A Trip To Najaf
By Helen Williams
21 August 2004
Countercurrents.org
Baghdad: On
Thursday morning, my translator, Wejdy, and I set off, with our friend,
Ali, at 5.30pm for the Italian Red Cross Hosptial in Medical City in
Bagdad. The streets were silent and empty as we sped across Bagdad -
thankfully there were no traffic jams at this hour of the morning. From
there we set off for Nagaf. There were around 15 Italian Red Cross volunteers
with some Iraqi Red Cross staff and we were to travel in convoy on the
long and possibly dangerous journey to Nagaf, taking much needed medical
supplies and a lorry load of litre bags of water. Ali, in his car headed
up the convoy, which contained 2 four-wheel drives full of volunteers,
2 Red Cross lorries (one with medical supplies, the other with the water),
one ambulance (also containing medical equipment) and another car of
volunteers.
Wejdy and I travelled
in the back of the ambulance, quite comfortably amongst all the boxes
and equipment. We sat next to the sliding side door, the window of which
slid open from both sides. I sat on a seat facing forward and Wejdy
sat in front of me, with his back to the driver's cabin, so we slid
the window open a little from both sides so that we could both see out.
If we had not opened the window we could not see out as the window was
covered in a sticky plastic frosted glass covering. After several stops
and delays driving through Bagdad, we left the city and headed south.
Wejdy and I were quite happy sitting in the back of the ambulance and
ate some food and drank
some water as we passed Mahmoudiya and approached Hilla. We passed through
Al Lattifya, 20 kilometres from Mahmoudiya and 50 kilometres from Bagdad.All
of a sudden, there was a huge explosion. The impact of which seemed
to burst against the side of the ambulance and the glass in the window
shattered. I did not know what it was, but I knew it was bad and, straight
away and instinctively, I fell to my knees and grabbed Wejdy, pulling
him down on top of me, making us into a tight ball, as small as possible
in the bottom of the ambulance.
We did not know
if we would be hit again. Augosto, our driver, wrestled with the vehicle
as we seemed to be going all over the road. I honestly thought that
we were about to crash or roll over. After what seemed like minutes,
we straightened up and carried on our way. From the front, they asked
if we were okay - we were, just my cheek was hurting, not because the
glass had hit it (it had not), but I think from the pressure of the
explosion, but it was not even bruised and calmed down after an hour
or so. And later I noticed that my shoulders and arms were hurting,
probably from pulling Wejdy, but that too cleared up. After a few kilometres
we stopped on the side of the road. Checks were made on everyone. Thankfully,
only one was injured - Uday, one of the Iraqi volunteers was badly cut.
His face had about 40 small shrapnel cuts, one close to his right eye
and his right arm was badly cut up too. He was put in the back of our
ambulance and treated. He looked shattered and he looked like he needed
to cry - the shock for him was worse than for any of us. He had been
in the water lorry in front of us and this had taken the full brunt
of the attack, completely losing its windscreen and other windows and
wing mirrors. The tarpaulin over the water had to be removed as it was
ripped and tattered and dragging on the ground and causing a nuisance.
While Uday was being treated, Wejdy and I sat in the front of the ambulance.
The windscreen was smashed, but still in place. I marvelled at Augosto's
composure and driving - he had controlled the ambulance after the explosion
and kept it upright on the road. The same for the lorry driver in front
- the lorry had taken the worst of the blast and the driver had continued
to control the vehicle, despite losing all the glass, and his passenger
being injured - and he was driving a lorry! Ali's car too had been damaged,
losing the back windscreen and back side window.
Had we crashed after
the attack, the implications are too horrible to consider - we could
have been stuck on the road and come under fire from whoever had attacked
us - it is down to these wonderful drivers that this had not happened.
I asked Ali who he thought had down this and he simply replied "f**kers".
There was no more discussion on the way to Nagaf and I, for one, just
longed to get there and get off the dangerous highway. Throughout and
after the attack, I felt strange - not frightened, at no time did I
feel scared - I just felt shattered and upset, maybe it was a bit of
shock, I don't know, but it was an emotion I had never experienced before.
