Iraq Archive - Let me tell you

Hate

Veröffentlicht am 8. Juli 20249. Juli 2024 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

On my way home, a priest was standing next to me on the tram. He was talking in an American accent to another man, whom I couldn’t see from where I was sitting.
I didn’t really pay attention to their conversation until I heard the phrase „I worked for the US Army“.
Now their talk had my full attention. From what I heard, it seemed to me that the man behind me had been in the US Army for some time.
A strange feeling came over me and I thought, what if we had met before in a completely different situation. He, flying a plane full of bombs over Iraq, and I, lying in the bad, holding my children as close as I could, praying that the pilot would not drop bombs on us.
My body began to shake, I had to take a deep breath and I turned around to look at his face. I was relieved. He was too young to have fought in 1991 or even 2003.

This short scene brought back a memory and a feeling I hadn’t felt in years.
I remembered a cold March day when I was sitting on the terrace of my in-laws‘ modest village house, washing our clothes in a plastic washtub. My hands were sore from the cold water. I was in a hurry to finish the laundry because my children were playing in the house and I was afraid that the next air raid would start while I was away from them.
There was a distant plane in the sky. But it seemed to be heading for Baghdad. I followed it with my eyes, calculating the distance, if it would change direction, and the time I would need to run inside to my children.
But it kept moving away.
I wondered how the pilot felt. Coming from a country as far away as the United States, knowing nothing about Iraq except what he thought he knew. And it seems that he believed that every single person under his plane deserved to be killed by the bombs he was about to drop.
He may even have believed that he was a hero. Superman in the sky, killing all the bad people with the push of a magic button.
What would he do if he knew us personally? If he had eaten with us at the same table or danced with us to the same music? What would he do if he knew our names, if he played UNO or backgammon with us? Would he still push the button?

What kind of people does he think we are?
Can he even imagine how we suffered during the years of the embargo?
How broken and depressed we were?
Would he go home and tell everyone, „I did so well. You must be proud of me. I killed about 50 Iraqis a day just by flying my plane and pushing a button. I didn’t care who they were or how old they were. They were the evil ones and they deserved death.“
Everyone around him would be impressed, and they might raise a glass and toast his bravery.

I felt hatred, yes, I hated with all the intensity of that word. I hated this man who crossed the world to drop bombs on us, a man who controls our destiny from above, who could kill my children or make them orphans. I wished his plane would burn up in the sky and turn him to ashes before he could drop a single bomb. I wished he would never return to the United States and be celebrated for killing Iraqi people. My weakness before his power filled me with this ugly feeling of hatred. The worst feeling a human being can have for another human being.
I did not have the power he had, but in my mind I wanted to destroy him as much as he could destroy us.
His plane disappeared from view.
My focus returned to the laundry. I missed my washing machine, the electricity, and our home in Baghdad.
I hung the clothes on the ropes hanging between the palm trees and ran into the house where my children were playing. I sat down on the floor and joined them.

The priest and the young US Army man stopped talking about the Army and the Marines and started arguing about the way and their next tourist spot in Vienna. I stuck my headphones in, turned the music on and started writing this story.

Renaming the sunflower

Veröffentlicht am 3. September 20233. September 2023 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

To begin my story, you need to know that in Iraq we call the sunflower “Abbad Al-Shams.” Translated to English it means “sun worshiper.”
We ate Abbad Al-Shams seeds, and we used its oil for cooking. We studied the fields of these flowers in Geography, and we learned how to grow them in our gardening classes.
We had no other name for the yellow beauties that bent their heads towards the sun as if they were worshiping it until the day the name has been changed by a presidential decree.

It was after the war of 1991 and during the times of the embargo, poverty, and mass depression when a meeting was broadcasted on TV.
The recording showed the former president Saddam Husain receiving a group of people, mostly men. I do not remember if his guests were representatives from the agricultural or religious field, or maybe they were members of the Revolutionary Command Council.

