She sat next to me, stared at the video and fell into tears. She let her head fall into both of her hands. Her face turned pale with washed by tears. She didn’t even care about the other employees around us.
“I can’t imagine any human being can endure what Iraqis are going through,” she said. Since the war happened, she never missed the news, she confirmed, but this time was different. She started reading our blogs and hearing our stories.
“It’s an everyday scene,” I said while I could still see the shock on her face. “And we complain here!?” she exclaimed sarcastically.
She is one of my colleagues at work, another graduate assistant who is as young as I am. Very intellectual, educated, and aware of what is going on. After hearing the truth, she told me she never hated Bush as she hated him now.
We sat for hours talking about
I am going to be speechless and leave the podium for the courageous Iraqi bloggers to talk about one of the dozens of the horrifying incidents they went through since the invasion in 2003. But keep in mind that each story is one incident that is still happening everyday for hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people.
Zeyad writes about one of the most horrifying moments in his life.
The heavy drone of the private neighborhood generator slowly eased down into a familiar whir, marking its shutdown for the night. I cursed the owner under my breath. It was only 8:30 p.m.
With beads of sweat already forming on my forehead, I threw off my shirt and opened my bedroom window. Pausing for a moment, I peered out into the pitch dark that engulfed our street. There were bits of fluorescent light here and there, emanating from stores that were still open or about to close.
Something was not right, though. The lady in the house across the street was watching from her window, and there was almost a sense of foreboding in the street. I could make out pedestrians hurrying away. I imagined it was just a brawl.
“Sit down, I say! Sit, damn you!” someone was yelling. “Take it and leave me,” someone shouted back.
The heated exchange continued for a few seconds. I couldn’t see anything, but it was clear that someone was swearing and fighting across the street from our front door.
As the exchange became more intense, there was a scream of “Allahu Akbar!” followed by four consecutive gunshots that pierced our still street.
I had ducked instinctively, but in a split-second I was running downstairs and outside, wearing just my shorts and flannel. A car screeched away, and my immediate thought was that a friend or a neighbor was either shot or kidnapped.
The street was dark and almost deserted; storeowners were hurriedly locking their stores, while others pointed to a spot across the street from where I was standing. I saw a guy, who is a bit mentally challenged, and who works with the local generator owner, pacing around in circles and muttering “Abu Hassan, Abu Hassan, Abu…”
Abu Hassan is the generator owner. I had a vague notion of what might have taken place, but I hoped I was wrong. I found myself rushing across to the spot that people were still pointing at. There was indeed a body, lying face down in a pool of blood. It was Abu Hassan.
I crouched next to him and tried to check his pulse, but my hands were shaking and I couldn’t feel a thing. His neck was still warm and moist with sweat. Some familiar faces from the area cautiously approached me. “Is he still alive?” they asked. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” I nervously shot back. “But do something. Take him to the hospital. Now.”
They tried to find a car, but it seemed that no one wanted anything to do with it, or were trying to make excuses. Someone stopped a taxi but the driver said no when he saw the corpse. I was still next to Abu Hassan’s body, trying to make sense of what just happened. Even now, when I try to remember those traumatic moments, I get a hazy picture, as if the whole
incident was taking place in a dream, and that I would suddenly wake up and go out to find Abu Hassan in his mechanic’s overall, smiling under his big gray moustache as he poured oil into the generator.
When I tried to turn him over so they could carry him into a car, my hands touched his blood-soaked shirt. I could now see that he was shot four times in the chest. There was also a bag nearby with a box of peaches, medication
and a Pepsi bottle; he was obviously going to take that home to his kids. I stared in his anguished face again, then at my bloody hands. And that was when I momentarily lost it.
“They shouted ‘Allahu Akbar,’ godammit,” I retorted angrily. “It was a [expletive] execution. What do those murderous bastards want?”
My cousin and another neighbor held me by the shoulders and shook me violently. “Get a hold of yourself and watch your tongue,” they whispered urgently. “You don’t know who the hell might be watching. They might be
standing among us to check if he’s dead or not.”
As my cousin led me across the street back home, I burst uncontrollably into tears. “How could you go out in your shorts?” he was saying, almost to himself. “Are you out of your mind? Haven’t you heard that they banned
shorts?”
The whole family was waiting. My father scolded me for going out, in such a situation, in shorts. “Do you want them to kill you?” he yelled at me.