When we arrived at Nagaf, later on, we were able to ask what people
thought had happened. Wejdy had seen the explosion saying that he had
seen something hit the road to the side of us and the dirt and dust
rise. The dirt had filled the ambulance, going everywhere - all over
the medical equipment and filling our own packs with mud and glass -
even though the window to the side of us had largely stayed intact some
glass had come away and flown around the ambulance. Safa'a, one of the
Iraqi Red Cross staff, had been in the car behind us. He doubted that
it was a missile (RPG or mortar) and said he thought it was a roadside
bomb. Possibly, he said, someone had followed us from Bagdad and overtaken
us and laid the bomb, waiting somewhere nearby with a remote control
or setting a timer for our arrival - but he felt that it was definitely
directed at us and wondered and worried how we would return to Bagdad
safely.
A couple of hours
later we arrived in Nagaf. There were signs of fighting everywhere -
bullet holes and tank round holes adorned many buildings. We crossed
the bridge over the beautiful Euphrates River and I remembered our earlier
visit to this holiest of holy cities, back in December last year - how
much calmer things were in this country then. We passed a Mahdi Army
checkpoint and passers-by were talking to Wejdy pointing out damage
to buildings and telling us about American attacks on the city, how
they could not sleep etc. Some said "God help Moqtada". We
continued deeper into the city passing markets and shoppers here on
the outskirts, almost carrying on as normal. But as we went on, the
streets became quieter. Less and less people and cars were to be seen.
We were warned against going one way as there were American snipers
there. We went a different way through a
residential area. We went down narrow dusty uneven roads, each side
of us sandy coloured houses came right up to the street. People came
out to see us and hold up the low lying electrical cable so that the
lorries could pass.
We began to hear
gunfire and the sounds of tank fire in the distance. As we carried on
it became louder as we got nearer. Again many spoke to us, saying how
many people had abandoned their houses through fear of their lives and
gone elsewhere. Children came out and neighbours watched from their
doorways, many waving and smiling at us - many telling us bad things
about the Americans and asking why this was happening to their city.
One man warned us that the Americans would not let us in.
The streets then
became eerily quiet. Quiet that is except for the sound of battle -
machine gun fire and tank rounds filled the air. Two of our number ran
ahead of the convoy, wearing Red Cross tunics (white with a big red
cross on them) and waving a huge Red Cross flag. They went to each junction
that we had to pass and showed themselves and the flag. As we passed
each junction, we could see American tanks at the end of each street,
about 150 metres away - at the end of one street, there were tanks.
We carried on slowly. Then we came to one junction - here the fighting
sounded like it was on the street in front of us that crossed our street.
The machine gun fire was deafening. Again, the two went with the flag
to indicate that we were Red Cross carrying medical aid. But we were
not allowed to pass. They went down the street towards the Americans,
but no, we could not pass. They later
told us that the Americans there would rather have vomitted than speak
to them! We waited a while, not passing the junction and the battle
carried on - it seemed as though it was just in front of us. We parked
up against the empty houses. A family in a house nearby asked us into
their home. We went
into the visitors room - a large room with some seats and mattresses
arranged around the walls, the windows, open, faced onto the street.
We sat for a while in the heat - there was no electricity so the fans
were not working - Nagaf is without electricity and then we began to
unload some medical equipment. The men from the Italian Red Cross began
to set up a makeshift field hosptial there in the sitting room. They
set up 3 small beds and placed necessary medical items, gloves, disinfectant
and so on, at the head of each bed. Drip stands, first aid equipment
and boxes of medication were arranged around the room. Poor Uday came
in looking like he was in great pain and he was given an injection to
help take the pain away.
While all of this
was going on, the fighting continued outside - it seemed to be getting
closer and the tank rounds from the Americans sounded like they were
hitting the next building. One in particular sounded very close, shaking
the house even stronger than the others, the glass light fittings
rattled and my toes curled. One of the Iraqi Red Cross guys told me
that when they had come to Nagaf a few days ago, they had been allwed
to pass the American line and deliver the aid and do something worthwile,
but here we could do nothing. A few days ago, the Americans had been
further away from
the Imam Ali Mosque, but now they, and us, were within 200 metres -
it seemed as if they thought they were going in for the kill and they
did not want any of the injured to be saved. As we were not allowed
to pass the lines we could not treat any of the injured, and they could
not pass through the lines and get to us. The situation was unbelievable
and impossible. The Americans should have let us through, we were aid
workers. There is NO way they should have stopped us. It just shows
their flagrant disregard for human rights and human life. They are disgusting,
evil murderers and I saw it for myself, all we wanted to do was deliver
aid to injured people. The decision was made to pack up and head out
to Kufa, where there was also (unreported) fighting, some 10 kilometres
away - there we would be able to do something worthwhile, it was hoped.