Anyway, they talked, and their conversation went from politics to religion and ended up with the sunflower.
“Abbad Al-Shams, what a name!” The president said to his fellows.
“Only God can be worshipped, right?”
The guests agreed by clapping and were very enthusiastic about his remark. They continued discussing this topic as if it was the only problem left in Iraq to be solved.

At the end of this meeting, the sun worshiper lost its name and was renamed to “Zahrat Al Shams” (translated to English “sun flower”).

If this event was observed alone, it could have been funny. To see so many important men in suits and uniforms discussing the “sinful” name of a yellow flower and releasing a decree to rename it.

Now, when I look back and see the big picture, I know that it was not a random event. It was one of many actions set by the government after 1991 to drive the Iraqi society into extreme religiosity.

In Iraq, a country that is the home of more than 5 religions, divided into several confessional groups, religion in the wrong hands is a dangerous weapon.

Keeping the people obedient by connecting the love and fear of God with the submissiveness to the leaders is a path that all Iraqi governments followed and are still following since then.

Yes or yes

Veröffentlicht am 30. Mai 202331. Mai 2023 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

They were hard times for him and for us.
He had lost a war and was betrayed by his family and we were angry and exhausted from the war and embargo, and depressed from the economic recession.
We desperately needed action and he knew exactly what should be done.

It was just a normal day in 1995, when a meeting of the Revolutionary Command Council was broadcasted on TV. Nothing unusual on the evening program, but the announcement at the end was rather unexpected: The Iraqi people will be able to prove to the whole world their love and support to the president by a presidential election.

Wow, what a phrase “presidential election”.
I was surely not the only one in Iraq who never thought of hearing that kind of announcement. We were surprised and started puzzling; “Will there be more than one candidate?”, “Who is that crazy to run against him?”, “Maybe some fake candidates will be assigned just for the show?”, “What if he really allowed others to run for elections and one of them won the election? Would he concede?”, “Is it a planned act to hand over the power to one of his sons?”, “Is he tired and willing to resign?”, “Is it a clever move to get the UN’s attention and end the embargo?”
So many questions on everyone’s mind. Fortunately we did not have to wait for long to get the answers.
Soon the rules of the game were announced. There will be no other candidates than Saddam Husain himself. The election will be on October 15th and the Iraqis will have to answer one question with “yes” or “no”
The question was: “هل توافق على أن يكون الرئيس صدام حسين رئيساً للجمهورية؟”
Which translates into: “Do you agree that President Saddam Hussein be the President of the Republic?”
Not really a lot of options to choose from, but at least we knew he still held on to power and he was not handing it over to one of his two sons. At least not for now.

So, basically it was a referendum rather than an election. I didn’t really know the difference between the two words before that event.

Anyway, the preparation started and the streets were filled with people shouting “yes, yes, to our leader Saddam Husain”.
It was like a competition for who shows the greatest support. Praising songs and poems were broadcasted on the radio and TV the whole day, as well as interviews showing people on the streets promising eternal loyalty to the president.
The members of the Ba’ath party visited each home and registered the residents eligible to vote.
Every Iraqi citizen over 18, in a stable mental health and without criminal record was allowed to vote.
So for our household, all three of us were invited to vote in a voting centre, that was in a primary school nearby.
Before the Ba’ath party men left, one of them said: “of course we are sure you will make the right choice on the voting day”.

Meanwhile rumors about planned manipulation of the referendum started to circulate; stories like: “They will have cameras in the voting booths and “no”-voters will be immediately imprisoned” or “Someone will check every envelope as soon as it’s thrown in the box to identify the people voting “no” and to punish them later” were spread around among the citizens.

Soon, the 15th of October came and it was one big party day in Iraq. Music was playing in front of the voting centres. Some people were showing their loyalty by marking the “yes” space on the paper with a bloody fingerprint instead of making the cross with a pen.

The election officials were very helpful and friendly. I went into the booth, made my cross on „yes“, gave the paper in the envelope and dropped it in the voting box.
Why “yes”? Well, what was the other option?
I really searched for cameras in the booth but didn’t find any. If they were there, they must have been extremely tiny. I doubt we had such technology then, but why play with fire.