“Them?” I yelled back. “How long are we going to cower in fear and wait for them to get to us too? How long until we’re next in the line?”
“Yes, living here is like waiting in a damn line to get killed,” he said. “Either you learn to live with it, or you leave. Period.”
Chickitita –first words, first walk, first.... in IRAQ
Chickitita fears the Iraqi commandos when they broke into her house and kidnapped her step father. Baghdadis fear these commandos as most of them were either members of the Badr Troops or are loyal to Sadr and his militias.
To me the night the Iraqi commandos raided my house was the most horrific of the lot. The way they stormed into my room caused me a lifelong phobia of anyone in khaki, camouflage or any type of military uniform and any machinegun that looks exactly like the ones they pointed at my family and me. The sight of them makes my heart pound so fast, my tummy hurt, my whole body shake and my mouth parch.
The sound of mum's pleas to those horrible thugs to leave step dad alone and have mercy on him is still echoing in my ears. And the way he was dragged to their vehicles bound and scared with eyes downcast trying to assure us all that he will be back soon is still haunting me.
After 12 hours of detention and humiliation, step dad was back home baffled, tired and unable to say a word, and to this day he has no idea why he was taken in the first place.
In this incident, the kid narrates to us the sorrowful loss of four of his best friends…
Four of my friends were killed by a huge double roadside bomb that exploded in Karada on Sunday June 11. That’s right, four, count them … that is, if you can identify their bodies. Forever gone — can you imagine that? Since you are all comfy in your air-conditioned rooms sitting on armchairs, sipping Pepsi or Kool-Aid or whatever it is that you care to sip while your sons and daughters go safely to colleges and your spouses sleep in bedrooms million miles away from here, I’d like to take the opportunity to offer what it feels like to be insane amidst the apocryphal hell of Iraq, both weather-wise and people-wise.
They were the best of people. Two of them, my best friends, were Shiites; another was Sunni and the other was Christian — an example of unity that can never be portrayed in a million years by the hypocritical fake advertisements they numb us with on TV. Three of them lived in the internal hostel because their families were abroad, and each one’s story is sadder than the other.
I remember precisely the moment when I got the phone call at 10:30 p.m. telling me that three of them were dead. The time went very slowly. The room, just a minute earlier moist and extremely hot, became sullen and cold. I went upstairs and wept alone. I wept all day, frequently looking at the mirror and gesturing incoherently …
My world has not been the same since that day. Everywhere I go there are small marks that bear their faces or actions of the past (like when England wins in the World Cup, of which Hobi was a great fan), and the lectures that Ninos used to make clear to us less-gifted students, and the countless pictures, tokens of a better time that I cannot bear to look at again. Even when I close my eyes to sleep, nightmares creep in and welcome me. Yesterday I dreamt I was killed by marines; before that I was abducted by militias … it goes on and on.
And there you sit, comfortable in your ignorance, sipping on your Pepsi and choking on your Burger King while I tell you a story of one of those statistical body counts. You are to blame. Your ignorance was a major cause of all this.
Later that night, I printed out a glorious color picture of Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi, the flag of Iran, and the American star-spangled banner, put them one on top of the other in the backyard, the American flag on top of all, and set them all to flame … I didn’t feel a goddamn thing. I don’t consider my actions in the above paragraph justified, even morally correct. I apologize for that, but it’s the truth. Heck, I’m going to write to Bono to ask him if he can do a song about my friends, but I’m not hoping for much.
I said that four people were killed, but only talked about three. The last person, Saif, survived the explosion and was hospitalized with third-degree burns. I visited Saif that first day; his face was completely unrecognizable. He kept asking me about the fate of the three others, tears stuck at the corner of his eye. I told him they were fine.
Five days later, I had a dream where I met Sayoofi on the streets. He looked much healthier but somehow out of touch. I woke up giddy and expectant that day; He died that afternoon.
I did visit him on that last day and he told me the story of the explosion. It contained some interesting details :
Saif: “When the explosion occurred, the four of us were walking hand in hand. All of a sudden I felt myself hurled 50 meters in the air, and felt a severe burning all over my body. I wore a t-shirt which eased the pain on my arms; not so for my legs. All around me people were burning and moaning horribly; the stench was unbearable. I could still walk and I crossed the street, calling for anyone I saw for help. When I reached the other side, I flung myself in a pool of mud and water — people came and started throwing cold water on me. I had barely settled when a second larger explosion rocked the streets. I looked behind me and saw the building set to flames, Ninos [the Christian] was beside me: his face was white and something had entered his stomach.”
