Part 8 – our supplies & food looted

 

The children were safe; no one got hurt beside the frantic moments some passersby noticed women and children sleeping under the RV.


Few chaotic noisy moments followed as more curious people came to ask what is the matter, most of us got out of the RV to see what’s going on outside, it was noisy as the mob of people surrounded our RV. Some kids woke up screaming and crying as they got out from under the car, some realizing their parents were gone and some were afraid due to strangers pulling them out from under the RV as they woke up from their sleep.


The yelling subsided as everyone yelled at my dad to move the car, the traffic begun to move, my dad was still shaken, he was too upset to drive, he got mad at the mob yelling and shouting orders at him. He drove a bit out of the way and parked the RV and let traffic move.


We were scared to ask him to please drive; he was angry!


He walked away from the RV climbed a small hill hear by. We started to cry and wondered what was he doing? People kept passing us walking, on horsebacks, by cars and carts dragging elderly people and/or their belongings. My dad just stood there up that hill. No one approached him for few long agonizing minutes…


It was moments before the sun come up, the cloud cleared and it was getting brighter but it was still muddy and cold.


A young man neighbor of ours who was in our RV summed up the courage and went up the hill to speak to our father to carry on; we all looked on and watched the frustration on our dad, talking and pointing at the car and pointing at himself and rubbing his face. We knew later that he was shaken up by the thought of him unintentionally killing those women and children who took refuge from the storm underneath.


He came down and inspected the cart the RV was hauling, it contained food and cooking necessities and big bags of rice, sugar, beans, flour, cans of cooking oil, gasoline for the RV etc., he was furious to see the food and most supplies and gas was stolen, and the tarp he used to cover everything was gone, possibly for people shielding themselves from the storm.


The big bag of rice and bean was bloated and expanded from rain water. It was all ruined and wasted away, we lost over a week worth of food and supplies due to looting. The cart had nothing left in it but the over bloated bag of rice and beans with soaked blankets. Dad was furious and refused to move the RV, he wanted us all to get out of the RV to assess what we have to survive inside the RV, plus our brother needed his wound dressing changed.  We wondered outside with people still rushing by us… our mother with the other ladies passed food around as we stood out in the cold.


Then the shouting begun from all around us, almost like waves or words from the back of the crowed all the way passed us, ‘the army is closing in on us, move, move, the helicopters are coming, the army is in our town already’.


We looked behind us, we saw in the distance as the crisp sunlight came up in the horizon, we saw black smoke in the distance, the echo of the bombing was very faint but it was there… it was scary.
The cars started rushing and honking, the people who camped on the ground to rest, sleep or eat, packed everything up and started walking.


One by one we got into the RV, it took a long time, very long time to merge that giant RV back into the rush of cars, no one would give us room. Not an inch until few men from our RV got out and yelled at the people and the drivers to let us into the road, (For God’s sake, let us merge, we have a wounded man and we need to get in. he might die if we don’t get into the Red Cross, let us in!)
With few hesitant driver and ugly words exchange, we managed to get back into traffic. We all breathed a sigh of relief, and we moved on.



As we passed, we saw a young woman with few children begging, pleading with people passing by to help her burry her deceased father. No one could help her, we passed her as she carried on begging people. We kept driving.
We passed by a family begging for help, their child died and they want help burry the child… we kept driving.
We passed by a man yelling and angry at people, with toddler and young child in his hand, begging, ‘please please help me, my wife in going into labor, pleaes, can you please help me. Please!’. We kept driving. The sounds of bombs in the distance made people rush even faster.
We passed by children crying and calling out for their parents, parents shouting out their children names; it was all heart breaking but we kept driving.
Cars breaking down in the middle of the road or run out of gas, left in the road and the people carried on.

this is a photo of one of the many graves of the people that died during the mass refugees escape in 1991, photo was later taken in 1992 with UNHCR & UN Guards helping in Kurdistan

Part 7 – the wounded brother

 

Long before the sun comes up the first morning after we escaped, I opened my eye, my aching body hurt as I tried to move it in that confined space under the passenger seat of the RV. 

I looked at the driver seat, I see my dad sleeping in a very awkward position with his glasses still on his face in a crooked way. I hear everyone in that RV asleep but every inch of movement stirred up whimpering, aching, or a complain of one sleeper discomforting another… Few painful moans mainly came from our brother who was in tremendous pain… Any bump near his body makes him shout in pain.


His body was ravaged by that tank shell that exploded just short meters off of him that even his face was covered with black spots.. Shrapnel pieces still impeded in his legs, from the bottom of his foot to his hip.