I even don’t think anyone had the chance to open the box after each voter, since the people were coming and going continuously, and the committee was never alone.

Everything seemed to match the international standards.
Soon, the counting started, and our district had 100% “yes” votes. The only problem was that I knew at least two in our neighborhood who swore that they had voted “no”.
Manipulating was easier than we thought. The “no’s” were just not counted. No district wanted to have the most negative voters.
One of our relatives was so upset her “no“ was not considered, that she almost reported herself.

The next day, the final count was published. 99.96% voted “yes”. This was the result of the votes of about 8 million Iraqis. In the evening, a song was run on TV that started with the phrase: “ninety nine and ninety six percent …“ this song was played for so long, that I don’t think I would ever forget the result of this referendum.

Saddam showed up on TV happy and satisfied. At least we didn’t disappoint him the way his sons-in-law did. And who knows maybe he really thought the result was out of pure love.

There was one more referendum before 2003, but I don’t have a lot of memories of it, maybe because it wasn’t that spectacular anymore or because the drums of war were beating too loud that I was distracted.

Note: looking up the dates before writing this story, I read the Wikipedia article of the referendum. I noticed two things: first, the Arabic article was very short and had poor information, which surprised me because who, if not Iraqis, should write the full and exact facts about the country.
After reading the terms of editing Wikipedia articles, it was clear that being a time witness is not an acceptable reference. One must write a book first and then refer to it.
Second: in the English article that was quite long and detailed, it was written that: “Saddam himself never appeared in public prior to the election, but paid supporters streamed through the streets, shouting „Naam, naam, Saddam“ („Yes, yes, Saddam“)”
The people were never paid; they were instructed to show support and they did. Mostly the people on the street were school children who were happy to miss class, the district Ba’ath party members and the labor unions.

In Memory of Dr. Helga

Veröffentlicht am 19. August 20228. November 2022 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

Among the highlights of my time living in Baghdad, were Dr. Helga’s regular visits.

Dr. Helga was a professor of ancient orientalism at the university of Innsbruck in Austria. She worked in different historical sites in Iraq since 1978.

From 1980 till 2003 she was one of two team leaders of the excavation team at Borsippa, a Sumerian archaeological site in the province of Babylon. Its importance leads back to the preserved ruins of the Ziggurat and temple of Nabu.

The team’s research was based on the international renowned project “Comparative studies Babylon-Borsippa”.

The group visited Iraq twice a year and stayed for about two to four weeks.

We first met Dr. Helga in 1986, when a friend told my mother that an Austrian lady was looking for a place to stay in Baghdad for a few days and my mother immediately offered to host her at our house. As soon as we got to know her, the guest room turned into an open home for Dr. Helga, whenever she was in Baghdad. The Austrian lady became a close friend and part of the family.

She loved Iraq and knew about the history and the geography of the country more than most of us Iraqis. She could talk endlessly about the beauty of the country, the ancient history, the kindness of Iraqi people. Speaking with her was enriching.

Every time she arrived in Baghdad and came to stay at our house, it felt like Christmas. She brought a lot of Austrian specialities, that we couldn’t get in Baghdad, like smoked cheese, Mozart Kugels, Haribo gold bears and Manner wafers, as well as gifts and letters from my Austrian grandmother.

She spent a few days at our place, but most of the time she was with her team in Babylon near the archaeological site. They stayed in a house sponsored by the Iraqi ministry of culture and information that was built under the supervision of Dr. Helga.

I remember the time when the house was under construction. She was very happy that it was planned according to the old regional construction methods, using bricks, clay and straw, and a special air circulation system that regulated the temperature of the building.

Sometimes dealing with the young students was a bit of a challenge. For example, she told them not to underestimate the heat of the direct sun, when working on the site. They should use sunscreen, wear a shirt with long sleeves, trousers instead of shorts and cover their heads. The temperatures in June could reach 45°C in the shadow. Unfortunately it was not seldom that one of the students thought they knew better and went to the site in an “Austrian summer outfit“ to end up with a heat stroke that kept them in bed for the rest of the trip.

