In part one (October 2025), Samuel Wyler was arrested, questioned and imprisoned. In part two (November 2025), the police searched Samuel and Eve’s apartment. Thankfully, Eve was not arrested. Meanwhile, Samuel was accused of being a spy. After further interrogation, Samuel was brought before a judge, who stated, “We will search your laptop; if we don’t find anything suspicious, I will let you go.” But that was not to be.

“Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich?” Not masking my famished state, I eagerly accepted the kind offer and settled into a plastic patio chair to watch a little TV as I enjoyed my dinner. Curiously, I surveyed my new home: the foreigners’ cell of the main prison, the largest such facility in the country. A large, barracks-style room, this cell was about 15 yards long by seven yards wide, its walls lined with triple bunk beds for a capacity of about 40 men. Stacked duffel bags, boxes and various belongings climbed high along the walls’ upper shelves. A flat-screen TV sat perched above the door. Inmates were reading, chatting, playing board games and watching soccer on TV. The room and beds looked decidedly comfortable, almost cozy, especially compared to the facilities from which I had just come.
Over the next few days as I began to mingle, I found a group of mixed nationalities: Germans, Russians, French, Italians, Dutch and even one other American. Over half were in for drug trafficking or drug-related offenses, and a few even for murder. Two other men were being charged as spies, just like me. One of them, a Russian-Irish young man of about 30, had come to “Atlasland” on a five-day vacation. Naturally, he had taken scores of pictures, but unknowingly, a few had been of government buildings and even one or two of a military base. He had already been detained for thirteen months awaiting trial.
Almost from the outset, I was able to ascertain who the other Christians were: including Catholics, there were six of us. Within the first week, I tried to organize regular meetings for Bible study and prayer. This was partly due to the commission God had given me to be His witness in prison. But besides this, I had to stay busy, had to keep from dwelling on the separation from my wife and children.

I filled my daily schedule with a variety of activities: reading, studying languages, teaching French and English, and Bible studies. Each day, we also were granted outside time in the concrete yard—one hour in the morning and half an hour in the afternoon. It was a time to exercise, catch some sun or socialize with others. A daily highlight was the 7:00 p.m. news from France, which kept us informed on the outside world.

My previous hope of being released in two weeks slowly evaporated. Eve and one or more of the children were allowed to visit once a week for fifteen minutes, speaking to me by phone across a glass partition. Throughout each week, I would list everything I wanted and needed to tell her, then cram it into that quarter of an hour. As you can guess, one question I usually had was, “Is there any news on my case?”
Early on, the judge seemed close to wrapping up my investigation, saying he needed one more month. But then he kept repeating this same refrain. After five or six months, the lawyer and I realized that he was stalling. In that political climate, all government officials feared being on the hook for a major decision, especially if it turned out to be the wrong one. Mine, being a high-profile case, an American accused of being a spy, intensified this fear. With the U.S. government seemingly hesitant to intervene, we had no choice but to wait.

As I gradually came to terms with my new life as a prisoner, I determined not to let discouragement overtake me.
I made a concerted effort to reach out to and befriend others. Across from my lower bunk was the bed of an Italian named Riccardo. Sunny, affable and warm, he and I quickly became friends. Raised as a Catholic, he wore a blue, plastic crucifix around his neck, each time kissing it after we prayed. That cross was his tangible lifeline to God. Though he was not very intellectually inclined or well-read, I was surprised when he agreed to do an in-depth, one-on-one Bible study with me.

This was Riccardo’s first time reading the Bible. Using a French translation, we started in Genesis and slowly went over the stories. He absolutely loved it, eating up Scripture like a hungry child. After each study, he would immediately share what he had learned with another traditional Catholic, a Frenchman, one of his close friends. He soon began to dream of having his own Bible in Italian.

Several months into my imprisonment, an older Russian man named Nikita joined our group of prisoners. In his late sixties, he moved gingerly and battled a heavy cough. Because of this, most prisoners avoided him. Feeling sorry for Nikita, I started talking to him and discovered he was an Adventist! Well, sort of. He had been disfellowshipped from the Church in Moscow due to some financial affair, but still considered himself a believer. Even so, Nikita had some strange ideas. He was obsessed with vultures, believing that by observing their behavior, we could learn important life lessons. And one of his heroes was Joseph Stalin. Nikita was convinced the history books had gotten it all wrong about his character.

