(Nothing like having a police force to protect you....or take you to
prison...or kill you. Would US citizens live like this?)
http://riverbendblog.blogspot.com/
Saturday, February 11, 2006
The Raid...
We were collected at my aunts house for my cousins birthday party a few
days ago. J. just turned 16 and my aunt invited us for a late lunch and
some cake. It was a very small gathering- three cousins- including
myself- my parents, and J.ıs best friend, who also happened to be a
neighbor.
The lunch was quite good- my aunt is possibly one of the best cooks in
Baghdad. She makes traditional Iraqi food and for J.ıs birthday she had
prepared all our favorites- dolma (rice and meat wrapped in grape
leaves, onions, peppers, etc.), beryani rice, stuffed chicken, and some
salads. The cake was ready-made and it was in the shape of a
friendly-looking fish, J.ıs father having forgotten she was an Aquarius
and not a Pisces when he selected it, ³I thought everyone born in
February was a Pisces² He explained when we pointed out his mistake.
When it was time to blow out the candles, the electricity was out and we
stood around her in the dark and sang ³Happy Birthday² in two different
languages. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly to make a wish and then,
with a single breath, she blew out the candles. She proceeded to open
gifts- bear pajamas, boy band CDs, a sweater with some sparkly things on
it, a red and beige book bag Your typical gifts for a teenager.
The gift that made her happiest, however, was given by her father. After
sheıd opened up everything, he handed her a small, rather heavy, silvery
package. She unwrapped it hastily and gasped with delight, ³Baba- itıs
lovely!² She smiled as she held it up to the light of the gas lamp to
show it off. It was a Swiss Army knife- complete with corkscrew, nail
clippers, and a bottle opener.
³You can carry it around in your bag for protection when you go places!²
He explained. She smiled and gingerly pulled out the blade, ³And look-
when the blade is clean, it works as a mirror!² We all oohed and aahed
our admiration and T., another cousin, commented sheıd get one when the
Swiss Army began making them in pink.
I tried to remember what I got on my 16th birthday and I was sure it
wasnıt a knife of any sort.
By 8 pm, my parents and J.ıs neighbor were gone. They had left me and
T., our 24-year-old female cousin, to spend a night. It was 2 am and we
had just gotten J.ıs little brother into bed. He had eaten more than his
share of cake and the sugar had made him wild for a couple of hours.
We were gathered in the living room and my aunt and her husband, Ammoo
S. [Ammoo = uncle] were asleep. T., J. and I were speaking softly and
looking for songs on the radio, having sworn not to sleep before the
cake was all gone. T. was playing idly with her mobile phone, trying to
send a message to a friend. ³Hey- thereıs no coverage here is it just
my phone?² She asked. J. and I both took out our phones and checked,
³Mine isnıt working either² J. answered, shaking her head. They both
turned to me and I told them that I couldnıt get a signal either. J.
suddenly looked alert and made a sort of ³Uh-oh² sound as she remembered
something. ³R.- will you check the telephone next to you?² I picked up
the ordinary telephone next to me and held my breath, waiting for a dial
tone. Nothing.
³Thereıs no dial tone but there was one earlier today- I was online²
J. frowned and turned down the radio. ³The last time this happened,² she
said, ³the area was raided.² The room was suddenly silent and we
strained our ears. Nothing. I could hear a generator a couple of streets
away, and I also heard the distant barking of a dog- but there was
nothing out of the ordinary.
T. suddenly sat up straight, ³Do you hear that?² She asked, wide-eyed.
At first I couldnıt hear anything and then I caught it- it was the sound
of cars or vehicles- moving slowly. ³I can hear it!² I called back to
T., standing up and moving towards the window. I looked out into the
darkness and couldnıt see anything beyond the dim glow of lamps behind
windows here and there.
³You wonıt see anything from here- itıs probably on the main road!² J.
jumped up and went to shake her father awake, ³Baba, baba- get up- I
think the area is being raided.² I heard J. call out as she approached
her parents room. Ammoo S. was awake in moments and we heard him
wandering around for his slippers and robe asking what time it was.
Meanwhile, the sound of cars had gotten louder and I remembered that one
could see some of the neighborhood from a window on the second floor. T.
and I crept upstairs quietly. We heard Ammoo S. unlocking 5 different
locks on the kitchen door. ³Whatıs he doing?² T. asked, ³Shouldnıt he
keep the doors locked?² We were looking out the window and there was the
glow of lights a few streets away. I couldnıt see exactly where they
came from, as several houses were blocking our view, but we could tell
something extraordinary was going on in the neighborhood. The sound of
vehicles was getting louder, and it was accompanied by the sound of
clanging doors and lights that would flash every once in a while.