She would say: “We give them a list of instructions before travelling and I tell them again when we arrive, but those who don’t listen have to feel!”

It became a tradition that we invite the whole delegation once or twice upon their stay to our place. We mostly made Austrian food for them. They appreciated it a lot, especially at the end of the trip, when the young students were feeling homesick.

I remember one of those invitations very well.

The delegation came back from a two-week stay at the excavation site and was about to travel back to Austria. Dr. Helga asked me to surprise the students with Gulasch and Spaetzle. A famous Austrian dish. I was happy to do so and didn’t think twice about it.

On the day of the invitation, I entered the kitchen to start cooking, and “click” the electricity went off. It was 12 o’clock, meaning the temperature in my kitchen, which was facing the sun, would rise form the 28°C to unbearable in no time. I started making the Gulasch (a stew of meat, onions, tomatoes and paprika) and watched the thermometer: 35, 36, 37°C. The big pot was simmering on the fire, when I filled a second pot with water for the Spaezle (tiny dumplings). To cook Spaezle I had to scrub the dough into the boiling salted water. So, I stood in front of the stove, facing the boiling water and breathing in the hot steam. My eyes on the thermometer: 42, 43, 44°C. I didn’t really need to look at the thermometer anymore, I was feeling every degree on my skin. The wide, short, and sleeveless summer dress I was wearing turned into a sticky wet piece of clothing covering my body, and the kitchen was more like a sauna than a cooking place. My only thought at that moment: “note to myself: never make Gulasch in summer. Never, ever, ever!”

Fortunately, just a few minutes before the guests arrived, the electricity came back, and I had the chance to cool down before welcoming my guests.

The group was very happy about the food and praised my cooking. I didn’t tell them about my sauna experience.

When they were leaving, Dr. Helga hugged me and said: “Thank you for the nice lunch. You are my Austrian oasis in Baghdad.”

The project in Borsippa was stopped after the US invasion in 2003. But Dr. Helga kept working voluntarily in Iraq and for the Iraqi people. She was one of the first to come from abroad and help the museum staff to clean the mess and document the stolen pieces. The damage to the museum was immense, after the US army failed to (or maybe did not care to) secure the museum. The soldiers stood still watching the damaging and looting of the place. She also kept helping the workers and their families who worked at the excavation and were jobless after the project stopped.

The last time I talked to her, she was extremely sad and was mourning Iraq. The great physical and mental damage that happened to the country and the people broke her heart. Yet she never gave up hope, that soon we will be going back to rebuild the country and celebrate peace and freedom.

Sadly, her hopes stayed unfulfilled, and just like Iraq she didn’t recover from the pain of war and loss. In March 2020 Dr. Helga left this world to rest in peace.

On her obituary notice they quoted her: “Only the waters of Euphrates and Tigris made my soul heal”.

The Old Man and the Sea

Veröffentlicht am 19. Mai 202220. Mai 2022 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

It must have been October or November 1980, when this story took place.

I was grocery shopping with my mother in Shawwaka, an old district in the Center of Baghdad, located by the Tigris side, and known for its beautiful old buildings and big market area. Some of the buildings looked so fragile, that one would wonder how people could live in them, without being afraid that they would collapse by the slightest wind blow. The shops on the side of the market facing the river were mainly fishermen shops, selling either fish or fishing equipment.

Because of the fish smell and the crowded narrow streets, this market was not really a place I liked. I was walking closely to my mother and hoping to go home soon.

Suddenly the sirens went off and an ugly loud black air fighter appeared in the cloudless blue sky. We panicked, just like everyone else on the street. My mother took my hand and moved quickly, trying to find a place to shelter us. In that moment, an older man, who sold fishing equipment, came out of his small shop, and waved to us to get into his shop.

We stood inside. My whole body was shivering while watching and listening to the aircraft booming right in front of us. Soon, the Iraqi air defence started shooting anti-aircraft missiles up to target, the invading air fighter.

The kind old man noticed my fear and tried to distract me by showing me the different types of fishnets. He told me that he was a fisherman and that the fishnets were all hand made by him. His talk drew my attention to the world of fishing and made the war around me seem like a far background sound.

