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Abu Ismail is sitting on a sofa as he speaks. The tape recorder sits on a low table in front of him, absorbing his voice, and the noise of mopeds and people from the alley outside. He is in his mid-sixties, but looks perhaps a little older. 

Days go by...

This is my fifth day of curfew, a new experience for me having left here last October and not being subjected to this new form of occupation.