VOICES FROM IRAQ
By Ginny NiCarthy
IV: "IF ONE DIES, WE ALL DIE"
Umm Khaidar doesn't talk about the death of her six-year-old boy, Khaidar. (Her name, Mother of Khaidar, exemplifies a common practice in Iraq for parents to re-name themselves after their children.) A U.S. AGM-10 satellite-guided missile exploded in the street right outside the family's house that day in 1999, and most of the 19 dead were children. One of them was Khaidar. Umm Khaidar's other son, Mustafa was also injured. A U.N. report states that between December 28th, 1998, and the end of May 1999, 73 civilians were killed and 25 injured in twenty locations. In the U.S. these events were not covered on TV.
In October 2002, in the city of Basra, near the Iranian and Kuwaiti borders with Iraq, members of our peace team, along with our government minder, Thamir, visited the family. Sharon, a member of our team, asked how Mustafa was doing.
Umm Khaidar said he was doing well. Then she added, "But from time to time he suffers, because his body is filled with pieces of shrapnel, and he goes to the doctor to treat it. He walks with a limp." Ironically, the family hopes he can go to the United States for an operation.
Mustafa, who looked about eight years old, came into the room when called, and Umm Khaidar asked him to show us what had happened to him. Shyly, he allowed his shirt to be pulled up, which exposed a long scar on his torso, and another on his back. I wondered whether the shrapnel contained Depleted Uranium, and what effects that might have on his future health.
This was our peace team's first stop on a three-day trip to Basra, and we had been invited to the home shared by four families. Before Desert Storm, only Umm Khaidar, her husband and two boys had lived their, but economic pressures have necessitated sharing the costs, so now 24 people are crammed into the six rooms. Umm Khaidar was the main spokesperson for the families that night. Most of our talk took place in English, but sometimes reverted to exchanges in Arabic among our government minder, Thamir, and family members.
I asked whether family members were able to find jobs. We had been told that Umm Khaidar's husband suffers from problems resulting from the Iran war. Umm Khaidar said he found work from time to time, and his brother, who has six children, has a steady job as a driver. Two other brothers work for low wages.
The light in the room was dim, and the faces hazy. Like other women family members, Umm Khaidar wore a long black skirt, a black scarf that covered most of her forehead, and then, like an old-fashioned Catholic nun's veil, flowed over her shoulders almost to her waist. From time to time, the scarf slipped back on her head, and she pulled if forward to keep her hair covered. But in this household, as in much of Iraq, there are no strict rules on dress, and two of the women were bareheaded, and wore brightly colored ankle length dresses. A board raised a few inches above the floor runs the length of the walls, and is covered by a red brocade-covered cushion, where we six Americans found places to perch, legs stretched in front of us. Most of the household had gathered in the large living room, and some of the children sat near us, but most adults and children stood or squatted on the floor near the door, listening to the exchange among the rest of us from the opposite side of the room.
Umm Khaidar is a grade school teacher, with over forty children in her class, and it is hard work, she said, because "there is no electricity, no lights, no covering on the windows, so the sun comes close." She gestured with her hands, so that I could almost feel the hot sun beating down. She spoke in a gentle but lively tone, relying on graceful gestures to aid her hesitant English. Despite the sadness of most topics she touched on, a nervous smile kept lighting up her face, then quickly disappearing.
At her teaching job, Umm Khaidar can choose the subjects she teaches, but English is not one of them. When I wondered aloud whether Iraqis might feel that English is the language of the enemy, she laughed, replying, "There is a saying, that 'If I know the language of my enemy, I will be safe from their'" -- and here she hesitated -- "'uh, their... devil.'" Her husband, a warm, cheerful man, who held one of the children on his lap, smiled along with her, mostly silent, yet listening closely.
Our visit to Basra took place in October, 2002, shortly after the U.S. escalated the "No Fly-Zone" bombing, and Bert, one of our peace team, asked about the raids.
"Yes. For one week they fly. They bomb at two or three o'clock, they bomb in the night. We are sleeping on the surface [the roof]." Umm Khaidar's face blanched, as for a moment, she seemed to be back on the roof, reliving the fear . "Emergency sirens wake us up. Four times in the night they bombed, two of them at the airport. We could hear it."
Thamir, who rarely intervened in the conversation, suddenly commented, "They say this is to protect the Shiites. But they are killing the Shiites." Everyone laughed.
Umm Khaidar added, with a sardonic smile, "very good protection."
On a silver tray, in small porcelain cups with floral designs, tea was brought to us. A child ran across the room, settling on Umm Khaidar's lap, then dashed off again. One of us asked if people expect an escalation of the bombing, and Umm Khaidar said yes. They regularly hear the threat of it on SAWA (formerly Voice of America).
"They speak in Arabic, and they say, 'we decided to bomb your president. We bomb in the night to let the people of Iraq be ready for the big bomb.' When we hear the radio, we are afraid. I feel frightened. If we have started to do something for the future, we stop it, because maybe we will be killed, or destroyed, or something like that. But the songs on SAWA come, I think, from Kuwait or Saudi Arabia, and they are very clear, very beautiful. The children like them." The programs present American and international news as well, which Umm Khaidar said often sounded believable, at least until they are analyzed.
I commented that we had noticed many buildings under construction, which seemed like a sign of hope. Umm Khaidar explained that they had been started before the bombing became so frequent. Then, apropos of nothing I could discern, she added, "We believe in God, and we believe in our government, and we love our leader, because he stands against the evil of your government. So, inshalla, God will help us."
"If war comes," someone asked, "what will you do?"
"We will stand against the war. We will believe in our government and our leader. We are tired since 1990. War destroys everything beautiful. The war opened the doors of something bad. But God will save us."
"Maybe they will bomb us with sweets and candy," Thamir said, with a sardonic laugh. "Humanitarian bombing." Everyone joined him in the laughter.
"They bombed at ten o'clock one morning, and I catch Mustafa," Umm Khaidar said with a big grin, illustrating with her arms how she clutched him to her breast. "I was in the market. All the women they are shaking, and they run. And I shake and I run." The smile disappeared, as quickly as it had come.
"When they bomb," she said, "we -- all of us -- go into this room, because it is in the center. No ones goes out. If one dies, we all die."
[1,312 Words]
Posted on February 2, 2003.