I only looked up again, the moment he stared at the sky, to see the Iranian airplane flying away covered by a dark grey smoke cloud.

Moments later, people started getting back on the streets as if nothing had happened, and the sound of the ending siren mixed with the sound of the ambulance car sirens moving fast to the bombed locations.

The man gave me a piece of a fishnet. My mother thanked him for hosting us and she immediately stopped a taxi to take us home.

Years later, when I read the book “The old man and the sea”, the picture in my mind of the old man, was that of the old fisherman of Shawwaka.

What if she will rest in peace?

Veröffentlicht am 3. April 20223. April 2022 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

Madeline Albright, who served as the US Secretary of state from 1997 to 2001, died at the age of 84 surrounded by family and friends.

Statement from the family of Madeleine K. Albright

The tweet, posted by her family, also said “We have lost a loving mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, and friend.”

Missing in the tweet was the fact that the loving mother and grandmother was, among other, responsible for the death of more than half a million Iraqi children and the destruction of the Iraqi community.

She was once asked in an interview, if this high child death count was worth it. She answered: “I think this is a very hard choice, but the price–we think the price is worth it.”

Later she apologised for what she said with the words: “As soon as I had spoken, I wished for the power to freeze time and take back those words. My reply had been a terrible mistake, hasty, clumsy and wrong. Nothing matters more than the lives of innocent people. I had fallen into the trap and said something I simply did not mean. That was no one’s fault but my own.”

Well, she apologised for what she said but not for what she did.

She never publicly regretted the killing of the Iraqi people by the sanctions, that had no reason after the withdrawal of the Iraqi troops from Kuwait at the end of the 1991 war.

Iraq’s military power and infrastructure were destroyed by the war. The long embargo after that, was soon proven a useless method against the ruling authority. It’s only effect was to totally destroy the Iraqi community, the cause that made Iraq a cradle for all evil after finalising the catastrophe with the 2003 war and the removal of the authority that was, more or less, holding everything together by force and fear.

The US troops came on the pretext of mass destruction weapons and promised to give the Iraqi people the “freedom” they didn’t ask for, because they had no time to think of freedom when they desperately needed food, medicine, and stability. No wonder “freedom” turned into “anarchy” and “instability”.

The late Ms. Albright had enough time to observe the effects of her decision and to at least beg for forgiveness for what she had done. Well, she decided not to regret and to give excuses and free herself from the responsibility. She left the world, that she made a worse place for so many others, to rest in peace.

And I ask myself “What if she will really rest in peace?”

Amiriyah Bunker

Veröffentlicht am 13. Februar 202113. Februar 2021 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

Am 13. Februar 1991, also vor genau 30 Jahren, haben amerikanische Raketen den zivilen Bunker von ِِِِAmiriyah bombardiert und ganz Irak hat geweint.

Obwohl Krieg generell ein Horror ist, stechen manche Gräueltaten aus den Gräueltaten heraus.

Am heutigen Tag vor 30 Jahren haben zwei moderne Laser gesteuerte “smart Bombs” einen Luftschutzbunker, in dem sich mehr als 400 schutzsuchende Menschen aufhielten, zerstört.

Ein “militärischer Erfolg” waren diese hochmodernen Raketen. Eine Freude muss es gewesen sein für das Team, dass diese Technik entwickelt hat. Die erste Rakete durchbohrte die oberen Schutzschichten vom Bunker und machte Platz für die Zweite, die kurze Zeit danach in das vorbereitete Loch eindrang und tief im Inneren des Bunkers explodierte.

Dass 400 Menschen, darunter 200 Frauen und 62 Kinder, das jüngste war 7 Tage alt, qualvoll gestorben sind, ist ja ein Nebenprodukt der Kriegsindustrie, welches Waffenhersteller und Kriegsführer gerne in Kauf nehmen.