He lost chunk of his buttocks and his small toe. He lost a lot of blood and beside the pain he was in, he was at risk of contacting flesh eating bacteria that he may loose all his leg or worse, his life.
He was in a lot of pain and was in need of medical attention, stay at a hospital for few weeks.


That thought terrified our dad and he was determined to get him to the nearest possible medical help, since leaving his son at the local hospital was not an option… He was an injured fighter who not only deserted the Iraqi Army but also fought with the Kurdish fighters against the Iraqi Army. Each of those reasons could get him executed by the retaliating army that was sweeping through and forcibly  gaining power back from all the liberated zones in northern Iraq (Kurdistan) with the use of his army, his tanks, jet fighters and helicopters. The rumor of the notorious ‘Republican Army’ was also deployed at front lines scared us to death.


Those men in the Republican Army were viciously trained, with no mercy on their heart. I remember as a school girl taken to large spectating national events to watch displays of the army, the solders, the tanks roaring through the big field: one of the displayed traumatized me as I was very young along with my school friends we were shown a group of men, they called them (The Republican Army, Special Forces) El-Harras El-Jamhoory, Qua’at Kh’assa الحرس الجمهوري، قوات خاصة
The display of about 6-8 men, dressed in black were put in the front and center of the huge track field, they closed all the gates and announced for all of us to see those men’s strength, agility and ‘bravery’ as they call it.


The announcer got the men to show the crowed some fighting skills. They released 2 rabbits into the field, a black one and a spotted black and white one.
The crowed started to cheer loudly as those men scattered and with amazing incredible speed, captured a fast running rabbit, they captured it and within seconds the second one was captured… They ripped the rabbits alive, tore both into pieces with their bare hands and chews it’s flesh, threw the carcass into the ground and stood in line and saluted the leader who was sitting there above us…
Saddam Hussein then stood up, and saluted them back, the entire arena erupted with cheers for the ‘brave’ men. I keep looking at the blood all over the dirt track field and what’s left of the two rabbits. My friends and I cried but our teacher ordered us to start chanting cheers and clap -to also stop crying.


With that image of the Republican Guards in my mind and with the news of the terror they’re inflicting on the people who were left behind I was scared .. My wondering mind was awaken by the shouting and honking of the cars behind us, the traffic begun to move and my dad was shaken from his seat.

I saw him frantically start the car while rubbing his sleepy eyes… The engine of the car started, he shifted the gears and just about to start moving an inch before the screaming people yelled and yelled at my dad to STOP THE CAR, hitting the RV with their hands… STOP THE CAR!
There were children sleeping under our RV. 

Part 6 – 35 people living in 3 person RV

 

The night got darker and darker but the rush of people speaking as they pass our car was very clear that they were determined to reach the borders and be as far and safe away from the army that is at our tail…

It started to rain, the traffic stopped completely… for a long period of time, we didn’t move an inch… the rain and the hail begun and continued… it was cold and muddy and very wet outside, the traffic stopped but may people kept walking, we could hear from the darkness the voices of men shouting at their family to keep moving, .. we heard children moaning and crying and protesting that they can’t walk any longer, they were begging their father to stop.
‘please stop’ they would cry, ‘take us home, Baba’

I couldn’t see them… but I hear them as if they were inside the car.

The rain got heavier as the thunder, lightning and hail came along.

we can hear the hail falling like rocks on the roof of the RV…

Some of them tried tirelessly knocking on our doors and windows to let them in, ‘please, just take out children, its cold and muddy, they will die out here, please let our children be inside please’
it was painful for my father to -at some points, tearfully apologizing to them they he can’t, if he have room he would..

 He welcomed few men to enter to believe with their own eyes that there was no room for a single extra person in that RV.

He would tell them, this is designated to accommodate 3 adults, but see, there are 35 people here including an elderly blind woman and a severely injured young man.

 Please understand, I can not accommodate anyone here, please understand, I am really sorry.


….((( forgive me folks, this is very emotionally hard for me to recall & relive… allowe me some time, and I will continue))

Part 5 – This is not happening

 

‘this is not happening!’

‘this is not happening!’

I kept whispering as we were all put into the RV… A neighboring family joined us… It was so hard to move about inside… It was so tight, my dad kept shouting at us not to bother grandmother and our injured brother.

As the wheels of the RV rolled out oh so slowly of of the driveway, I was standing at the back sitting partially on the small sink… In the small back window I glanced at our house wondering if we would ever be back home again… Then beyond my control my voice kept whispering, ‘this is not happening!’