Here Saif stops with tears running down his face to ask me for the zillionth time about the other three. I tell him that they are resting just as he is.
Nobody of sane mind can live here … We Iraqis have been so used to being kicked and dragged through the mud that we did not recognize the abyss in which we found ourselves. But there comes a time when you look around see your world for what it is and cannot take any more of it. I hate to be a whiner, but I tell you nothing but the absolute truth. Iraqis today are strange, sorry creatures — confused, constantly paranoid, and filled with distrust and hatred.
Here, Nabil describes how he felt when a mortar fell in front of his house’s main gate…
I was in my room...around 7 pm...chatting on the internet with my friends...then I heard a huge sound of bombing...and huge amount of dust came into my room.... I was shocked... I stopped thinking for minutes...I didn't know what to do...then heard the voice of my mum from down stairs...screaming..Nabil, Nabil...are you okay?!.... I ran downstairs to check if my mom and dad are okay...and thanks to god they were okay.
Then we started to try to understand what happened...meanwhile we heard voices in the street...saying that a mortar missile fell on a shop in front of my house.... the owner of the shop is one of my friends... and his house is just behind the shop...so I ran out to check if they were okay... I crossed the street...it was too dark...no electricity as usual...saw few men with torch lights looking at the shop and trying to find what happened...then a guy who was passing the street....stood in front of my house and shouted to us...that he found a hole in the street... we ran to his spot...and found what you see in these pictures...
We found that it was a mortar missile which fell on the side-walk as you see....
Its not safe for us...even being locked up in our homes...WHAT A MESS !!!!!
Fatima – Thoughts from
Fatima fears for her husband's and baby's lives as they were caught in corss fire on their way to home.
About two weeks ago, my husband, 15 month old daughter and I were at our neighbors' house. We walked out of their gate at about 10 pm. Right then, in the dark of the electricity-less night, really loud gunfire, very close to us, started going off. We couldn't easily slip back into our neighbors' yard because the gate was locked, and running home was about 30-40 meters away. At that moment, those 30 meters seemed like a mile away. All I could think of was whether we would get home safely. All I could think of was whether we would get caught in the middle of a gunfight between insurgents and the Iraqi army checkpoint set up at the beginning of our street, or if a stray bullet would hit my husband, baby or I.
It wasn't a major gunfight, but it quickly took me back to about a year ago, when my young daughter and I were home alone at night and a major gunfight actually did occur on our tiny street. All the cars parked on the street had their windows blown out, and a couple of houses had bullets through their windows. I was hoping that this wouldn't be the same thing. Thankfully, we made it home safely, where I breathed a sigh of relief. Others have not been as lucky as I.
Sunshine, the high school girl, tells us how she and her relatives survived a mortar attack at their school…
One day and as I went to school, I saw a panic situation. Teachers were crying and the girls were running here and there and crying. I asked a girl what is going on?! She said "a missile hit our school garden"
After few minutes I knew that the teachers' room was damaged and the school's windows were broken, as well as the library and one of the classrooms. Two girls were injured, one in the fourth grade, the other in the second.
There were so many policemen. Each one of them was nervous. I wanted to find my relatives who attend the same school. I went to the other building then a policeman stood in the middle of the yard and shouted "GO TO THE OTHER BUILDING NOW”. I didn't move from my place as I was trying to find my relative, then he shouted "YOU , GO". I told him that I was searching for my relatives . Then, thank God, I found my relatives.
We stayed together. We tried to use a cell phone to call our families but we couldn’t as it is forbidden to bring cell phones to school .However, one of my classmates hid her mobile. I asked her if I could use her phone. She accepted and let everyone call their parents.
After a while my relative’s father arrived. I felt relieved to see him. He took me to their house. At 12:15 pm my Dad came and picked me up to my worried mother. She looked so pale. I am so blessed to see my family again. I am alive. It is a miracle.
Caesar of Pentra -- In Iraq, sex is like snow
Caesar of Pentra speaks about an incident his father went through as he was going back home from work…
I just wonder how can we continue doing our jobs and go to schools or to work?! A week before, my father came home terrified! He said that some gunmen stop their office bus on the highway that leads to “Albayaa area” in
On her blog,
It was a scary day more than any other day. I left the hospital and found the sky full of smoke. It was not like the smoke of a car bomb or a roadside bomb. I heard one man saying the Shorja market is burning. I waited at the hospital main gate waiting for the driver, then the news came: the roads are blocked, clashes are taking place in Bab al-Muadham etc.
