In part one (October 2025), Samuel Wyler was arrested, questioned and imprisoned. In part two (November 2025), Samuel was accused of being a spy and brought before a judge, who stated, “If we don’t find anything suspicious, I will let you go.” In part three (December 2025), Samuel was transferred to the main prison, where he began forming friendships and studying the Bible with several inmates. Realizing that the judge was stalling, Samuel’s hope of a quick release evaporated. Then came the Sabbath test.

Freedom is a precious commodity. This becomes especially clear when it is taken away.

I had already learned this lesson after nine months in prison, and now my freedom to keep the Sabbath holy according to my convictions was being tested. The spring cleaning for our cell room was scheduled to take place on Saturday, just two days away. I did the best thing I could, which was to seek the LORD in prayer. The next day, Friday, I explained my convictions to Karim, the cell leader, and asked if he would request the captain of the guards in our cell block to change the cleaning to Sunday. Riccardo, my Italian friend and Bible student, doubted my request would be honored. But a couple of hours later, Karim came back with the answer: “Okay, they accepted, it’s been postponed to Sunday.” Riccardo was astonished! He immediately spread the word to the others that God had defended the Sabbath.

About two weeks later, on a Wednesday, we were notified that another spring cleaning would take place the upcoming Saturday. (This unusual frequency was part of their strategy to combat bedbug infestation.) Distressed, I spent most of the afternoon in prayer. That very evening, the word on the street began to drift in—this new cleaning had been canceled! Riccardo marveled even more as he testified to everyone how God had answered my prayer.

These two occurrences greatly strengthened my faith. God was fighting for me. I also wanted to be an example for my new Sabbath-keeping brother Liam, who had little experience in this area. Was God allowing these threats for his sake? Perhaps. The biggest test, however, was yet to come.

At summer’s end, what was touted as the last spring cleaning of the year was scheduled once again for Sabbath. By now, Liam understood my firm convictions and wanted to stand with me. Having been in that prison for over ten years, he held some clout with Karim and several of the guards. The Friday before the scheduled cleaning, he spent a good three hours interceding, pleading our case with those in charge. Afterwards, he came to me, “It is no good, Samuel. One of the prison’s higher-ups has made the decision for this Saturday. None of the guards, nor even the captain, can go against him. They won’t budge.”

“But Liam, we can’t do all that work tomorrow, it’s our Sabbath. We will tell them we refuse.”

“They won’t listen, Samuel. If there were more of us, then perhaps, but not for just two of us. We did our best. God will understand.”

LORD, what am I going to do? The situation looks hopeless. There was never a better time for me to fast and pray, which is exactly what I did. On my bed, I poured out my heart to God, pleading for Him to do something. I asked the other Christians to pray. God could send rain, which would force them to cancel. Or change their plan. Or something. Around 3:00 a.m., overcome by fatigue, I finally fell asleep.

Later that morning, I awoke fitfully to the sound of birds chirping outside. The skies were clear. Around 8:30 a.m., the guards called us out of the cell for our usual, five-to-a-row, morning count line-up. I stood at the back of one row, with Liam to my right. At the end of the count, the guard barked his order, “Everything out of the cell!” Everyone broke ranks except for Liam and me. I stood there, frozen in place.

“We tried everything, Samuel. God understands,” he consoled.

“Liam, I can’t. I can’t bring myself to do work today. I just can’t.”
Smiling reassuringly, with resignation, he asserted, “Don’t worry. I will move your stuff for you.”

“No, Liam, I don’t want you to do that.”

“It’s okay,” he insisted.

I felt awful, but I did not know what else to do. Standing there, I was ready to be beaten for not working. But that possibility never materialized.

Liam did help me that day. So did Riccardo. I did my best to avoid work and tried mentally and emotionally to accept what God had allowed to occur. But it was not the miraculous deliverance I had envisioned. Several weeks later, after Liam had read the Pavel Goia story, he confessed to me that his devotion to the Sabbath had been lacking. But I believe God understood—for him and for me.

Besides Sabbath issues, one constant challenge in the foreigner’s cell was dealing with the Muslim versus non-Muslim dynamic. Muslims comprised about half of the 35 inmates in our room. Compared to that, atheists, agnostics and Christians were each minorities. Christians, especially, were often treated like second-class citizens. The core group of Muslims took charge of things and controlled many daily activities, including food distribution, TV viewing, access to showers and cooking, where to hang clothes and allocation of space. In the extremely cramped hallways between sets of triple bunks, there was sometimes one empty bunk where we could store luggage and other belongings. Hallways with few or no Muslims would routinely have this extra space forfeited for new arrivals.

One Muslim inmate, Khalid, was the resident bully. Almost 30 years old, weighing over 250 lbs, with powerful, thick arms and legs and a booming voice to match, he and his buddy guarded the TV remote religiously, flipping and changing channels at will. On one occasion, Khalid had turned on a music video at a fairly high volume. Thomas, an older German in his late 50s, whose bunk happened to be close to the television, politely asked, “Khalid, can you turn down the sound a bit? I have a bad headache.”