I wished all the noise in the car would stop, I wished my grandmother stop shouting and protesting, I wish my siblings stop fidgeting and arguing about who sits where… I wished my brother wasn’t hurt, so we could have more room to sit, I wished we didn’t allow more people into our RV, I wished I had room to sit my bottom down… I wished my dad would stop yelling at us..

Most of all I wished my dad would just stop the car and take us home, I wished the army would miraculously stop in their tracks and declare peace.



I felt my body shiver as my eyes wide open, I gasped the moment the RV turned into the main street, there were literally thousands upon thousands of cars and people flooding through the streets all heading in two direction… Out of the city, heading east towards Iran borders or north to Turkey borders.

I was not the only one gasping, everyone in the car did too, my mom begun to sob out loud, the rest of us begun to cry out loud, some of us cursing and saying very bad word about Saddam Hussein and his regime…

Thousands of people men, women, children walking or being carried by parents all around us, young and old, some were so old they are carried by stretchers… Wounded people with bandaged heads and arms or chest or on crutches all walking… At all times it looked like cars were on the streets but you could not see the road… You could not see the ground for km after km… It was covered with people!
Waves upon waves of people surrounding our RV as my dad very slowly drove through the streets… The road that led into the first highway out of the city of Sulimanyah used to take us 10minutes…on that faithful night it took us about 4-5 hours… As the night came over us, the people kept walking non stop…



If I can forget all what I been through during that ordeal, the one thing I can never forget is the first cry of mother searching for her child who got lost in the crowd, then another mother started shouting her child’s name, then a father yelling his son’s name,….. The voices of parents and sibling crying and calling out the names of missing child(ren), sounds that pierced my heart in ways I can never forget…

The shouting kept on and on, with people knocking on our RV doors and windows begging us to allow them in or take their children inside…

I remember a man begging to climb over top of our car to get a view of the crowed in hopes to see his missing child… My dad wouldn’t allow him because the traffic was moving and he was didn’t want to be left behind nor he wanted anyone on the roof in case they fall and hurt of if they break the roof it would be disastrous…

The crying of people searching in the dark for the babes was excruciating and painful… I eventually fell asleep with my ears tightly covered by my hands.

I slept in the space under the dashboard of the passenger seat with my knees to my chin. I was 19 years old.

Part 4 – Leaving it all behind

 

;

The fear and tension begun to build up till we could hide no more, the government and its powerful troops from the ground and air got stronger and crept closer and closer.. the Mujahideen Khalq (The anti Iran fighters/mercenaries) fought along side the Saddam army helping them regain the control of all the liberated zones in Erbil, Dahook, Sulimanyah and outskirt of Kerkuk that was fiercely fought and Kurdish fighters retreated as they could fight that force no longer…

the news spread like wild fires from mouth to mouth from one house to another …. we heard of terrors the army was inflicting on anyone they encounter in the liberated zone, the blood was in the streets as the army crept close and closer, we heard of entire hospital gutted in flame with people in it.
we heard of helicopters shooting and long long grid-lock of traffic of people trying to escape the fight… we heard even life stocks were not spared.

the mounting fear of the immanent death we will face if we stayed at home could contain us no more; street begun to fill with people carrying whatever they can and their kids and some even their animals, hear east to the Iranian borders or North to the Turkish borders…
…..
my father came home with my wounded brother with a bag of medical supplies that would help with his dressing change of his massive leg injury.
in the RV, my brother lay there with his leg stretched,  my dad got my mother that afternoon to stuff every covered cupboard with food necessity and cooking utensils etc.
he got all of us to pack on small bag of personal belongings, one small school size bag, we were prepared to leave and never return, that was the impression.

I cried, I cried and shook as I contemplated what to take and what to leave behind…. it was very scary to consider to stay just as scary is to leave it all behind… scarier even to think that we may not be able to run fast enough to stay alive. can’t give up, must pack, must go.

before the midnight hour of April 1, 1991 we begun to fill the RV with our needed items and my dad was rushing us to put our stuff in the car, he was angry when some of us wanted to bring dolls or toys or books or extra shoes or even our music Walkman… he yelled at us, ‘we may not be able to make it out there… just bring items that we need to survive, clothes, hygiene items  medicine and food’
some of my younger sister I remember screamed and cried as my dad took their stuffy and their bag full of toys and carried them into the car, warning us ‘watch out for your brother, he’s badly hurt and need all the space you can give him, lets protect him’

my grandmother at that time was in her late 80s she was unwell, begun to loose her sight and the dementia symptoms were clearly affecting her and her mood.