So we packed up all the equipment and headed back out along the dusty
streets. The residents that remained came out to see us go, asking why
we were leaving. They also could not believe that we were unable to
pass. They were telling us things about the people leaving the city.
One said "Is this democracy?" Another "God help Moqtada"
and others told how the Americans had been firing at their houses.We
took back roads out of Nagaf, so bumpy that the ambulance bottomed out
several times and made our way to Kufa.
We passed more Mahdi
Army checkpoints, who let us pass unhindered and approached the Mosque.Here
Ali talked to the men guarding the site and they pointed the route we
should take to the mosque gates. We entered the mosque. This was a 'double'
mosque - two mosques in one complex - Moqtar Mosque and Muslim Mosque.
Mahdi army men were sitting in the shade around the Mosque eating their
lunch. One small girl near the mosque stared at us in disbelief - I
smiled at her and her little face broke into a wide grin - I wondered
at the things she had seen and what her life was like. Inside the mosque,
all the vehicles parked up in the mosque compound. The Mosque was being
worked on and made beautiful, there were builidng materials everywhere
and men working.We were taken to a small room in one of the buildings
around the courtyard and given lots of cold water to drink.
I had put my headscarf
on as soon as we reached the outskirts of Nagaf. Now I had my chadoor
on as well - here in the mosque, it was important that not one strand
of hair was on display.Safa'a then took me and Wejdy to another small
room across the courtyard. In this room were about 10 small beds with
5 patients - young men who had recently been injured. One man had a
colostomy 5 years ago, but ithad started to bleed and he was unable
to reach a hosptial so he had come to the mosque for rudimentary treatment.
Two other men had been burnt badly after an American missile attack
- the one had both legs badly burnt and one arm, the bandages on which
needed changing, blood and fluid was seeping through.
Safa'a told him
to try and move his injured limbs to keep them mobile. The other 2 had
also been injured by a missile attack. One, who said he was 18, but
looked 15 or 16, had shrapnel wounds all over his back and buttocks,
so he could not even lie down comfortably. Fortunately, especially for
the
burns victims, there was electricity here - at least they had the benefit
of air conditioning and fans, if nothing else.
We left the room
and were taken into the Mosque itself. It was the first time that I
have ever been allowed into a Mosque in Iraq. Unlike Syria, Tunisia
and Turkey, non-Muslims are not allowed into mosques in Iraq - but they
made an exception for us and I felt so lucky and honoured as I entered
the recently refurbished prayer hall. It was absolutely stunning with
huge beige and white pillars and beautiful white glass lights hanging
between each and of course, lots of fans. The prayer hall was open to
the mosque courtyard with huge brick arches and the hall itself was
large, peaceful and airy. The Mosque is called Moqtar Mosque. Moqtar
is the man who killed Yezid, an Ummayad in Damascus. Yezid is the man
who killed Hussein in Kerbala in 680 AD. Hussein is the man who is revered
in the month of Moharram and 10 Moharram (Ashura) is the day on which
Hussein died at Kerbala - this is the day that the bombs happened at
Kerbala and Khadimaya this year - the most speacial and holy day for
Shia Islam. Moqtar is buried in this Mosque. In addition to this, this
mosque is the first mosque that Imam Ali , son-in-law and cousin to
the Prophet Mohammed, ever preached at and it is the mosque that Moqtada
Al Sadr, the man himself, leads prayers every Friday - the one you see
on TV. So it is a very very special place, almost, but not, as special
as the Imam Ali Mosque in Nagaf, where Imam Ali is actually buried.
Here in a small
room off the side of the prayer hall we sat down for lunch. Wejdy experienced
for the first time a pleasant vegan phenomenon. Everyone else was fed
first - they had horrible kebab meat on some flat bread with onions
and tomatoes. We waited patiently for our food to arrive - Ali had kindly
explained that we were vegan. And then it came - a huge plate - over
40 cm in diameter - of yellow rice with baked vegetables on it - eggplant,
tomatoes, potatoes, onions etc - it looked delicious and everyone else
thought so too, looking eagerly at our food. And once again, I enjoyed
that feeling - the feeling that everyone else in the room had wished
they had said they were vegan too. Throughout the meal, different men
came and joined us in the room. Many of them were fighters and they
were all thoroughly pleasant men. Being the only woman in the party,
I was completely spoilt, my chai glass constantly filled etc. But when
I spoke a few words of Arabic saying how much I loved Iraq, chai etc
that was it. Talking and laughter filled the room as we discussed Wales
(and its 'occupation' by England), the situation in Iraq, the evil of
America and even what sports I liked. Poor Wejdy could barely keep up
with the translating and he encouraged me to say more and more in Arabic,
but by now my head was pounding - probably from a combination of the
2 hours sleep I had last night and the bomb blast on the journey south.