I didn’t know what to do. Should I stay where I was standing waiting for the driver or take a taxi? How could I find a taxi if the road is blocked? If I stayed here, how long will it take me to get home?
I called the driver. He told me a car bomb exploded near the Nidaa Mosque. I could hear shootings through the phone. It means that the area where work and my neighborhood were dangerous at that time.
Half an hour later, the driver came. I arrived home safe. I entered the house and looked at my brother. We both did not utter a word. Then he said, “you weren’t as bad as I was”. He took me to the garage and showed me how one of the bullets hit the windshield of his car on the driver’s seat. He then told me the car was parked in one of the neighborhoods were clashes took place.
Like most of the Iraqi women who used to live in a former secular
A high school girl went through a horrible time when bunch of armed men shaved all her hair because she wasn't wearing any scarf. This is a new trend found by the animal called Muqtada Alssadar.
Also a woman with her daughter were killed in Saydiya because the woman was driving and that is a taboo now.
The abnormal conditions in
Even though I am working at home since few months and the risk of going out and getting killed is much more less, still I am the one responsible to fill the car with fuel and sometimes do simple shopping, I still need to go out and cut my hair, still need to go out for many other reasons. Now I am afraid to do so for I do not have a single skirt in my closet, all I have is pants , pants and more pants, I don't even have long shirts to cover the pants and everytime I go out I look horrible trying to cover everything despite the colors while I am known as the most elegant , nice dressed person where ever I go. As for the scarf, I’d rather put a shoe on my head with my full consent than put a scarf without it.
Of course along with that Muqtada was kind enough to make sure not to exclude the Iraqi males from his generosity and he and his militias started killing any male wearing jeans, shorts or cutting their hair the western style which we call here Haffur! Idiot!
In his latest entries, Zappy seemed so depressed and haunted by fear of death…
I feel like a different person, I am now an engulfed by fear & cowardness, I jump at the sound of a squeaking door, I feel like I’m half dead.
I have this feeling of being stalked; it’s like Spiderman when he gets those vibes when danger approaches. Such a terrible feeling, you feel your heart is going to burst out of your chest.
Furthermore this morning, on my way to work I nearly had a car accident, a Black GMC Suburban nearly hit my Car on the Highway, it then swirled towards the pavement and smashed in, I stopped to see what happened, it seems that the driver was shoot seconds earlier while he was driving or something similar, when they pulled him out of the car he was dead due to multiple gun shots.
This is too much…
What if you feel your daughters are in danger and might be kidnapped? Read our friend’s account of this incident where gunmen broke into his house trying to kidnap his daughters.
My daughters were not at home at that time because their minibus broke down at that day so they had to walk back home and this is why they were late, “They should be home by now”, one of the gangsters told my neighbor with an interjection when she told him that the girls still at school replying for his question about them.
My fear rushed with me to the house, it was striking hard on my head and making me so meager while it was growing and growing, it filled the car that I was driving in the dusk through the useless police checkpoints in a bumpy road that was not paved since Saddam era.
It took me 45 minutes in a 15-minute road to reach my house because of those police checkpoints and the 150-meter distance that we should maintain between our cars and the US military Hummers that were patrolling the street so slow, we can not pass them even if it was an emergency other wise they will shoot us so I was driving slowly following them while I was boiling deep inside trying to get home as fast as possible.
I can not call the police because I do not trust them and I can not ask for help to protect my daughters, what shall I do? I remembered what that guy said in his comment about Iraqis should help themselves and do not expect every thing from the Americans but how can I help myself in this case to protect my daughters.
The house was dark when I reached there because there was no electricity as it comes on for one hour and goes off for 8, and the public generator that supplies our block with electricity broke down two days ago and no one fixed it because its mechanic was killed last week because he was Shiite.
I walked inside the dark house stumbling with things on the floor that I couldn’t see because of the darkness; my wife and my daughters were all sitting in the living room motionless with awe.
I sat by my daughter who was squatting on the sofa and told them, “I am going to take you all outside Iraq, it is not the place that you can stay in any more, let us leave this country for those marionettes and the gangsters.”