she was very confused and angry and kept yelling at my dad to take her back to her house in Baghdad. she yelled, ‘let me talk to Saddam, am sure he will listen to reasons, let me talk to the solders, they will listen to old lady, they know who I am, they will let us all go home’
oh, Grandma, she kept conversing and trying to convince my dad that she did not want to go. she hated being stuck in the same tight space with the noisy kids (she called us BUGS) ‘Ooohhhh hasharaaaat’ in Arabic it means bugs.

she was put into the RV in a small corner with her precious purse and her little travel bag and he blanket. she was so angry and I remember hearing her cry, tears from her eyes as she whispered ‘if I can only see, I will find my way home, I do not want to be here’

we had our two fragile individuals in the RV and dad yelled and he got us all in one by one by one, yelling at my mother to stop cleaning the kitchen, ‘stop cleaning, they army may demolish our house when they come… now hurry, get in the car!’

my mother trying to wipe away her tears and pretend she’s not crying, she said ‘maybe if they see a clean house, they might not demolish it’

‘what would they think of the woman of the house when they come here?’ she mumbled and complained as she entered the car, she would not let my dad shut the door as she out loud called each and every one of us by name, ‘Lena? where are you, Shereen?, Amin are you here? Nasreen, Roxanne, Lozan are you all here? I see Dalan? are you ok Dalan, Akeen ? where is Akeen? is she in her uncle’s car? ok! Fairuz good you are here, where is your son ‘Kamal’ where is he?   oh, there in driver seat,,, (Fairuz’ son 1st birthday was April 2 1991)

My mother got inside the car with her face white and she was terrified of what was going to take place…



There were few relatives with us, also 3 cars followed us. one was carrying my sister.
we drove off with neighbors frantically clinging to the car begging to be taken in the RV with us; we had 35 people in the RV as we drove out of our street on that fateful dark night.

*the photo is from the inside of our house in Sulimanayah… taken in summer 1992 (1 of my sisters is not in this photo), I am the one with my hand under my chin.

Part 3 – Sweet Reprieve

 

We celebrated the Kurdish New Year on March 21, 1991 (NewRooz) for the first time ever in freedom. there were dancing in the streets, chanting freedom songs and cheers, feast, happiness all around the city. happiness I have never felt in my life… it was the kind that made the cheeks hurt from non stop smiling…



despite the celebration we knew the worst was yet to come. we knew such powerful government with an iron fist leader can not give up so soon, but as the news spread of the Allied Forces leaving Iraq territories… we couldn’t believe it, we heard the President of the USA, The Commander in Chief saying to us, raise up against your leader.
to us, this meant ‘we go your back’ get up and fight.
but to our dismay, the government detoured it’s powerful army, what’s left of it straight towards the liberated Kurdish cities …
it became so scary we could hear it, smell it and feel it in our chest… it was terrifying… from the distance, we hear the bombing …. the news got worse and worse from the radio…

My eldest brother was in the military base situated on the outskirts of northern Baghdad, he was in the army since he turned 19, in 1989 it was a mandatory for all able men to do so.

My dad pulled one of his scariest stunts ever on the intense first hours of the Desert Storm war, he drove the RV into the military base, with bombs exploding and anti aircraft guns going nonstop overhead. It was night, my brother was operating the radar.
My dad shouted his name, called him into the RV and drove out of that base.
That was a crime punishable by immediate execution the moment he’s found, on the spot.
My dad was determine, he had that intense feeling that it’s a lost war and the government will fall. There is no way he’s sacrificing his son for a mad man (Saddam Hussein). My dad hid my brother under the couch of that rv as he drove back to Sulimany bringing his son home alive.

Numerous military check points stopped my dad and twice the entire rv was searched. They couldn’t find my brother.
When he arrived home my mom passed out on the floor from pure joy of seeing her son and the terror of what will happen to him if /when the government finds out..
After the uprising and the celebration, my brother volunteer to fight alongside of the Kurdish fighters.

He was ambushed near the city of Kerkuk by the Mujahedee khalq.
A tank shell exploded beside him … He was barely alive as his fellow fighters pulled him out of danger.

After surgeries and few units of blood, he gradually started to get better but my dad pulled him out of the hospital with the rest of us into that rv, on April 1 in the late late hours of the night, we escaped next to millions.. Escaping a brutal army of Saddam Hussein…. His army was regaining powers back to control the region the Kurds have liberated.