Despite these odd beliefs, Nikita and I became good friends, and I tried to look out for him as best I could. Studying the Bible with him was difficult because he kept trying to espouse his unusual theories, but I believe I was able to show him the love of God through our time together.

Making life in prison work required ingenuity. Upon entering, the guards confiscated anything resembling rope or strings, such as our belts, shoelaces and any clothing elastic ties. To compensate, we would take the labels off plastic water bottles and twist them, creating a strong tie to cinch our pants or shoes, or as clothespins, the most common usage. Some prisoners took metal tops from tin cans, broke them in half and presto, you had a chopping knife for vegetables. Most creatively, some took empty tubes of toothpaste, turned them inside out, shaping them into long, thin strips, and then, by pouring a little olive oil over them, had homemade burners for cooking.

Tap water bucket showers were the norm. In the winter, when the temperatures dipped into the low 50s, the Russian-Irish tourist made a point of waiting until 11:00 p.m. to take his daily shower. It was his rite of endurance, a victory, as he called it. Though I tried to take my shower much earlier than that, it was still cold. I, too, claimed victory each time I survived one of those teeth-clattering showers. Hot showers were offered once a week, but the water was borderline scalding, and vying for a shower stall within the 10-15 minute limit was stressful and chaotic.

As we slept, bedbugs made numerous appearances. One night, I killed eleven of them around my pillow in less than half an hour. Yet even in this, God was gracious towards me, for a bedbug never once bit me.

Three months into my incarceration, I started a story-based Bible study with the two Dutch inmates, Liam and James. Liam and I soon began to connect more deeply as friends. Blond, tall and slender, he came from a Dutch Reformed background, and his relationship with God was already strong. He was curious about my particular Adventist beliefs, and I sensed that God was leading me to take a chance. So one day I posed the question, “Hey Liam, would you be interested in doing a study on SDA doctrines?”

“Sure, I would like that very much!” he responded. Now I had my work cut out for me. I had to recall all the doctrines, order them in a proper sequence, then locate all the Bible verses to create studies, without any internet or other resources.

God was with me, for after two or three months of study, Liam came to me one day: “Samuel, we have studied the doctrines together, I have prayed about it, and I think I want to become a Seventh-Day Adventist!”

Why was Liam in prison? For murder! In his early twenties, Liam decided to marry a young lady from Atlasland, North Africa, as a result of their online relationship. Four months into his marriage, though, he realized that she had married him only to obtain European citizenship, not out of sincere love. After he confronted her about it, she jumped off the balcony of their third-story hotel room. Did she really intend to commit suicide? Maybe not. Regardless, in that shame-honor Middle Eastern culture, via inside connections, her parents rigged the court system to find Liam guilty of her death. He has already served twelve years of a twenty-year sentence. His family back in Holland has made every effort to negotiate for his pardon and release to no avail.

Now this wrongfully accused, godly young man in his mid-thirties was making a profession of faith to join our church! We continued our studies, and I also shared some books with him that Eve had brought me, like Pavel Goia’s story and Bruchko. He devoured them. He polished off Bruchko in seven hours straight. “Samuel, you have opened a whole new world to me,” he repeatedly said.

Liam became my best friend in that prison. We spent many a day talking, praying, and dreaming together of the future. At this point, Liam decided to start keeping the Sabbath.  Surely Satan was not pleased, for soon thereafter we were all notified, “The next big cleaning will be this Saturday.”  That meant that all our belongings, including our bedding and mattresses, had to be taken out to the concrete yard while they thoroughly washed and disinfected the cell room.  This had already taken place three or four times since my arrival, but always on a weekday.  But now it was scheduled on the Sabbath!  At those words, my heart sank.  Casting my burden on God in prayer, I was encouraged and formulated a plan. 
I knew what I had to do.

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