern. But it is not the Screamer, the Croucher and the Driver any more. It is three strangers, all in dirty army uniforms. As they approach me, I see the evil and the lust burning in their eyes.

One of them grabs my hair and kneels his weight on me, crushing my chest into the floor, forcing my arms further behind my back. I can see him laughing as he reads the agony and the terror in my eyes.

The second one grabs me by the legs. I see the flash of a knife blade. I feel the rending of material as he starts to slice my tr ousers off me. But my legs are unbound and free, and with all my might I kick out at him, slamming him back against the wall. A cry of rage issues from his unshaven, brutish, idiot features. He lunges forward and drives the knife blade deep into my thigh. I cry ou t in agony, but the cloth stuffed deep into my throat chokes my cries. I try to kick out again, but the third man pins my free leg.< /P>

"Hold her legs! Hold the black bitch's legs!" the knife man urges, as he slices my trousers to the waistline. "She's a strong one, is this one. Real strong ..."

"Strong enough for all of us?" the one kneeling on my chest calls.

"For sure! For the whole damn regiment maybe!" The kneeling man laughs. "Here, this'll keep the black dog still." He pulls something out of his pocket: a cut-throat razor.

He flicks open the gleaming blade, holding it up to the light so that I can see it properly. He reaches out and slices open my bl ouse. He smiles. Slowly, very slowly, he brings the blade down, and then slashes at my exposed flesh. I feel a searing stab of pain in my breast, followed by a warm gush of blood. He moves the blade across and places the cold steel against my other breast. I close my eyes and pray and pray.

"That's it, relax," he sneers. "Fight it, and you'll get more. Pity to spoil them both, isn't it? Lie back and take i t like the black slave you are."

Below, the knife man is astride me now. I tense my muscles and try to resist, but the two of them are down there, forcing my legs to open. I feel a searing agony ...

"So, now you know what rape is, you black dog. Now you know."

The three of them took turns, one after the other. Once the third had finished, they started over again. And while doing so they burned me with their cigarettes, and cut me with their blades. They raped me until I lost consciousness.

When I came to my senses, I was alone in the hut, curled into a ball in a corner. I wished I was dead. There was nothing more tha t anyone could do to me. My life was over.

The second day they came for me again. This time it was the Driver and the Screamer. They raped me until I fainted, until one ani mal assault merged into the next.

On the third day the door of the hut opened once more. Light flooded in from the bright outside. Please, God, please - not again, not again, not again. The Croucher came in. He was alone. He walked over to where I was curled in a fetal position against one wall . He sank down on his haunches and stared at me in silence.

"You know what we've decided to do?" he announced quietly. "We're going to let you live. We're not going to kill you. Get it? Not die. Live."

I said nothing. I was in a place where no one could reach me. I was beyond words.

And when least expected,

salvation - of a sort

"You know why we're going to let you live?" he added. "We're going to let you live because we know you'd prefer to di e. Isn't that clever of us? Aren't we clever, Doctor? We may not have your education, but we're damn smart, wouldn't you agree?"

I stared at him with dull, unseeing eyes. I saw nothing. I was in a faraway place where my God had taken me, a place where they c ouldn't reach me any more. I was safe there. It wasn't death, which is what I'd asked for and begged for and prayed for. But it was the next best thing.

The Croucher shrugged. "Anyway, go. Go. It's over, for now. You know what rape is, so go. The Teacher and the others - they'v e shown you. As for me, I wouldn't touch a black dog like you if my life depended on it. Anyway, go. Go and tell the world. For the rest of your life, you're going to have to live with it. Go and tell whoever you want what rape is."

Abridged excerpt from Tears of the Desert: A Memoir of Survival in Darfur published in Canada

by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. © 2008 by Halima Bashir and

Damien Lewis. All rights reserved.

About the author

Born in a remote part of Sudan's Darfur region, Halima Bashir was sent away to school by her successful father, and returned at 2 4 as the Zaghawa tribe's first-ever doctor.

Then in January, 2004, the notorious Janjaweed militia invaded the town where she worked, raping 42 schoolgirls, some as young as 8.

Horrified, Dr. Bashir spoke about the atrocities to a Sudanese newspaper and to United Nations charities.

This sparked first the revenge taken upon her and then an attack that destroyed her home village, left her father dead and drove her to seek asylum in England, where she now lives in seclusion with her husband and son.

"You are the Zaghawa doctor!" a voice screams at me. "The Zaghawa doctor! We know who you are!"