Die Bilder aus dem Fernseher und die Schilderungen der Rettungskräfte werde ich nie vergessen. Die Menschen sind nicht nur wie “gewöhnlich” durch die Explosion und die Trümmer gestorben. Der Tod im Schutzpunker geschah schrittweise und langsam. Die erste Bombe löste einen Brand aus und erschütterte den ganzen Bunker, wodurch sich die schweren Schutztüren schlossen und niemand konnte mehr hinaus, oder hinein. Die folgende Rakete zerstörte den Oberbau komplett und das mittlerweile kochende Wasser aus den Tanks und Leitungen floss gnadenlos auf die eingeschlossenen Menschen. Die militärischen “Erfolgsraketen” löschten gesamte Familien aus. Manche Häuser dieser Gegend hatten keine Einwohner mehr. Eine Frau, die zu den Überlebenden gehörte, hatte ihre 8 Kinder im Bunker verloren. Kann man hier wirklich noch von einer Überlebenden sprechen?

Was heute noch zu sehen ist, von diesem abscheulichen Kriegsverbrechen, ist ein Denkmal und ein Museum in Inneren der zerbombten Ruine. Verzweifelte Handabdrücke, die sich durch die extreme Hitze in den Beton eingebrannt haben und viele Fotos erinnern an die Menschen, die statt Schutz den Tod in diesem Bunker gefunden haben. Der gesamte Ort spricht von einem schrecklichen Verbrechen, dessen Täter nie vor Gericht kamen und vielleicht sogar noch als Kriegshelden gefeiert werden.

Mehr über dieses Kriegsverbrechen:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amiriyah_shelter_bombing

Danke an die Irak Instagrammerin @tour_alkhatoon für die Fotos 🙂
شكرا جزيلا لتور الخاتون على الصور

The Hero

Veröffentlicht am 10. Juni 202025. Januar 2023 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

First his pictures filled the newspapers and finally he was there, on TV, when his investiture was broadcasted. An inconspicuous man sitting proudly beside Saddam Hussein, the president of Iraq back then.

The recording started with a small crowd clapping and praising the president entering the beautiful hall, which usually hosted the awarding ceremonies of high ranked politicians and military officers. Hussein greeted his guests with thanking words and a big smile on his face.

Saddam Hussein walked to the hero of the newspapers with a second degreed Al-Refidayn medal in his hands and placed it around the old man’s neck, while saying his famous “afiya, afiya” to express his appreciation for the braveness of the old man and his „endless love for Iraq“. The flashlights were raining over them to catching this historical moment. The crowd, mainly consisting of the old man’s family, started clapping and shouting out prayers and praising slogans.

When the president sat down and the guests also took their places on the expensive white and gold furniture, the man was asked to tell his story.

He started his speech with the typical phrases of ensuring his loyalty to the president, the country and the military and damming everybody who wants to harm Iraq.
He started talking about his 4 sons. How proud he was, when they were old enough to join the army and fight against the Iranian enemy. His wish was that his sons would „whiten his face“ in front of the world by returning from the battlefield in one of two ways: either in coffins wrapped in the Iraqi flag as martyrs or as glorious heroes waiving the flag of victory.
But unfortunately his oldest son turned out to be a coward. He was afraid to sacrifice his soul for the president and for the country. He ran away from the battlefield to save his own life and left his brothers and mates behind.
He came home to hide from the war fires like a weak dog.
“I was so angry, disappointed and full of shame! Why did he do this to me?
How did he dare turn his back on his duty, to you my dear sir president and to our beloved country? My anger was big. My pain and shame were indescribable. I shouted at him, I threatened him, I warned him but he didn’t listen. I understood then that I have raised a useless citizen, who brought shame over me and my family. I fetched my revolver and went to his room. I told him: you are afraid to be killed? I will shoot you, you betrayer.

And then, Mr. President, I shot him dead. I killed him for the crime of high treason.“

The voices of those who were present rose again praising and clapping.

We were witnessing the honoring of a murderer. A father who killed his unarmed son, only because he refused to fight in a meaningless war, in which the outcomes were the death of more than a million human souls and an extreme damage of the infrastructure and economy on both sides.

