They celebrate their holiday behind bars. For fourteen Crimean Tatar journalists, the Day of Crimean Tatar Journalism is just another day before their prison sentence. Seyran Saliev, Remzi Bekirov, Ernes Ametov, Timur Ibragimov, Rustem Sheikhaliev, Ruslan Suleymanov, Vilen Temeryanov, Osman Arifmemetov, Asan Akhmetov, Server Mustafayev, Aziz Azizov, Amet Suleymanov, Rustem Osmanov and Marlen (Suleyman) Asanov - they are now reporting as their colleagues did a hundred years ago: With a pen, on paper, and only after careful work by censors do these materials reach their readers, family and friends.  

Osman Arifmemetov is one of these reporters. A mathematician by education and a programmer by profession, he became a citizen journalist after the occupation of Crimea, taking photos and videos of repressions against Crimean Tatars. In 2019, he was arrested and imprisoned for 14 years on falsified terrorism charges. We thank the family of Osman Arifmemetov for the opportunity to publish his letter.  

‍Assalamu alaikum.

You asked me how my day typically goes. A typical day in a Siberian prison begins with the sound of a siren. You have to get up and make your bed. After going to the toilet and hygiene procedures, I say morning prayer at the sink.  

Then, according to the schedule, there are recreational gymnastics and breakfast. Usually in the morning they serve oatmeal, less often - other cereals: sechka, millet, very rarely - rice. I miss the national cuisine very much. Kobete, lokum, yantik, manti, lagman, burma, sarma... I probably didn't thank my mother enough. I don't remember the last time I did - for all the dishes she cooked so diligently. I am enveloped by the smells and tastes of my childhood. Where do they come from? How miraculously have they been preserved? They arise in the most unexpected places - near the sewing machine, on the way to work... All these feelings are carefully preserved in my memory.  

Remembering them hurts. Thinking about the future is sad. There is only the present, and you have to be happy with what you have.  

But how can you be happy with prison oatmeal? If we take the norm of 300 grams and count according to the crudest statistics, it was served for about 200 days. It turns out that I ate about 60 tons. I'm not happy about it.  

To make oatmeal tastier, it needs to be seasoned. The best seasoning is hunger.  

After all, the Prophet Muhammad (may Allah bless and greet him) also got up in the morning and often had nothing to eat. Perhaps I should be satisfied with what I have. This is my fate.  

You won't see any shashliks here. It's too little for a free Osman, and too much for Arifmemetov.  

After breakfast, I have some free time before the employees arrive. I usually spend it reading the Quran. By eight in the morning, we are taken to work. Movement outside the cell is allowed only under escort, with hands behind your back. If the movement stops, you have to stand facing the wall in a certain place.

So I stand there and wait. Until the cell is opened. Until the search is over. Until the oncoming stream of prisoners passes. I stand in front of the shop - before work, after work, before lunch or at the end of the day.  

I stand and look at the wall. There are seams between the tiles, an evacuation plan, and a red triangle. You can see that a brush was used: from the bottom up and from the top down.  

Probably, no painting in the gallery has ever been examined so closely and for such a long time.  

In some parts of the wall, the word “corridor” is written, and a number is written in front of it. I play with the words...  

When I get tired of looking at one spot, I examine my shoes and move my feet, but carefully so as not to arouse the convoy's suspicions. I'm lucky if I'm standing in front of a window. If it's sunny, I get a sunbath. Sometimes I can see houses, the road, and dwellings. But more often, I see only tiles and seams.  

In the workshop, there is an “acceptance” - a check of the convict at the workplace. The officer calls my surname, and I answer with my first and last name. I undress to the waist and turn my back. After the inspection, they take the letters, listen to the questions, and write down what they need.  

The convicts ask for food from the fridge, to open canned food, to give them a knife or something else. Then we go back to work until lunch.  

Around noon, we are taken to our cells again, then back to the workshop until the end of the day.  

There, time goes by unnoticed. As we say: “close your eyes, open your eyes”.  

After work, we have a choice: a shower or a walk.  

If I take a shower, I go first to the dryer for bath accessories, then to the bathhouse. All movements are under the control of the convoy. In the bathhouse, they lock you in while you wash, then take you back to the dryer. A towel goes on the door, the rest goes into a locker. Then - to the cell where dinner is waiting.

If I choose to go for a walk, I go to the locker room. I take my jacket by the tag and go down to the yard. After the walk, I do it all in reverse. I end up in the cell after six in the evening.  

If I don't want to go anywhere, they take me straight to the cell. After prayer, I do my own thing: washing, shaving, hygiene. Sometimes I watch news or analytical programs, read books.  

After eight in the evening, I have an evening examination (without undressing).

At half past ten, I hear a signal - it's time for the evening toilet and getting ready for bed. At ten o'clock, the siren goes off. The lights go off, and the nightlight above the door is turned on. Everyone goes to bed. Before going to bed, I make sajda, an earthly bow of gratitude to the Almighty for everything He gives me.  

This is the end of my letter.  

Tell selâm to everyone who asks about me.