We clattered downstairs and found J. and the aunt bustling around in the
dark. ³What should we do?² T. asked, wringing her hands nervously. The
only time Iıd ever experienced a raid was back in 2003 at an uncleıs
house- and it was Americans. This was the first time I was to witness
what we assumed would be an Iraqi raid.
My aunt was seething quietly, ³This is the third time the bastards raid
the area in 2 months Weıll never get any peace or quiet² I stood at
their bedroom door and watched as she made the bed. They lived in a
mixed neighborhood- Sunnis, Shia and Christians. It was a relatively new
neighborhood that began growing in the late eighties. Most of the
neighbors have known each other for years. ³We donıt know what theyıre
looking for La Ilaha Ila Allah²
I stood awkwardly, watching them make preparations. J. was already in
her room changing- she called out for us to do the same, ³Theyıll come
in the house- you donıt want to be wearing pajamas²
³Why, will they have camera crews with them?² T. smiled wanly,
attempting some humor. No, J. replied, her voice muffled as she put on a
sweater, ³Last time they made us wait outside in the cold.² I listened
for Ammoo S. and heard him outside, taking the big padlock off of the
gate in the driveway. ³Why are you unlocking everything J.?² I called
out in the dark.
³The animals will break down the doors if they arenıt open in three
seconds and then theyıll be all over the garden and house last time
they pushed the door open on poor Abu H. three houses down and broke his
shoulder² J. was fully changed, and over her jeans and sweater she was
wearing her robe. It was cold.
My aunt had dressed too and she was making her way upstairs to carry
down my three-year-old cousin B. ³I donıt want him waking up with all
the noise and finding those bastards around him in the dark.²
Twenty minutes later, we were all assembled in the living room. The
house was dark except for the warm glow of the kerosene heater and a
small lamp in the corner. We were all dressed and waiting nervously,
wrapped in blankets. T. and I sat on the ground while my aunt and her
husband sat on the couch, B. wrapped in a blanket between them. J. was
sitting in an armchair across from them. It was nearly 4 am.
Meanwhile, the noises outside had gotten louder as the raid got closer.
Every once in a while, you could hear voices calling out for people to
open a door or the sharp banging of a rifle against a door.
Last time they had raided my aunts area, they took away four men on
their street alone. Two of them were students in their early twenties-
one a law student, and the other an engineering student, and the third
man was a grandfather in his early sixties. There was no accusation, no
problem- they were simply ordered outside, loaded up into a white pickup
truck and driven away with a group of other men from the area. Their
families havenıt heard from them since and they visit the morgue almost
daily in anticipation of finding them dead.
³There will be no problem,² My aunt said sternly, looking at each of us,
thin-lipped. ³You will not say anything improper and they will come in,
look around and go.² Her eyes lingered on Ammoo S. He was silent. He had
lit a cigarette and was inhaling deeply. J. said heıd begun smoking
again a couple of months ago after having quit for ten years. ³Are your
papers ready?² She asked him, referring to his identification papers
which would be requested. He didnıt answer, but nodded his head silently.
We waited. And waited I began nodding off and my dreams were
interspersed with troops and cars and hooded men. I woke to the sound of
T. saying, ³Theyıre almost here² And lifted my head, groggy with what I
thought was at least three hours of sleep. I squinted down at my watch
and noted it was not yet 5 am. ³Havenıt they gotten to us yet?² I asked.
Ammoo S. was pacing in the kitchen. I could hear him coming and going in
his slippers, pausing every now and then in front of the window. My aunt
was still on the couch- she sat with B. in her arms, rocking him gently
and murmuring prayers. J. was doing a last-minute check, hiding
valuables and gathering our handbags into the living room, ³They took
babaıs mobile phone during the last raid- make sure your mobile phones
are with you.²
I could feel my heart pounding in my ears and I got closer to the
kerosene heater in an attempt to dispel the cold that seemed to have
permanently taken over my fingers and toes. T. was trembling, wrapped in
her blanket. I waved her over to the heater but she shook her head and
answered, ³I.... mmmm n-n-not c-c-cold²
It came ten minutes later. A big clanging sound on the garden gate and
voices yelling ³Ifta7u [OPEN UP]². I heard my uncle outside, calling
out, ³Weıre opening the gate, weıre opening² It was moments and they
were inside the house. Suddenly, the house was filled with strange men,
yelling out orders and stomping into rooms. It was chaotic. We could see
flashing lights in the garden and lights coming from the hallways. I
could hear Ammoo S. talking loudly outside, telling them his wife and
the childrenı were the only ones in the house. What were they looking
for? Was there something wrong? He asked.
