As the federal government pledges to bring some 10,000 privately sponsored refugees into Canada by early next year, the stories of abuse and suffering endured by the first wave of refugees to arrive here are just starting to emerge.

Mohamad Sarkbi, a government-sponsored refugee who landed with his wife and children at Pearson International Airport just a few months ago, recently told the CBC's Yasmine Hassan of his own imprisonment and torture merely for helping families who had nothing to eat.

Sitting at an Arab café, Sarkbi, a former restaurant owner and member of the Free Syrian Army, told of what happened three years ago when he was arrested and tortured, even subjected to electric shocks, and accused of terrorist activities.

Helping others dangerous work

Sarkbi grew up in Hama, where he got married, opened a restaurant and started a family. He used to drive to Damascus to get supplies, some for the restaurant, some for people in the community who were less fortunate than himself.

He said, 'Sit, Mohamad .' I asked if the chair was metal. He laughed. - Mohamad Sarkbi recounts an exchange with a Syrian prison guard

"We would bring them the essentials, sugar, oil, flour... the things that are essential to a home," Sarkbi said.

"We would go out at night, pass them out to the homes and go home. All it was was aid, and we all helped out."

Sarkbi and four of his friends whom he had known for years delivered food to hundreds of homes, especially to women who were alone because their husbands were killed or had been imprisoned, he said. They would also seek donations from people in the community so they could buy more supplies to hand out.

It was dangerous work.

"We would go out at about 10 or 11. Let's say we had four or five houses to pass by. We would go out and give them the boxes and go home," Sarkbi said. "It was very scary because we could hear guns going off around us, and if someone was coming close we would hide."

Sarkbi says he and four friends used to secretly distribute food to the less fortunate, an act that would eventually land him in a Syrian prison where he was subjected to electric shock. (Pavel Golovkin/Associated Press)

This went on for months, he said, until one morning when he was stopped at a checkpoint on his way to work.

"They stopped me, the checkpoint looked normal, the usual things," Sarkbi said. "They asked me for my ID and then the officer told me I was wanted. I told him, 'Why?'"

The guard, whom Sarkbi knew, checked his name against another list.

"The officer that stopped me is a friend of mine. He said 'Mohamad, you're wanted.' I said [to myself], 'Relax... praise God, I haven't done anything. I have my work and my restaurant and I'm going to my restaurant now and he knows me.' He said, 'You're wanted and look, your name is right there.'"

Betrayed by a friend

As it turns out, someone had reported everything Sarkbi and his friends had been doing to government officials.

He was taken to prison, where he said he endured life in a one-metre-by-one-metre cell that he shared with 10 other men. They had to take turns sitting and sleeping.

Sarkbi suffered numerous beatings and he said he was subjected to electrical shocks on multiple occasions when he was taken for questioning..

"I had plastic flip-flops on and they asked me to take them off. ... I did and they poured cold water on my feet. I asked the officer if he was going to electrocute me. He asked if I could see anything. I said no, but I just had a feeling. He said, 'Sit, Mohamad.' I asked if the chair was metal. He laughed. They tied my hands and feet and they started," Sarkbi said.

"I lost consciousness right away. I woke up in my cell and was told I was electrocuted for seven hours."

After 3 1/2 months of beatings and questioning and accusations, Sarkbi's interrogators brought out a laptop that showed photographs of him and his friends, he said. He realized that one of his own friends who had helped him distribute food had betrayed him to the government.

Sarkbi was taken to prison, where he endured life in a one-metre-by-one-metre cell that he shared with 10 other men. They had to take turns sitting and sleeping. (Khaled al- Hariri/Reuters)

"We had small guns with us, just something to protect ourselves with when we went out at night. Not weapons that were big and scary, just something to protect ourselves. Until one of the men with us turned toward the military, the guy that was working with us was the same guy that was spying on us," Sarkbi said.

"I have not seen him since then but I swore to God that I would kill him if I ever see him again. He was a friend. What happened to him so he can go to the other side and change his mind? I have no idea. We were doing something good. We weren't doing anything wrong."

A few days later, Sarkbi said he was called back and he signed a 23-page confession with his fingerprints. He didn't bother asking what was written and what he was signing.

"Asking an officer what's written? You're dreaming," he said. "All you can do is put your fingerprints."

'Alhamdulillah'

Not long after, Sarkbi was transferred to another prison where he showered and was given his wallet and cellphone. His uncle picked him up and took him to the doctor. The wounds on his wrists were so deep that you could see bone, his knee was broken and the skin on his face hurt, he said.

Afterward he went to his mother's house, where he slept. He felt betrayed not only by the friend who turned him in, but by his country.

When he woke up the next day, he decided that he would leave Syria. He went to Jordan with his wife and two children.

Last December, he received word that he and his family had been accepted as government-sponsored refugees. Eighteen days later, they landed at Pearson.

Today, he and his wife are taking English classes, his children are in school, and he finds himself repeating over and over, "Alhamdulillah," meaning "thank God."