Part 2 – The Red Building fall

 

 

After long nights in the dark and the fear of dying from the fierce fights that was raged on for the past few days between the Kurdish fighters (Pesh Margah) and the government of Saddam Hussein in early March 1991, there was loud shouts of victory.
we emerged out of our basement after the men in the house investigated outside and made sure it was safe to be out… it was early in the evening… the triumphant joyful shouts and cheers of many was so loud we could hear it form all around the city of Sulimany.
some ran and cheered to make sure everyone knew, the government fell. Some sang and danced, some shot bullets up in the air in a celebratory way. Some congratulated people and some even erupted in loud cries remembering their loved ones that were killed in the hand of the government. I was just giggling … giggling and laughing out loud in disbelief that such powerful military government can fall in the hands of Kurdish fighters who’s been mercilessly and systematically killed in the hands of Saddam and his thugs, in the name of Baa’th Party.

The disbelief of all of us and loud laughter turned into tears, we cried and looked at each other, hugged and laughed while crying and some of us hurried to dress up and wear shoes & go out in to the city and see how our city looked without the government.

The fear-stricken town and its people were in fear no more. All we feared was stray bullet falling from the sky from all those celebratory shots up in the air…

We hugged random people and congratulated each other as we walked the 2 blocks towards the infamous police station/ intelligence headquarters.

We continue to laugh, cry and say ‘I can’t believe this is happening’ as we approach the brave Kurdish fighters, some of them where being treated on the side of the road for wounds etc., we thank them and ask them to reassure us, ‘did the Baa’th really fall?’
they answer ‘yes, those cowards are gone … ((Bezzhee Bezhee Kurdistan)) –Long live, Long live Kurdistan))

That continued until that (Red Building) came to our full view. It was terrifying from there on. Every step we took it got uglier and uglier. The smell of burning rubber, papers, wood and flesh was in the air. Smoke was coming from the building and some rooms were still engulfed in fire but people were so hysterical of the fact that the government fell, they were entering the building to see with their own eyes what’s inside.

Besides, some where there for the looting; some –like us where there for the sheer curiosity of what was behind those walls.

There were dead bodies of men dressed in green Baa’th party uniforms with their blood trailing more than a block down the street, some were burned and some just got shot before our eyes are they pleaded with the mobs who were chanting celebratory cheers & pointing guns at anyone in uniform.

It was horrible… some men were in military uniforms… some were strangely in pajamas. We were told they fought for the past few days non-stop that’s why they not even dressed.

I saw with my own eyes, execution chambers, crematorium inside that building, torturing rooms, prisons as small as walk in showers –inside it, a bucket for toilet, portable cabins with beds and camera installed at the other end of the room, ripped clothes of women and even little girls underwear, women prison with walls covered with words of desperate women writing their last ever written words. Desperate sad, scary words….

The days the followed, were happy filled with celebrations but mounting fear became real as the regime gathered his army and was heading straight towards our town. Armed with jet fighters, helicopters, tanks and strong army that was pulled from the Kuwait borders.

Also the (Mujahedeen Khalqu) the Anti-Iranian fighters who were being harbored by Saddam’s government were utilized by our desperate leader to fight alongside the army to gain power of the northern Iraq.

The threat became stronger and stronger as the Allied Forces backed out of Iraq and left us to fend for ourselves.

Part 1 – The Kurdish Uprising 1991

 

 After many dark nights, deafening air strike sirens, heavy military presence in the city and food and water shortage the news came about of the Desert Storm operation is over. It was Feb 27, 1991 my 19th birthday.

The government of Saddam Hussein kept it’s tight grip on civilians as it became weaker with the rumor that the government is falling and Saddam is dead.

A radio station came about announcing the Kurdish Uprising is underway and one village after another, one small town after another we heard on the radio are falling to the hands of the Kurdish fighter (Pesh-Margah)… We anxiously awaited each moment of the day the news as the brave fighters drew nearer and nearer to our city.

They recruited fighters as the liberated each area out of the hand of the regime. Exposing with every liberated village the horror stories of atrocities committed against the Kurdish people in the hand of the government. It fueled up the passion and bravery in the heart of many to rise up and fight.

The day came when the fighters surrounded the city of Sulimanyah. I remember to this day at the wee hours of March 1991 I snuck outside. The city was under complete curfew not a soul was allowed outside or even visible by military scattered all through the town. Sirens and helicopters was repeatedly  announcing the curfew.

That early moments before the sun rise, I stepped into our balcony… It was absolute silence. It was scary, silence… I smelled gunpowder in the air as from the distance sounds of fire exchange between the fighters and the government begun.

