One year ago was my fifth month of detention in a horrible, small, freezing prison cell in Kazan, Russia. I was sick and feverish, spending most days on a top bunk, which was slightly warmer and had a bit of sunlight, so I could read books and letters when I had the strength. All the prisoners were sick too, and we ran out of pain medication. I had one lemon left from a food package sent by friends before Christmas. I nibbled on it sparingly, trying to make it last as long as possible.
I tried keeping warm by wrapping up in two layers of grey, smelly blankets, but it was never enough. It was way below zero outside, and we had a small space heater that was broken more often than it worked. I couldn’t write letters to my loved ones, not that they would be sent anyway, because the pen in our cell was frozen solid.