I was speechless, exactly as most of the people I knew. We were excellently trained in being speechless. Speaking about the craziness of this act or calling it the honoring of a killer, was just the thick red line we learned never to cross, and we never did.

There are a lot of methods used by ruling regimes to make people submissive. I find killing the morality in a community is one of the worst ways to gain total control.

When I think of this evening, I feel sad that I once have been part of the big silent mass.
Today crimes of parents killing their children (mostly young women) for „shaming the family“ are still happening and still being tolerated by the Iraqi government. In most of these cases the murderers get backed by their families and may even get away without trial or punishment.

About Djabbar

Veröffentlicht am 24. Februar 201924. Februar 2019 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

When I went to the first grade of elementary school, we had a driver who drove me almost every day to school and back. It wasn’t uncommon to have a driver in Baghdad’s early 80s, since most of the families had one car for driving to work and had to arrange a driver who had a car or a school bus for their children.

The name of our driver was Djabbar. Djabbar was in his early twenties. He was very kind, friendly and one of the most patient people I have ever known. I know he was patient, because I used to ask him question after question the second I got into the car until I got out. Questions like: „What’s that building?“, „How do you make the car go faster?“ or „What’s the name of your grandmother?“ and he answered and explained everything instead of telling me to shut up and just let him drive in peace. The car rides with him were like additional school lessons.

At the age of 6 I thought all the people in the world lived the way l did. I thought they all had a house, a car, plenty of food to eat and enough clothes in their wardrobes.

It was Djabbars stories, about his family, the way they lived and his daily struggles, that opened my eyes to a different side of life. Once he told me that his parents could not buy meat every day and that he was fed up with eggplants, potatoes and zucchinis. I asked him: „Why don’t you just buy enough meat to cook every day?“ he laughed and started to teach me about money, monthly salaries and prices. It was basically a math lesson. Way better than anything I’ve ever learned at school. He explained to me how much he earned by driving and how much he was able to spend on food. He told me that his father worked hard to pay the rent, that his mother was an illiterate housewife and that his two younger siblings were still in school. He was not at all complaining or trying to make me feel sorry for him, he was just explaining the facts. Suddenly money had a meaning to me and prices were not just numbers written on things. Those numbers made a big difference: the bigger they were the less people could afford the goods they were on. I didn’t know the word „affordable“ but I understood its meaning.

The thing I enjoyed the most was when he talked about driving. He loved driving. He explained everything in the car to me.

I watched him from the back seat and he pointed at the pedals: „See, when you want the car to go faster, you step on the accelerator. If you want to slow down you have to step on the brake pedal.“, „with the steering wheel you can change the cars direction, when you turn it to the left the front wheels do too!“
I asked him about an orange button on the side of the dashboard and he said: „If the back window is misted you have to press this button. It’s a heater. Do you see the narrow lines on the rear windows? They’re wires that get hot, thus warm the window and make the fog disappear.
We even fixed a puncture together one day. He let me lift the car with the jack and I felt as strong as hulk. That day I came home with black hands and I told my mother proudly: „I changed a flat tire.“

After almost a 6 months going to school with Djabbar I „theoretically“ knew how to drive. A knowledge that helped me 6 years later, when my sister started driving and I showed her where to turn on the car lights and the „anti-mist-button“.

Once he was telling me about his grandmother who used to make mats, hand fans and brooms from palm leaves for them. I couldn’t imagine what he meant. So the next day he took some leaves from a small palm tree that was growing in front of my school and braided a tiny mat, while he was waiting for me. He gave it to me and I used it as a mat for my Barbie.It was almost spring when he picked me up from school with a big smile on his face. As soon as I sat in the car he told me that he was getting engaged and that he was very happy and excited about it. He said his fiancée was very pretty and had just graduated from the teaching institute and was waiting to be assigned as a teacher for an elementary school. I felt happy for him and tried to picture his wedding. I was hoping that he would invite me.

The following days he always talked about the wedding preparations. He would live in his parents‘ house. He painted out his room with a friend and his mother sold an old piece of jewelry, that she had kept for this day, to buy him a bed and a cupboard. Everything was set for his wedding. The school year was almost over and summer spread out its heat all over Baghdad.

