It was just past 2am when the music blasted us from our sleep. Honduran soldiers had placed high-powered speakers just outside the embassy compound for a night-long, deafening serenade.

One song in particular, Two-legged Rat, was repeated again, and again, and again. The lyrics are not subtle: "Filthy rat/crawling animal/scum of life/ill-made monstrosity/subhuman/mirror image of hell/damned louse/how much damage you've done to me."

When the Mexican singer Paquita la del Barrio performed it she was addressing a former lover, but the Honduran military had a different target in mind: Manuel Zelaya, the ousted president.

A military-led coup toppled him in June but on 21 September he sneaked back into Honduras to lobby for his reinstatement and, to the chagrin of the army and the de facto government led by Roberto Micheletti, found refuge in the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa.

Zelaya's return galvanised domestic and international protests against the new regime, which found itself confronting a public relations nightmare.

Life inside

It has returned the favour by making the leftist leader's life a living hell. In the first two days electricity, water and telephones were cut off, and the embassy remains isolated from the rest of the Honduran capital by heavily armed soldiers and police. Initially Zelaya and more than 300 supporters crammed into 400 sq metres' of mansion. Now that number has dwindled to 46, mostly followers and aides but also five journalists and a Brazilian diplomat.

It is a strange siege. The de facto government dares not storm the embassy and Zelaya dares not leave, knowing he would be arrested. Talks between the two sides have collapsed and no resolution is in sight. Access to the building is restricted, with only UN officials; a local human rights organisation, which delivers food; embassy staff; and three Zelaya envoys allowed to regularly come and go.

The interim government only allows certain kinds of food and goods. Forbidden items include cigarettes, new clothes, sleeping bags, pillows, footballs, batteries, iPods, televisions, cell phones, refrigerators, raincoats, prescription drugs: things, in other words, which could improve the quality of life.

Sniffer dogs are used to check that food does not contain drugs. Sometimes police keep soft drinks and desserts for themselves. Zelaya's food comes separately and is prepared by his daughter because he fears being poisoned.

Three weeks ago, checks took so long that the food went off. Thirty people had diarrhoea, clogging up the embassy's six toilets. Three toilets are reserved for Zelaya, his wife and closest aides.

There are arbitrary rules. For example, fruit outside of meals can only enter with medical prescriptions, and a new lamp can only be exchanged for an old one.

"The Brazilian embassy is a neo-Nazi concentration camp," said Zelaya.

It's an exaggeration, but his daily life here is far from being that of a president recognised by the EU and the US and who is received with honours by heads of state in countries like Brazil and Mexico. Due to security, Zelaya, 57, sleeps on an airbed in the tiny but secluded library. The window faces the backyard, beyond the range of snipers, and at least four security personnel keep guard in the living room next door.

In the first weeks, Zelaya was sleeping in the much larger office of ambassador, but then he thought the room was too vulnerable. He claims he is being subjected to an "electron bombardment with microwaves" which produces "headache and organic destabilisation".

To try to protect from these alleged attacks, all windows of the office where Zelaya spends much of his time with his closest aides or on the phone were covered with aluminium foil, creating a sort of low-budget sci-fi movie set.

This office is also used for meals, the most relaxed moment of the day. Zelaya is always accompanied by his wife, Xiomara, his closest aides and the Brazilian diplomat Lineu de Paula. All use plastic utensils and dishes for meals served in Styrofoam containers. "Zelaya is always in good humour, even in the most critical days. He always chooses a victim for his jokes, but his favourite target is the press secretary, Luis Galdamez," said De Paula, who sleeps in the embassy.

Besides the microwave bombardment, Zelaya also complains about the devices blocking mobile phone signals. On Saturday, he was forced to climb the small hill in the yard of the embassy, the only place where the connection is not cut off after a few seconds.

Cowboy hat

One of the few presidential-like rituals to continue concerns Zelaya's white cowboy hat. One of his bodyguards, Eduardo Muñoz, has the specific function of holding it in the palm of both hands like a crown whenever he takes it off.

Life is harder for Zelaya's followers. Most of them took refuge in the embassy on the second day, after police dispersed a gathering in front of the building. In the beginning, they had to share even the few toothbrushes available, and most of them still sleep on cardboard in the open car park (only Zelaya's top aides and journalists were allowed to bring air mattresses).

The siege is becoming more intense. On 8 October the police set up mechanical platforms across the street with armed guards on top. One week later, those platforms were moved within two metres of the embassy's wall. At the same time, two powerful floodlights were switched on.

The worst days were between 16 and 21 October 16, when army troops and police officers broke the silence in the night with loud noises. In addition to music, they used horns and imitated the screaming of animals, including cats, dogs, horses and cockerels, waking up almost everybody inside.

Last week the Permanent Council of the Organisation of American States (OAS) condemned "the hostile action by the de facto regime against the embassy of Brazil in Tegucigalpa and the harassment of its occupants through deliberate actions that affect them physically and psychologically and violate their human rights."

As Muñoz, Zelaya's hat-holder, observed: "In Honduras, there is a saying that the leather will one day break, either in the thicker or in the thinner side. But one day it will break."