With every passing hour, the shelling, bombing, shooting, explosions got closer and closer… tanks crushing the pavement of the street behind our house as they rolled one after another. We lived in a large house 2 blocks away from the red building (central intelligence) police station. It was such a tightly guarded building, even as little girls walk by and curiously looked at the guards or the building, the guards would point thier riffle at us and shout at us to look away.

The fiercest fighting that lasted over 2 days took place at that building… The army fought for 24hrs non stop as they circulated randomly shelling with mortar shells or rapid propelled grenades neighboring homes continually from the roof of the red building. One of those rapid propelled grenades hit our house and blew up windows of our bedrooms above. As we took shelter in our basemen… see in the picture of our house, the very top right of the picture you see the broken wall.

It was loud and scary but with triumphant results of liberating our city from the government of Saddam Hussein. As the news of the city falling came about, people cheered, shot bullets into the air and some even danced in the street.

There was unpleasant scenes of remains of government agents all over the city.. Very unpleasant sights. Mortifying and scary… We saw with our own eyes what was inside that red building. It was shocking, horrifying and sad beyond words.

RV that I belive, saved our lives

 

 

This vehicle saved our lives, during the mass refugee escape of Kurds of Northern Iraq in Spring 1991, we lived for 16 days & 16 nights in it.

A recreational vehicle that comfortably accommodate max 3 individuals, at one point there were 35 people in it including a badly wounded brother with mortar shell shrapnel pieces still imbedded in his body from the bottom of his feet to his lower back, and a blind/ disoriented 97 year old grandmother… and the rest of us and relatives and neighbors and few people who just could walk no more, or had to save their children so they ‘toss’ them into our RV…

I will blog the full story of those days; the days leading to that event and the days after all was over.

Life’s good

 

It’s such an easy choice to make to be carried away with my sad feelings some days… 

Struggling with anxiety and some lovely genes I carried from my parents, depression, my sad lonely days comes so naturally to me… It’s as easy as breathing; can be triggered by things many consider ordinary.

To top this condition I have something called PTSD due to over two decades of my young life I lived in war torn country of Iraq also a Kurdish person in Arab dominated country being systematically eliminated by the regime of the former leader of Iraq.

Simple events like Halloween fire crackers during the night to this day triggers my PTSD symptoms… It’s not as paralyzing as it used to be.

Reliving fearful moments of the past hurt my mind hurt my soul. Meditation, therapy, loving family members who knows me well, friends that care about me, a loving husband who knows exactly when I need a hug, and most of all the choices I make that can distance me from what hurts me and what brings me closer to what pleases me. Blogging about my story helps as well.
I take it one day at a time and see the beauty in what many see as ordinary.   

Children exposed to public excution

 

It happened before many times but this time it stuck in my memory so vividly due to the close call of possibility of it being the last time our father managing to protect us from witnessing public execution.

For a lack of a better word, it was the norm! In any given classroom at any age, we were pulled out of our classroom by armed guards to assemble outside school ground – not very far walking distance, to witness public execution of youth refusing to join the military, deserters, accused of being spies or simply an enemy of the Baa’th Party….

You can be an enemy of the Baa’th party by simply criticizing the government or God forbid, the leader Saddam Hussein.
My father from as early as I remember worked up himself to exhaustion and to point of loosing his breath just to protect us from the mandatory witnessing and cheering on with the crowed public execution forced on school children. Few times I remember other friends joining us in escaping such events, as scary as it sounds, my dad did not like or approved of the government or its ruling regime nor Saddam Hussein himself.
My Dad disobeyed many rules strictly enforced by the regime and for reason I can not yet grasp, got away with it using his very best words. It's still beyond me how he did it but one day I hope to know.
Strict rules for instant were that of each… And I mean it each house in the entire country of Iraq was to display a framed portrait of the leader. Not a poster, not newspaper photo (which by the way dominated each and every front page of any/all Iraqi daily newspapers) and never ever a photo taken by private camera… We were never allowed to take photos of him or his guards or his car or even his castles or his entourage.