On one Saturday morning I left the house with the school bag on my back and headed to the car. But Djabbar and his light green Toyota Corona weren’t there, instead there was a white car with an elderly looking man standing outside the car and talking to my father.

When my father saw me coming he said: „This is Khudaier. From now on he will take you to school“.
I felt upset and asked: „Why? Where is Djabbar?“
My father opened the car door for me and said: „He was sent to the front!“

I sat in the back of the car, thinking of my father’s words „He was sent to the front“. I knew what he meant. Djabarr was gone; he was recruited to be on the front fighting against Iran in a war he hadn’t chosen. I never heard from him again. I always hoped that he came back safely and got married to that beautiful teacher.

After that day my drives to school were silent.

The Name of the Father and the Son

Veröffentlicht am 9. Dezember 20189. April 2020 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

George Bush senior passed away on Friday the 30th of November 2018, at the age of 94.

That was the first headline I read last Saturday morning, when I was checking the news on my mobile phone. I looked at his picture and automatically said: „May God take him in his mercy.“ This is a common phrase we use in Arabic when someone dies. But as it came out of my lips, I thought to myself: „Would I take him in my mercy?“

Bush (no matter senior or junior) is a name that, to me, will always be associated with embargo, war, destruction, bombing, no electricity, fear and so on, in other words, an endless list of very dark memories.

I would never deny that the invasion of Kuwait was a crime in its entire means, but the embargo and the wars on Iraq that followed weren’t any less of a crime. And they proved that diplomacy and good offices, unfortunately, fail in resolving critical problems.
If wars were given grades for their badness level, the „Operation Desert Storm“ would deserve an „A“ with an extra plus for the bombing of „Amiriyah shelter“ and the „highways of death“ the massacre of the withdrawing soldiers.

It is scary that some people on earth may gain such an enormous power in their lifetime that gives them the mightiness to act like Gods. In a way that a single decision they take could mean misery and death for millions.

It was the 17th of January 1991, when Bush senior spoke his word and the war on Iraq started. After the dramatic events, since we woke up in the morning of the 2^nd of August 1990, to find out that our troops have walked in to Kuwait and changed our status among the nations, to the most hated country on earth, the final act (as we thought at that time) started. And while most of the world watched the famous night camera recording on TV, showing a scene that looked more like fireworks than the actual hell it was, the Iraqi people were being targeted by those „firework“.

I’ll never forget that night. We woke up to the sound of bombing and shooting all around, the sirens didn’t stop crying and the dark night sky was filled with smoke and fire. Realizing that the promised war had started, we gathered in one room and sat stuck to one another. I was shivering from head to toe, covered in a thick blanket and praying to God not to be struck by next rocket. Fortunately my family and I survived, but a lot of people, who weren’t as lucky, lost their lives during this war. That day covered Iraq in a veil of poverty, destruction and death that it is still trying to get rid of.

War is always the wrong choice. There is nothing like a „good war“ and a „bad war“. Even if the first statement of Bush was: „As I report to you air attacks are on their way against military targets in Iraq.“ We all know today that the fire that fell from the sky burned a lot more than just military targets.

These thoughts and memories occupied my mind that whole day, as I kept seeing the headlines of Bush‘s death everywhere and the words of condolences that were spoken out for him. Then shortly before going to bed, I saw a post on Instagram, picturing the Kuwait towers lit up with the American flag and a portrait of Bush. It was subtitled with the words: „In memory of George W. Bush. Hero of freedom.“
An aspect that didn’t come to my mind earlier that day. But yes, of course, he must be a hero in Kuwait: he freed the country. It’s their right to celebrate him. My villain is their hero. Just two sides of one coin.

What a strange world I’m living in. Being responsible for crimes, such as the horrible death of more than 400 civilians (mostly women and children) in the „Amiriyah shelter“, does not mean a person won’t be honored and celebrated as a hero.

Well, I guess he doesn’t really need my mercy to rest in peace.