Ali was sentenced to death in the kingdom.

To date, his family has not

received official notification of his imprisonment and criminal case, when or
if he will be acquitted, pardoned, extradited or how they might be able to
vindicate him of any allegations.

*
Three days ago, I dreamt of my brother.

At long last, he had come back home. In my sleep, I felt all our misery
disappear. Our problems were over, our suffering had ended. For those few
minutes, I felt happy.

When the sun rose, my mother told me she also had the same dream. She saw
her son walking in the door.

But the joy we both felt was fleeting. In the starkness of daylight, we once
again faced up to the harsh reality that Ali, my brother, was in a jail in Saudi
Arabia, awaiting execution.

Suffering is not new to us. My brother and I had a terrible childhood. After my
father’s death, we were shuttled from one relative’s house to another, waiting
for someone to give us a permanent home.

Related: Pakistani citizens, including children, on death row in Saudi

Arabia and Iran

I was much younger than my brother, and I would have been far more affected
by our circumstances had it not been for Ali.

He protected me and shielded me from the worst. I wish I could do the same
for him today, but I am helpless.

Ali was about 22 years old when he left for Saudia. Before that, he had been
working in a rice mill.

My brother was a simple boy. In school he was teased incessantly. People used
to call him bhola [naive].

When he met a few people who told him they were Overseas Employment
Promoters, he asked them to find him a job.

Over the next few months, these agents forged a close relationship with Ali. He
came to trust them. Finally, they told him that his ticket was ready and he
would have to travel to Islamabad.
From the capital, Ali was taken to Mardan, where, to his utter shock, he was
locked up in a room. Those few hours were spent in confusion and growing
fear.

Finally, some men entered the room, bearing a gun. Ali was forced to choose
between swallowing heroin-filled capsules or face death. Then he was sent off
on a plane to Jeddah.

As soon as the plane landed, my brother was arrested.

Back home, we knew something was wrong. Ali had just disappeared, and
there was no way of finding out what had happened to him.

Explore: Families mourn drug mules beheaded in Saudi Arabia

After a few months spent in agony, we came to know what had happened when
he called us from jail. There was nothing we could do to help him.

We hoped that he would be helped by the Pakistan embassy in Saudi Arabia,

but to no avail. He has been sentenced to death. And so have we, who dread
the dawn of every new day because it might be the last for him.

Ali has a daughter who was five months old when he boarded that plane,
looking to secure a brighter future for her. She is now in grade four.

Some days she comes back from school in tears. Even though we have told her
why Ali can’t be here with her, she still misses him when she sees other
children going home with their fathers.

And so our household now is comprised of just three women and a child.

My mother is paralysed and bedridden. She prays five times a day, asking God
to turn back the clock. When she talks to Ali on the phone, she asks the same
question: "When are you coming home?"

We want him back not just to complete our family. I am the only earning hand
right now. We can barely make ends meet. If my brother were to come back,
maybe our luck would change.

Read next: What my Pakistani inmate Zulfiqar Ali taught me while on

death row in Indonesia

From prison, Ali tells us harrowing tales of what goes on in foreign jails. His
fellow inmates from Pakistan do not get any help from the Pakistani
government. In court, everyone talks in Arabic and Pakistanis do not
understand what is being said or done.

Many prisoners have unknowingly signed confessions. Jails are overcrowded

and prisoners suffer from skin diseases.

Sentences can be changed at whim, and so, many prisoners who thought they
had a life sentence were moved to death row without any explanation.

My brother lives in fear that one day he will be executed without notice and
will not even get a chance to say goodbye to us.

At the end of every day, I gladly close my eyes. When I sleep, I am not helpless
anymore. I leave behind this ruthless system, this uncaring government and
this societal apathy.

I rise beyond the reach of financial worries, debilitating sadness and constant
fears. When I sleep, I feel optimistic.

For those few hours, there exists the possibility of seeing Ali, even if in a
dream.