;
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.
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.
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