I was happy when we were informed that we would take two
hours rest until 6 pm, when we would open up a clinic for the evening
- I was to help any women that arrived. But before we went to sleep,
a couple of fighters wanted to speak to the Italian Red Cross men. One
of them wanted to know why, every time he launched a rocket, his body
shook, his eyes went blurry, his ears went strange and he became dizzy.
The doctor told him it was probably from the force of the launch. But
the man was still concerned, saying that it did not happen to his compatriots
- he was told that it was probably due to his health, different men
can do different things and he
probably was not 100% fit from all the worry and fighting and that it
was nothing to be conerned about if he felt otherwise healthy in his
normal day to day life. Abu Moqtada ('father of Moqtada' - he had recently
had a new born son who he had named after Moqtada Al Sadr), another
fighter, had crude stiches holding together cuts on his fingers - this
was then dressed very tidily, but he was still able to fight as his
right hand was un affected.When we awoke at 6pm, we were given more
chai. I was also given a photo poster of Moqtada - it was an old battered
one and the men wanted to give me
a new one. I declined their kind offer, prefering the old one that had
actually been used and put on display in the mosque. We had earlier
met two of the mosque sheikhs and now we talked to one of them for a
time before going outside and helping to unload the lorries of medical
aid. Two ambulances were filled with emergency equipment for Nagaf and
other things were unloaded into a makeshift clinic in a room within
the mosque compound.
Then the lorry of
water was unloaded onto the courtyard of the mosque. Nagi, a little
9 year old boy was helping here. I had met him earlier and he was a
real sweetie. Orphaned, he lived in the mosque and he was everywhere
all the time, the centre of attention and spoilt and fussed over by
all. I was told
that he loved to help the fighters load their guns with bullets and
he wanted to fight and die alongside the men. He wore a headband which
said "Please God, let Mohammed's law be obeyed always" in
Arabic. He worked so hard all day and night and when we went to sleep,
later on, in the prayer
hall, he was there again, sleeping next to us.
Throughout the evening
we talked to so many fighters it is difficult to remember them all.
I can honestly say that they were all amazingly brave kind and decent
men. THEY ARE NOT TERRORISTS OR RELIGIOUS FUNDAMENTALISTS. They all
knew that I was British and that the Italians were Italian and all had
the capacity to realise that, just because we were from bad countries
occupying and stripping Iraq, it did not mean that we agreed with out
governements. On the contrary, we explained that we did not. And not
being Muslim was not a problem either - there was complete and utter
respect for each others' religions. They just want America out of Iraq,
away from Kufa and Nagaf and away from their holy shrines. Many of them
did see it as an attack on Islam, but readily listened to me when I
explained that it was more than just that. But I could not answer when
they asked me why I thought the Americans were attacking the mosques
- in the end I just answered that I could not understand the hatred
in any man's heart that would attack poor people in residential areas
with no regard for the sanctitiy of human life, so I certainly could
not answer for these evil-doers.
Another local man
wanted to take us all to his house and put us up for the night - he
asked why did America attack Iraq and try and bring their Western 'values'
which Iraq does not want? He said "You're Christian, become Muslim,
if you don't should I kill you? Of course not. So why can't America
just let
us be and respect our religion?"Another fighter told me how his
mother was also fighting - she fires off
RPGs at the Americans, in her chadoor, even covering her face up to
her
nose.
We also met other
fighters who had travelled there from all over Iraq - from Hilla, Amara,
Kerbala etc.Then as we crossed the courtyard one time, Wejdy suddenly
spotted an old school friend, in fact one of his best friends - Mohammed
from Hilla. They could not believe it, meeting each other under such
circumstances after one and a half years. Mohammed had come to fight
America and Wejdy had come to help with medical aid and vital translation.
During the evening,
a speech was read out over the mosque loud speaker - then all the men
stopped and started chanting ending with "Moqtada, Moqtada, Moqtada".
They had just been told that America had launched a big attack on the
centre of Nagaf, but the Mahdi Army there had fought back with RPGs
and they had repelled the attack - the Americans had pulled back - I
just hoped it was true, and that as a result no further blood had been
spilt.
