Little did Charles Kimbrough, his family, his boss and two Kuwaiti friends know that on the night of April 8, 2007 a storm was coming.

Approximately 30 policemen from the Salmia Police Station led by 1st Lt. Ammar Thabet Al-Mehana had already been to Kimbrough’s boss’s home to search for guns, drugs and alcohol suspected to be stored there. Having found nothing or no one, the police then went to Kimbrough’s home in another subdivision situated near Kuwait City.

“They rushed in and made everyone turn their backs to the walls,” said Kimbrough, now 36 living in Lauderdale County. “We were struck with batons and yelled at. They wanted to know where the drugs, alcohol and guns were. What could I tell them? I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.”

Kimbrough just thought he was afraid.

“Ammar came down the stairs holding my infant son, Nelson. I must have gone as white as a sheet with fear and anger at the same time. It is an image I’ll never forget. As hard as I try I can’t get that image out of my mind,” Kimbrough said.

During the search of the home, which turned up nothing illegal, Kimbrough and the others were continually threatened in various ways. At one point a smirking Ammar, who was still holding the infant, said, “The desert is a vast and empty place. It would be no problem to take all of you — and I mean all — out into the sands. No one would ever find you. Of that I can guarantee!”

As minutes turned into hours the four men were finally escorted out of the home in handcuffs and beaten as they were placed into police vehicles. At the Salmia Police Station they were thrown into a 5 foot by 12 foot room. A dozen or more men of all nationalities, including some who were prisoners of war from the first Gulf War, were already being detained there so the conditions became much more crowded very quickly. It was so crowded the men in the cell had to take turns sleeping on the floor. The concrete floor was nasty and reeked of human excrement. A hole in the floor against a wall was the closet thing to a toilet.

It was hell on earth and hell’s minions were on their way to greet their new captives.

“The goon squad started their shift at 11 p.m.,” Kimbrough said. “That is when the real beatings began.”

Separated from all the others, each man was taken to another room where they were strapped down on crude tables that smelled much like the cells they’d just left behind. The bottoms of their bare feet were slapped repeatedly with large, stiff rubber hoses. When the goon squad tired of this game, they lined up to form two columns and made the inmates run the gauntlet while at the same time being beaten with the hoses. This went on for three days.

“It was intense,” Kimbrough said quietly. “It’s still hard to talk about this. It isn’t easy.”

In the following days, the two Kuwaiti men arrested with Kimbrough and his boss were released. A few days later the two Americans were told another search of Kimbrough’s boss’s home turned up a large quantity of drugs, alcohol and guns. The news angered Kimbrough but deep down he expected something of this nature.

“They turned his place inside out the first time they were there on April 8 and didn’t find anything,” said Kimbrough with obvious agitation. “And three days later they go back and find all this stuff? If I weren’t so afraid for my life I would’ve laughed in their face. The whole mess was ridiculous.”

In the local newspapers the two Americans were compared to the Mafia and other crime organizations. The public defender assigned to them, Nivin Marafi, seemed more concerned about being paid than defending her clients. She told Kimbrough he and his boss would likely get 25 years in prison. At their first hearing, which took place later in April, the two men were given four years to serve. It wasn’t 20 years but Kimbrough doubted if he could last four years either.

“We were chained together and forced to stand inside a cage in the courtroom during our hearing,” said Kimbrough. “It just reminded me of how things were probably done a thousand years ago. I was dumbstruck that the Kuwaiti justice system was so terribly outdated.”

Kimbrough was told the seriousness of the charge, despite the fact there was basically no physical evidence presented, warranted the four-year sentence. At no time was Kimbrough allowed to present witnesses on his behalf. He gave up very early in trying to build some semblance of a defense given the attorney they were assigned. Ultimately, Kimbrough could see the writing on the wall.

Kimbrough and his boss were transported to a prison where the conditions were at times worse than where they had left. The facility was located about 50 miles north of Kuwait City in the middle of the desert. They were given prison clothes and their heads were shaven.

But before he was transferred, Kimbrough was able to use an illegal cell phone to get word out about his false imprisonment to authorities at the United States Embassy in Kuwait City. Representatives arrived at the jail a couple of days later and found Kimbrough chained against a wall. They took pictures of his bruises and cuts and then left.

Kimbrough didn’t hear from them again.

“I’ve never felt so alone,” he said.

Kimbrough and his boss were kept in a prison cell with murderers, rapists and thieves. Some of the men suffered from illnesses such as Hepatitis. All of the men were subjected to pepper spray and shock treatments with cattle prods. It was too cold at night and blistering hot in the daytime. As if his humiliation weren’t complete enough, Kimbrough had to take part in Muslim prayers five times a day.

“There never was much to eat,” he said. “We’d go for days without food and if you didn’t pray, you sure wouldn’t get fed then.”

It was Kimbrough and his boss. Many times they were inseparable because of the chains clamped on their ankles. There was a great deal of conversation both men used in order to keep their hopes up and their sanity intact.

But it was a Kuwaiti prisoner who would befriend Kimbrough thereby giving him the best chance of making it out of the prison alive.