by Maaza Mengiste
DAY
Tigist sits in a cramped jail cell that the Libyan smuggler uses for an office. It is a block of hollowed out concrete stuffed with a desk and two chairs. She is trapped in a large prison smashed into the middle of the Sahara desert, surrounded by armed men who pace like predators.
“Make the call,” he says, waving his cell phone in her face. “Tell them you’re in Kufra and once they wire the money, we’ll take you to Tripoli then put you on a ship to Italy.” He wants her to call her parents and ask for the ransom for her release. It is twice what her parents make in a year.