There were no weapons
stored in the mosque. The only time I saw weapons was when the fighters
would come into the courtyard to rest or get water etc. They were not
launching any attacks from the mosque itself. I saw all sorts of weapons
-sniper rifles, AK47's, RPGs. I joked that I was so angry with
American soldier's attitude that I could have launched one at them myself.
Well, that was it. They had an idea that I should go outside and hold
An RPG and have my photo taken. This had to be done outside of the mosque
as an RPG could not be held in attack position (even for a joke) in
the mosque
compound. At first, Ali, who was in charge of our group, wouldn't hear
of my going outside in case there should be an attack - I was certainly
safer inside the mosque compound. But then the Mahdi Army guys persuaded
him that it would only be for 5 minutes and we were allowed. Outside,
amongst even more fighters, I held, first of all, an Iraqi RPG. As I
posed (not easy in a chadoor) with this weapon, it became heavy and
I was glad when the photos and film was done. Then I held an American
RPG, but this one was easy and much lighter - I told the fighters this
- that the Americans always get it easy - even their weapons were lighter.
One of the men from the mosque filmed me -he had filmed us all day and
Wejdy joked that he bet he would show the film to Moqtada.
So during the evening
the Italians opened up a makeshift clinic and a long queues quickly
formed across the mosque courtyard. Some of the Italians went and treated
the badly injured men. Every time a woman turned up, it was my job,
with Wejdy translating, to find out what their problem was. Then we
would go and tell Safa'a in the clinic and try and get the women treated,
ie jump the queue, as soon as possible.
One lady, Azhar,
with her mum, Om Khalid, was suffering from kidney stones. I spoke to
one of the Italian doctors who told me there was nothing to be done
for her here, but that she could go to the Italian Hosptial in Medical
City in Bagdad and receive treatment there free of charge. I spoke to
the
ladies, in Arabic, and they told me how they could not sleep with the
American attacks on Kufa.
Two other women
turned up with their lovely children. Two of the children were suffering
with fever and sickness. One lady had Sadiq and a new born who she had
called Moqtada and the other lady was holding her little daughter, Zahra'a,
with two other children, Hussein and Ali. Moqtada and Zahra'a - the
two youngest, were ill and they were given medicine which they had to
mix with water (which is dirty) and take twice a day.Then a whole family
turned up needing treatment. Every time I saw a woman in
the courtyard, looking lost and requiring treatment, I had to leave
anyone we were talking to go and help. This family had a whole host
of problems. The little girl, Zeinab, 9 had kidney stones. The Italian
doctor told her to come to Medical City in 6 months for an ultrasound
scan - they would only be
a problem if they moved or became bigger - in the meantime she was to
drink lots and lots - the family had brought her x-rays for him to check.
Om Zeinab (Zeinab's mum) was suffering from stomach acid and she was
given magnesium powders to take twice a day and she also had a bad,
painful shoulder for which she was given some packets of paracetamol.
Then her mum had colon problems and she was told, like others, to get
to the Italian Hosptial in Medical City for treatment - she could not
be treated here.Another woman brought her little son with gastorentoritis
- he was also
given medicine.
There were others,
but one of the saddest was a little old lady who lived in the mosque.
I pushed her in the queue - she was suffering with a prolapsed womb
and when the doctor touched her abdomen she shrieked in pain. There
was nothing to be done for her, he said, just painkillers. Even if they
operated, it was likely to happen again. She was a dear, sweet lady
and kept thanking me - I felt awful, I had done nothing. I saw her the
next morning in the mosque ladies' bathroom - she kept talking to me
in Arabic, but all I could really understand was "thank you"
and "goodbye".
Throughout the evening
the queue did not subside and the Red Cross men looked shattered and
coped so well in the conditions. They were asked if they needed to rest,
but they declined, not wanting to leave people standing in a queue while
they took a break.
We finished at about
11.30 pm and took rest in the room where we had eaten lunch. We drank
water and ate some food and then, thankfully, it was time to sleep.
Fighting had broken out some time earlier and, though it was nowhere
as near to us as it had been in Nagaf, it was still close. We heard
loud booms from American tank fire and reply fire from the streets around
the mosque.
I felt drained and shattered and felt like I wanted to be a real girl
and
have a good cry.
