One of the Libyans receiving medical treatment in Malta spent his summer in Tripoli’s notorious Abu Salim prison and was the fifth to break free when the city was finally liberated last month.

Jubilant about the achievements of his people and impressed by the service at Mater Dei Hospital, he speaks to The Times about his arrest, liberation and everything in between.

Naser Sarraj, 47, worked in one of Tripoli’s hospitals as a doctor but ended up in Muammar Gaddafi’s bad books in February when he felt compelled to remove a picture of the dictator from the maternity ward.

“I don’t know why I did it... It came from inside,” he says with a wide smile, recalling his small act of rebellion against the totalitarian regime.

As he speaks, an alarm-like sound buzzes from the drip attached to his right arm. He calmly fidgets with it for a minute until it stops. After staring at it with curiosity, he continues telling his terrifying story with similar nonchalance.

“I also told some of my colleagues that the Libyan TV stations were not telling us the facts... and I knew some of the nurses worked for the Libyan intelligence.”

These two deeds were enough for Dr Sarraj’s name to be blacklisted in a database of Gaddafi dissidents. However, he was only arrested in June when Gaddafi decided to go back on his initial pledge to forgive troublemakers.

Dr Sarraj was about to cross the border of Tunisia with his wife’s family – who were helping finance the revolution – when the soldiers arrested him, allowing his wife and her family to proceed.

He spent a week at a prison in a nearby town where he was interrogated with fists, whips and “the worst language I ever heard”.

During his week-long stay he saw many others come and go. Aged between 18 and 75, people were imprisoned for such benign acts as having satirical images of Gaddafi on their mobile phones or being in possession of a tiny liberation flag.

“Most of them were educated people,” he says, in near-perfect English.

Many newcomers were freed after a day or two due to family connections or for being apologetic.

But Dr Sarraj was among a group of 17 who were taken to Abu Salim in Tripoli after a week. Beforehand, they were blindfolded, handcuffed, stripped naked, made to wear different clothes and left barefoot.

Abu Salim, notorious for human rights violations, was the site of an infamous massacre in 1996 when more than 1,200 prisoners, who had rioted about their conditions, were killed. This incident, which only came to light years later, is often cited as one of the many issues which inspired this year’s revolution.

“When we arrived they threw us a welcome party,” Dr Sarraj says, keeping a straight face until he breaks into a childlike chuckle and apologises for his sarcasm.

He was placed in a prison cell measuring 2.5 by 1.75 metres. It included a toilet and a small window on the door which the soldiers opened during meal times. But it also included five other men, so they slept like sardines: “Head, feet, head, feet, head, feet...”

Even though the soldiers spoke to the prisoners as if they were rats, the food on offer was, at first, quite decent, including bread for breakfast and couscous or rice for lunch. “Fantastic”, in fact, compared to what the prisoners who had been there for longer were used to. The regime, it seems, was making an effort.

“But there was no medical service at all... They did not care if we lived or died,” Dr Sarraj says, recounting how acutely sick prisoners would cry out in vain only to be scolded or punched for crying too loudly.

As a doctor, he would often give medical advice by shouting from his cell to other prisoners calling for help.

But Dr Sarraj, who is diabetic, experienced the lack of treatment first-hand, when his blood sugar levels dropped and he slipped into a comatose state for a number of hours until his cell mate found some sweets to give him.

“I always collect sweets and keep them near me just in case.”

During this time, Dr Sarraj developed complications for which he is now being treated at Mater Dei.

Eventually, he was transferred to a larger cell which had a window looking out of the prison.

Meanwhile, the violence drew closer to Tripoli. The inmates received their news – sometimes contradictory and difficult to decipher – from newcomers or sympathetic prison guards.

“We were convinced Gaddafi would be finished and that we would not end up in the prison for years. But we thought the soldiers would kill us before they fled, out of revenge.”

One day, one of Dr Sarraj’s cell mates noticed their cell’s 60cm² window was defectively barred: the “cage” was not properly affixed to the stone wall and could easily be removed.

But since they did not know whose forces were winning in Tripoli, they decided they would only escape once they faced certain death in prison.

Eventually, the guards who were meant to monitor the prisoners had to begin protecting the prison from rebel forces. This was also during Ramadan, when mealtimes were reduced to four spoons of pasta and a glass of milk daily. So the prisoners began working discreetly on dislodging the window.

Only a couple of days into their efforts, one of prisoners saw armed freedom fighters just outside the prison and knew it was time to break free.

“We were the first to get out of the prison. I was number five,” Dr Sarraj recalls proudly.

One of the freed prisoners found a store of tools in the prison, so with a hammer and axe in hand, they began liberating their fellow inmates – a process which took two hours.

“Some of us were crying... some were chanting. We were all hugging. We were very happy.”

Everyone was a political prisoner, he says, so there was no tension. Colonel Gaddafi had freed any real criminals beforehand to create chaos. Once liberated, the prisoners were helped by the locals of the village to get to their families.

“Some offered us to stay with them or gave us money to travel. Those who were barefoot were given shoes. The people were very kind and helpful.”

Eventually, Dr Sarraj reached his home and surprised his brother and mother who feared he had been killed months before.

Dr Sarraj’s brother-in-law, who fled to Malta during the crisis to work with the Malta-based NGO Igo-Aid, helped bring him to the island for treatment at the expense of the government.

“I am very happy. I’m a doctor and I studied in Germany. I know hospitals in Tripoli and hospitals in Germany, and I think this hospital is very well-organised. The people are very friendly and skilled. They know what they are doing. I think this is a good example of medical services.”

Dr Sarraj now longs to meet his wife, who in the meantime travelled to Turkey and is waiting for the Tripoli airport to reopen so that she can return. As soon as he is discharged, Dr Sarraj will make plans to reunite with her and the rest of their family. He will then restart his job as a doctor in one of the many hospitals in Libya, many of which, he points out, are short of supplies.

After his summer rollercoaster, the jovial doctor has one appeal for his nation: “Let us learn what freedom means and forgive the acts of the past – the small ones, not the big ones – and build a new Libya with connections to all countries and peoples.”