“What? Who are you to ask such a thing? You haven’t even been here two months! Just for that, I’m putting the volume up to max!” Khalid fired back.

This was too much. With courage I did not know I had, I approached Khalid, “Come on, Khalid, turn down the volume. He’s older and he’s not feeling well.”
“No way. That guy doesn’t understand how things work in prison,” he retorted, determined to teach Thomas a lesson.

There were a handful of Muslims, though, who did not support this type of dominant social behavior. One was a tall Congolese Frenchman named Anwar. He was kind-hearted, respectful and possessed a gentle spirit. At one point, I began taping Bible verses at the foot of my middle bunk each day, which were visible to anyone walking by. Anwar was the only Muslim who gave positive feedback. Another time, one of the inmates became physically hostile towards me, and when Anwar saw this, he chewed the fellow out, reprimanding him for his lack of respect.

Several times, he sought me out to engage in deep discussion. “Samuel, be honest with me: What do you really think of Muslims?” he queried on one occasion. “Don’t be afraid. Give me your true opinion.” In that moment, I sensed that Anwar was genuinely seeking. Sending up a prayer for wisdom, I tried to answer his question, focusing on beliefs rather than behavior. It was a good talk, one which deepened our mutual respect.

A few months after my arrival, two Americans, both practicing Muslims, were put in our cell. We connected right away, and they were both very open to discussing spiritual topics. Luke, the more outgoing of the two, carried his faith on his sleeve, witnessing at every opportunity. He and I had some intense, even heated discussions, usually about the divinity and Sonship of Christ, and the inspiration and trustworthiness of the Bible. My one attempt to study the Bible with him never got off the ground—he kept interrupting with skeptical statements.

Nonetheless, I could not help liking him. Luke was thoroughly sincere and wanted to honor God in every area of his life, including his health, a topic on which we were equally passionate. Saul, the other American, was more reserved but also open to discussion. When we first met, he even said he wanted to read the Bible. I studied with him two or three times, but then a couple of the other Muslims in the room realized what he was doing and discouraged him from continuing.

Since they had been open to looking at the Bible with me, they challenged me to study the Quran with them. We made an appointment one night to do exactly that. Just as we sat down together and opened the Quran, all the lights went out—total darkness! Coincidence? Riccardo did not think so—he insisted it was divine intervention.

Luke, Saul and I had many positive exchanges over the seven months or so they were there. I considered them genuine friends, for they sincerely wanted me to follow God in truth, just as I desired for them to do.

By early 2025, the investigation into my case was approaching its deadline. About the same time, the U.S. government began putting pressure on this country’s government. A U.S. congressman, a U.S. senator, the U.S. ambassador assigned to the post, other branches of the U.S. government, the crisis management team from AFM, and especially my wife Eve, were all key players fighting for my release. Eve began receiving encouraging updates that something would occur. Still in the main prison, I intensified my prayers that God would restore me to my family. Liam confided that he believed I would soon be released. My hopes were high.

But then, rather than dismissing the charges, the court decided to proceed with the trial. Accused of espionage, I faced life imprisonment if convicted. In late March, they transferred me to the prison in Spider City. The day I left my prison home in the capital, Riccardo hugged the stuffing out of me, almost as tightly as the day he had finally received an Italian Bible. Liam and I also exchanged a tearful embrace.

Imprisoned anew in Spider City, I struggled to entrust my fate to God and keep my spirits up. My daily prayer was an agonized wrestling and pleading with God to spare me from being separated from my loved ones for the rest of my earthly life.

I was the only foreigner in a cell full of nationals. My two closest companions were a convicted murderer and a
convicted drug trafficker, both speaking English well and both atheists. Open to hearing about Christianity, I did my best to share with them, not knowing how long I would be there.

And then, one Sabbath evening as I was praying on my bunk, the cell leader came and told me, “PACK YOUR BAG.” I was going home. Even then they were reluctant to let me go as a handful of guards shadowed me first to my apartment and then to the airport. Thankfully, the U.S. ambassador had me personally escorted to my flight. My long ordeal had ended. On April 12, I was reunited with my family; the next day, we flew home to the U.S.

In a letter I received a few weeks later, Liam shared these words: “As soon as I heard of your release, did I praise the Lord! . . . . God does sustain us in every possible way, and sometimes we forget or do not see that He is there for us! Be assured, I will keep on praying for you until my time on earth is over, that’s a promise! Until one day soon, my friend, may God bless you all.”

As I reflect on Liam, Riccardo and all the others, my heart is drawn to Hebrews 13:3: “Continue to remember those in prison as if you were together with them in prison, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering.” Pray for Liam. Pray for Riccardo. But consider also a broader application of this verse—the people of Atlasland, North Africa, are living in a prison of fear, mistrust and hopelessness, mistreated and suffering at the hands of the enemy of our souls, ignorant of God’s love. What if it were you? As if you, yourself. Friend, what would God have you do for those living in spiritual darkness around the globe? What if it were you?

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