The portrait to be displayed in the house is to be of the only approved/allowed portraits by the authority.
Until the spring or summer 1991 my dad never allowed a single portrait of Saddam in the house..And that was for just mere minutes before the guards came inside.
There were random neighborhood curfew enforced and both ends of the streets are shut down and surrounded by military personnel and Baa’th men and occasionally women standing by as teams searched houses for anything from youth not serving in military to possible anti-government propaganda and inspecting homes for having portrait of Saddam on wall and properly framed.
Sometimes we heard screams of mothers calling out to the men to have mercy… But after loud men yelling and shouting we hear bullets shot.
Mothers screaming louder and wailing… If son discovered have escaped military or old enough but not serving or they resisted the house search This happened.
No police, no court system no investigation… They deal with things right there and then.
While such events took place, we sat in our house literally frozen with fear because no spectators allowed out while the curfew was imposed on a neighborhood. I remember the military helicopter hovering very low over our homes adding to our little heart shaking.
My dad would be extremely diplomatic and polite speaking to the what he called ‘Saddam’s thugs’ – - never called them that off course in front of them, when they asked about portrait of the leader he always got away with telling them, excuses like, the frame was getting replaced at the frame shop, or there is a newer one he like do he removed it to replace with new or my favorite of all excuses he gave ours away to a new family that didn’t have one because he’s getting a much bigger framed portrait of the great leader.
He’d offer them cold water and warm tea and even offers first aide to some personnel who had a small cut or wound or sun stroke symptoms . It was sometimes fascinating to see them cheered on as they leave the house..
It wasn’t always cool men,some of them were very mean and scary how they threaten our dad but he always maintained his very calm collective attitude and humble
……..
He always spoke to us about the plan of avoiding the witnessing of public execution by two ways. If he gets the wind of the rumor of such event is set to take place,he would keep us home and tell school a family event needed the kids to be home,or if he finds out while we’re in school,he would rush to school pulling us out due to a mother ill or grandmother dying or uncle returning from a trip…many excuses that most of the time worked..
The days where he couldn’t save us I remember how we were like a herd of sheep being guided..
I remember crying with my friends who also did not want to go…We were scared so we held each others hand tight and stayed very close to one another.
When we arrived at the designated spot,we were shouted at to stay put and be quiet and listen..
I remember we were surrounded by tall tall thin men with mustaches and Green camouflage uniform and carrying high assault rifles in arm and pistol on their belts.
There was a lot of shouting..I kept hiding behind the tall students in my group . few of us was still whimpering and crying but we’re shouted at to be quiet. As the big man with large stomach and few golden stars on his shoulders and golden stripes on his arm,spoke in a thundering loud voice… (this is to be a lesson to anyone who think of being a traitor and an enemy of the Baa’th party and the great leader Saddam Hussein, those mean men will be excited to serve as a reminder to all if you break one Baa’th rule,you broke them all. You’ll get what you deserve)
We were ordered to shout praises to Saddam and our party and vow to give our blood as sacrifice to him. As the few dirty men dragged out of the military truck with hands tied and black cloth bag over their head.
I cried and was terrified…As I hear the row of army men started to prepare their bullets in their guns…it was loud. We could hear from the distance the cries of the men in black over there heads…
The army men yelled really loud…me and few of my friends No longer able to stand we crouched down looking at each other and crying bug with our mouths closed.
I was much more terrified of my dad finding out am out of school than of those horror moments of men about to be killed

It was horrible horrible shooting spree that continued what it felt like an eternity. We were down on the ground screaming and crying as our cries mixed with the riffle firing squad and the agonizing last shouts of young men dying.

Courage while in terrible fear

 

 

I grew up in a world fearing its leader. Fear was cultivated in us during the regime of the infamous Saddam Hussein where you could not trust your own family fearing there is an informant in the midst. Friends I knew would just disappear with anyone who was related to them, even questioning their disappearance.. Absolute regard given to the leader and his political party and any/all high ranking people in that party. A real brick wall true story is what happened to a well known surgeon who also was our family doctor. I heard how because he laughed at a joke being told by an informant at a casual gathering since the doctor was the only one who laughed at the joke about Saddam, he was arrested, within 24hrs of his disappearance, his family was informed of his execution.

 *****

This reminded me of how one of my 8 sisters displayed courage and resilience in a desperate moment dominated by grown ups in position of authority in elementary school under the regime of Saddam Hussein on a freezing cold morning in the city of Ba’akooba in northern Baghdad in the early 1980s.
I remember being strictly instructed not to joke or make fun or criticize the leader and the (Baa’th) party or there would be consequences the whole family may have to pay for it.
One of my sisters who was a grade older than me one day after hours and hours of school and after school training of song,poems,speeches even plays dedicated entirely to the ‘beloved leader’ made up this joke of calling Saddam Hussein ((Khaddam Hussein)).

Khaddam in Arabic means servant or lowly housekeeper…

The day or so after her joke about the name of Saddam, I remember to this day how cold that morning was.. We had no heaters in the classroom.. Sometimes we had a heater but it was only to be used by the teacher…

On that cold morning our classes were mixed due to a teacher absence. It was crowded, I sat in the middle of the row against the wall… My sister was at front and center row. A special spot for excellent students. And that she was!
She’s was not only smart, she was clever, quick witted, friendly to all who knew her even teachers liked her.

