HeyJaredJeff Woodke
I’m a writer, poet, speaker and former hostage. On March 20, 2023 I was ransomed out of captivity. I’d been a hostage of Al-Qaida in Mali, Africa for six- and one-half years. Join me as I share what I've learned on my journey back to humanity.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 7
- Latest publication
- Sep 23, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 7, 2026
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LIGHT TRAVELS (opens the original)
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Late. We were too late. The barricade at In-Geuzzam was down for the night. A soldier took our passports and told us to come back in the morning. If the middle of nowhere had a residence, it would be in that fly speck of a border post on the southern edge of Algeria. In- Geuzzam. A refugee camp and a water source were its two claims to fame. Otherwise, its only purpose was as a place for the wind to blow. A place for nowhere to call home.“Where are we supposed to go?” I asked the man who took ou
INDISCRIMINATE (opens the original)
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Violence, Ubiquitous violence. Men and teenagers strapped with AK-47’s or worse, at all times. Target practice, often in my general direction and often daily. Shots over my head to keep me in line, to keep me in nerves, to keep me in fear. The beat of my life was punctuated by rifle fire. Larger caliber automatic weapons, combat knives, and rocket propelled grenades were always around. Once they even had mortars. I was often shown gruesome videos and then laughed at when I turned away. The Mujah
CARRIED WITHIN (opens the original)
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Naked. I wore nothing but blood. It covered me. I’d been stripped of everything else, even my wedding band. Such was my journey into captivity. Harsh, humiliating, and terrible. I was suddenly deprived of all material possessions, including clothing. I abruptly lost all my rights, including the right to information. Was it to be life or death? Was it to be a week, a month, or longer? There were no answers to my questions. Asking even for water brought only more fists, and nothing to drink. It se
STARLIGHT (opens the original)
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I shivered. Rolling myself tighter in my blanket, I tried to find an extra bit of warmth somewhere. There was none. I was wearing every scrap of clothing I had, which was not much. One pair of draw string trousers and a long shirt. Oh, for a warm pair of socks! Winter temperatures in the Sahel drop to 5°C at night, and I was feeling it. Beneath me was the bare ground, above me were the stars. So many stars. The sky was a carpet of tiny bright dots, shimmering in the pale, cold night.Far from any
SHEAR (opens the original)
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Groans. A gentle but persistent creaking keeps cadence with the soft breeze. It fills the spaces between other sounds; the tap of a woodpecker, the chatter of water on stones. It speaks of patience and strength. I wonder for how many centuries has the tree been creaking like that? For how long has it been announcing its struggle against gravity? It’s certainly tall, and most certainly old. The majority of the trees in this grove of ancient redwoods are tall and old. But not all show their resili
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