Darrar al-Ghoury
I went to Al-Shouneh al-Shamaliyah, to the home of Sheikh Abd al-Karim al-Abbas, the one who enlisted me twenty-two months earlier and sent me to carry out jihad in Afghanistan.
He welcomed me warmly – may God reward him for that – as though he were reuniting with a son after a long absence. Then he sat me down beside him there in his room on a mattress up against the wall whose paint was peeling off. He started asking what had happened to me.
I thanked God that he wasn’t aware of what had happened to me in prison. That was clear from the conversation, for he commended me for my resolve and for getting out with my head held high, as he put it.
I asked him about the three mujahideen who accompanied me on the homeward journey to Jordan and he answered that he had no know
