Let me make a confession: I cannot stop asking myself this question, why do they punish me? It is becoming an obsession, but I cannot get it out of my head. All these punishments began when they put me in prison in Bagram, Afghanistan. They only allowed us to go to the athroom twice a day, the first time just after dawn and then just before dusk. We could only go when it was our turn. I remember that once I was very desperate and I whispered to the man in front of me in the queue, to let me get in front of him. The soldier, guarding us, bellowed with fury, “Do not speak!” and then ordered me to get out. He tied my hands to a wire and left me there all day on my feet and shivering with the cold weather. Eventually, I soiled my trousers, to the enjoyment of the soldiers and the whores present