Ruth Sherlock

One of the first places we headed to straight after we crossed the border was Sednaya prison. Tens of thousands of Syrians were jailed there, people suspected of opposing the regime. And under Assad, you wouldn't speak about this place in public. Even if you had, for example, a relative inside, you'd just avoid any association with it.

But now people were crowding into the prison, this enormous complex surrounded by high walls and barbed wire fences on a hill north of Damascus. And they were going because they were going to look for people who'd been jailed there.

But now people were crowding into the prison, this enormous complex surrounded by high walls and barbed wire fences on a hill north of Damascus. And they were going because they were going to look for people who'd been jailed there.

But now people were crowding into the prison, this enormous complex surrounded by high walls and barbed wire fences on a hill north of Damascus. And they were going because they were going to look for people who'd been jailed there.

Hundreds of people walk up the snaking dirt paths that lead up the hill to Sadnaya prison. Many are immaculately dressed, as if they hope that today they might finally meet their loved one that disappeared here. Nader Sabsabi says his brother was detained in 2012. He searches a handwritten ledger he's found with names of the detainees for clues.

Hundreds of people walk up the snaking dirt paths that lead up the hill to Sadnaya prison. Many are immaculately dressed, as if they hope that today they might finally meet their loved one that disappeared here. Nader Sabsabi says his brother was detained in 2012. He searches a handwritten ledger he's found with names of the detainees for clues.

Hundreds of people walk up the snaking dirt paths that lead up the hill to Sadnaya prison. Many are immaculately dressed, as if they hope that today they might finally meet their loved one that disappeared here. Nader Sabsabi says his brother was detained in 2012. He searches a handwritten ledger he's found with names of the detainees for clues.

My brother went out of the house to buy bread. He was stopped at a checkpoint, and that's all we know. Sabsebi has made the hours-long journey from his home city of Dera to here every day since the regime fell to search.

My brother went out of the house to buy bread. He was stopped at a checkpoint, and that's all we know. Sabsebi has made the hours-long journey from his home city of Dera to here every day since the regime fell to search.

My brother went out of the house to buy bread. He was stopped at a checkpoint, and that's all we know. Sabsebi has made the hours-long journey from his home city of Dera to here every day since the regime fell to search.

Most prisoners were released by opposition rebels in the hours after the regime collapsed, but people believe there could be more cells, hidden underground where others might be alive. The commotion, the shooting in the air and people running towards the prisoners because we understand they've managed to open a new door. OK, we're inside the courtyard of the prison.

Most prisoners were released by opposition rebels in the hours after the regime collapsed, but people believe there could be more cells, hidden underground where others might be alive. The commotion, the shooting in the air and people running towards the prisoners because we understand they've managed to open a new door. OK, we're inside the courtyard of the prison.

Most prisoners were released by opposition rebels in the hours after the regime collapsed, but people believe there could be more cells, hidden underground where others might be alive. The commotion, the shooting in the air and people running towards the prisoners because we understand they've managed to open a new door. OK, we're inside the courtyard of the prison.

They've just closed the doors behind us because they want to stop the crowds. They believe they've found something and they need silence. They need calm to try to hear the voices of the prisoners. A rebel shouts for quiet, but it's too chaotic, with hundreds of people combing the jail. Some hack at the concrete floor with metal pipes, a desperate hope that someone could be underneath.

They've just closed the doors behind us because they want to stop the crowds. They believe they've found something and they need silence. They need calm to try to hear the voices of the prisoners. A rebel shouts for quiet, but it's too chaotic, with hundreds of people combing the jail. Some hack at the concrete floor with metal pipes, a desperate hope that someone could be underneath.

They've just closed the doors behind us because they want to stop the crowds. They believe they've found something and they need silence. They need calm to try to hear the voices of the prisoners. A rebel shouts for quiet, but it's too chaotic, with hundreds of people combing the jail. Some hack at the concrete floor with metal pipes, a desperate hope that someone could be underneath.

Anything seems possible in this place that Syrians have known for so long as a centre of torture, where prisoners were hung by ropes, beaten, starved. Isra Kouki says Sednaya is worse than anyone can imagine. A slaughterhouse, she says. Her brother was in here for years. She heard he'd been killed, but never received a death certificate. So all this time, she's kept a shred of hope.

Anything seems possible in this place that Syrians have known for so long as a centre of torture, where prisoners were hung by ropes, beaten, starved. Isra Kouki says Sednaya is worse than anyone can imagine. A slaughterhouse, she says. Her brother was in here for years. She heard he'd been killed, but never received a death certificate. So all this time, she's kept a shred of hope.

Anything seems possible in this place that Syrians have known for so long as a centre of torture, where prisoners were hung by ropes, beaten, starved. Isra Kouki says Sednaya is worse than anyone can imagine. A slaughterhouse, she says. Her brother was in here for years. She heard he'd been killed, but never received a death certificate. So all this time, she's kept a shred of hope.

Outside this section of the prison, we meet Aissa Hosseini. He's searching for his three cousins and asks us what we've seen inside. The Assad regime didn't usually tell families where the detained were held or even if they were still alive. Husseini searched every prison in the capital, every institution. It's too much. Some 100,000 Syrians disappeared into jails like these, say rights groups.