Suddenly, two of them were in the living room. We were all sitting on
the sofa, near my aunt. My cousin B. was by then awake, eyes wide with
fear. They were holding large lights or torchesı and one of them
pointed a Klashnikov at us. ³Is there anyone here but you and them?² One
of them barked at my aunt. ³No- itıs only us and my husband outside with
you- you can check the house.² T.ıs hands went up to block the glaring
light of the torch and one of the men yelled at her to put her hands
down, they fell limply in her lap. I squinted in the strong light and as
my sight adjusted, I noticed they were wearing masks, only their eyes
and mouths showing. I glanced at my cousins and noted that T. was barely
breathing. J. was sitting perfectly still, eyes focused on nothing in
particular, I vaguely noted that her sweater was on backwards.
One of them stood with the Klashnikov pointed at us, and the other one
began opening cabinets and checking behind doors. We were silent. The
only sounds came from my aunt, who was praying in a tremulous whisper
and little B., who was sucking away at his thumb, eyes wide with fear. I
could hear the rest of the troops walking around the house, opening
closets, doors and cabinets.
I listened for Ammoo S., hoping to hear him outside but I could only
distinguish the harsh voices of the troops. The minutes we sat in the
living room seemed to last forever. I didnıt know where to look exactly.
My eyes kept wandering to the man with the weapon and yet I knew staring
at him wasnıt a good idea. I stared down at a newspaper at my feet and
tried to read the upside-down headlines. I glanced at J. again- her
heart was beating so hard, the small silver pendant that my mother had
given her just that day was throbbing on her chest in time to her
heartbeat.
Suddenly, someone called out something from outside and it was over.
They began rushing to leave the house, almost as fast as theyıd invaded
it. Doors slamming, lights dimming. We were left in the dark once more,
not daring to move from the sofa we were sitting on, listening as the
men disappeared, leaving only a couple to stand at our gate.
³Whereıs baba?² J. asked, panicking for a moment before we heard his
slippered feet in the driveway. ³Did they take him?² Her voice was
getting higher. Ammoo S. finally walked into the house, looking weary
and drained. I could tell his face was pale even in the relative dark of
the house. My aunt sat sobbing quietly in the living room, T. comforting
her. ³Houses are no longer sacred We canıt sleep We canıt live If you
canıt be safe in your own house, where can you be safe? The animals the
bastards²
We found out a few hours later that one of our neighbors, two houses
down, had died. Abu Salih was a man in his seventies and as the Iraqi
mercenaries raided his house, he had a heart-attack. His grandson
couldnıt get him to the hospital on time because the troops wouldnıt let
him leave the house until theyıd finished with it. His grandson told us
later that day that the Iraqis were checking the houses, but the
American troops had the area surrounded and secured. It was a
coordinated raid.
They took at least a dozen men from my aunts area alone- their ages
between 19 and 40. The street behind us doesnıt have a single house with
a male under the age of 50- lawyers, engineers, students, ordinary
laborers- all hauled away by the security forcesı of the New Iraq. The
only thing they share in common is the fact that they come from Sunni
families (with the exception of two who I'm not sure about).
We spent the day putting clothes back into closets, taking stock of
anything missing (a watch, a brass letter opener, and a walkman), and
cleaning dirt and mud off of carpets. My aunt was fanatic about
cleansing and disinfecting everything saying it was all ³Dirty, dirty,
dirty² J. has sworn never to celebrate her birthday again.
Itıs almost funny- only a month ago, we were watching a commercial on
some Arabic satellite channel- Arabiya perhaps. They were showing a
commercial for Iraqi security forces and giving a list of numbers Iraqis
were supposed to dial in the case of a terrorist attack You call THIS
number if you need the police to protect you from burglars or abductors
You call THAT number if you need the National Guard or special forces to
protect you from terrorists But
Who do you call to protect you from the New Iraqıs security forces?
--
"It is easier to fight for your principles
than to live by them."
---
"I did not have *****-fucking relations with Jack Abramoff" - George W. Bush
.
|