She was at the same time strong willed young lady where only until she is in charge the class would be settled when the teacher put her in supervisor duties sometimes… Students knew that she would keep them in line beside she held a piece of paper and a pencil to write down anyone naughty while teacher was out. No one wanted their name on that list.
She was no bully she was very polite and had a personality where when she spoke, everyone listened to her. She was smart and popular.
That morning I remember her sitting trying to warm up her freezing hands under the wooden desk by rubbing them together.
I think I was 8-9 years old.

The headmaster barged into the crowded classroom, with few other -what looked like important people, she called my sister by name and as my sister stood up and as she walked towards the headmaster, the headmaster asked ‘are you the one called our leader (khaddam)?’
As my sister stepped closer nodding her head yes, the headmaster bent over and smacked her on the mouth forcefully.
We all gasped, my sister covered her mouth with instant tears rolling on her cheeks and her cold fingers covering her mouth… As she wanted to return toner desk, the tall muscular lady headmaster with loud horsey voice, yanked her back stopping her ‘am not done with you yet’
With one hand she kept holding my sister in the other she reached towards our teacher asking for the (o’odaa) the punishing stick.

She ordered my tearful sister to open her hands.
AL SAEED KAEED EL JAMHORYAH AL IRAKYAH AL RAEES SADDAM HUSAIN HAFITHAHOO ALLAH WA RA’AA
The leader of the republic of Iraq the president Saddam Hussein God bless and protect him…
She yelled those words and with every word she hit my sister in the hand… So hard it was painful to watch… She cried bitterly but did not remove her little red as blood hands…
She returned to her desk as the headmaster yelled at us all to be respectful and careful how to speak about the leader of the Baa’th revolution leader and our President..
Through my tear filled eyes I could see my sister as she rubber her red hands gently.. She wiped her tears and red mouth with her sleeves… Blinked her eyes as she took few deep breathes and sat up straight…

The teacher called my sister once again as the auntorage of the important people walked out of our classroom. She asked her to keep the students quiet as she had to go speak to the superiors outside.
The class was still staring at my sister and I could hear few still whimpering and crying from the sight of that punishment..

My sister stood tall, walked towards the center of the class with a white sheet of paper and a pencil she could barely keep holding due to her hurting hands..
You could have heard a pin drop, it was absolute silence.

Summer of the year 2000

 

This was my bedroom, office, storage, closet, think tank, study room and my very first ever room that was mine and mine alone… with big family & 7 sisters I always had to share my space .. this small space was liberating ;)

it reminds me of my grandmother's house... it was only about twice the size of my room.

My story of my life in Iraq will follow

On a cold February morning 1972

 

I am one of my parents’ 10 children
Am number 5

Am told my mother birthed most of us at home accept the very youngest was born in a hospital.
My mother went into labor with me in Nana’s house in Baghdad.
My Nana lived in a
bedroom.. Yes a bedroom was her home. In the old Baghdad the used to be big (villas) where rich used to live with many bedrooms for the owners and their guests and rooms for their servants.

Upon entering the villa, a small corridor leads to an oval shape center of the house 3 stories level, with open sky over the center of the house… Various size rooms on main floor, the first one to the right was a room Nana called home.
There was no one rich there, all very poor people worn down walls and floors, rusty banisters and one common bathroom and one showering room for all families living in there, 50+ people.
Nana’s room was a storage, a mini kitchen, she had to cook outside her room, in the common are, she stored her bedding over a beautiful China cabinet, it was also a TV room, bedroom, guest room also the birth place where I was born.

The moment my first cry rang in the ears of my mother and Nana and the public nurse, I was told that I was comforted and stopped crying, my mother kept hearing the sound of a newborn baby cry: my mom asked Nana why do I still hear my baby cry even as she’s quiet? Nana told her, I hear a newborn cry too.

The nurse and my Nana rushed outside and found at the doorstep of the giant from door of the villa at 5am in the darkest cold hours of February 27, 1972 the found a baby girl with umbilical cord and fluids and blood on her still, was wrap warmly and abandoned….
The barren young woman who lived alone with her husband in the next room came at that moment to congratulate my mother but saw my Nana and the nurse walking back with shocked look on their faces holding a newborn baby….

Before I was leaving Iraq, I visited Nana in 1992 after the war.. Nana told me that story and took me outside and pointed at a beautiful blond wavy long hair, tall and had amazing grey green eyes.
She was the daughter my Nana’s neighbor prayed for.