Not for myself, but for what was going on around me. It all seemd so
unfair, so wrong and I felt powerless to do anything to try and put
it right - I feel writing about it in this way goes some way to address
this, trying to tell the truth about what I witnessed and trying to
tell as many people as possible.
We found a carpet
and lay down for sleep in the prayer hall. At first I was boiling hot
in my chadoor and headscarf and I thought I could not sleep with the
sound of the fighting outside. But I did, I was so tired, though the
call to prayer at about 4.15 am woke me up for a time, but I didn't
mind as I find the call to prayer a beautiful, relaxing sound - and
being in a mosque while it happened made it seem just extra special.At
6.30 am we were woken up - we were leaving. Time for a quick wash before
we hit the road - the thinking being that we would beat any would be
attackers on the way back to Bagdad. We left the mosque, waving goodbye
to our new friends and drove through Kufa, the town was just waking
up and some market stalls were just being set up for the day. Then outside
of Kufa we drove past some lush green fields for a time before passing
three brick factories. They did not look as bad as those a Al Nahrwan
- but I saw the living quarters - squalid tiny brick houses arranged
around the factories
and chimneys and the only difference seemed to be that there were only
three of them here asopposed to 100 -150, so therefore the air could
not be quite so poisonous.
We drove on and
reached Hilla and here for the first time, I felt afraid and worried.
It was not long before we would pass Al Lattifya - would we come under
attack again - I was dreading it. There were many checkpoints along
the way, including a paticularly big one at Hilla, with a big traffic
jam.
Then it happened
- just 5 kilometres before the spot we were attacked in the day before,
we came under attack again. This time I saw it. A huge explosion in
front of us threw up loads of dirt and debris and the road disappeared
in a cloud of smoke. We drove on quickly. There was no way we could
stop, we had to keep going. To stop would have surely meant that we
would have been killed. A white car passsed us, the driver, a man in
a red yeshmack, was holding his bloodsoaked head as he drove on - his
car was wrecked, but he kept going - you must not stop. A kilometre
or so up the road, there was an ICDC (Iraqi Civil Defenc Corps) checkpoint.
We were stopped and Wejdy told them what happened. Do you know what
these cowards said? "What do you want us to do about it?"
Well for one, set up a patrol down the road to stop this happening.
They are supposed to defend the civilians of Iraq and here they are
a kilometre up the road from where civilians are being attacked and
they are doing nothing about it. We did not stop until we got to Bagdad.
Safa'a walked down the convoy checking us all. I asked where Ali's car
was, where had Ali gone. "I don't know" he replied "I
just don't know - we will have to find out where he is when we get to
Medical City".
We still don't know
where Ali or his car is. He was in the first vehicle which was hit by
the roadside device. But when we passed the site - some 50 metres in
front of us when it went off - we saw no debris from a wrecked and broken
car. No one seems to know where he is and his mobile phone, always,
always on, is off or 'out of range'. We are sick with worry and it has
been hard typing this today with this on our mind - I will let you know
what we find out. He is a good man, and always tries to help everyone.
It does not matter who they are - he took us to Fallujah and it is because
he kept us safe there that I trusted him with our safety to go to Nagaf.
I am just hoping and praying that he is okay and that it is just his
phone that is not working.
The Mahdi Army are
not terrorists or mad men. Each and every single one of them was disgusted
to see the damage to our vehicles and hear about what happened to us,
saying that it was wrong, so wrong. The terrorists are the men on the
highway trying to blow up Red Cross vehicles and kill good people trying
to help others. It has been suggested by many, and sensible people at
that, that the attacks could have come from American troops - after
all, they did not want us to go in and help the wounded in Nagaf, so
why not try to stop us from getting there in the first place?
I feel so certain
that what America is doing in Iraq right now is wrong - it is a criminal
act. I am as sure about this as I am that meat-eating, vivisection and
the war in the first place was wrong. America should get out of this
country and get out now, they have wrecked it - the problem is that
they have opened up a sore that cannot heal. If the people were suffering
before, their suffering is so much worse now. I look at Iraq and I see
a broken, battered country witrh nothing in place to make life in any
way easy. Buildings and infrastructure were badly wrecked (from sanctions
mainly) before the war, and I wonder at the minds of men who could bomb
and attack such a place and kill and hurt so many innocent people. I
hear story after story of suffering and injustice and it is making me
sick and tired.
As I type this, I want to cry, I am literally fighting back the tears.
I don't know if I am just tired from the last two days, if it is worry
about Ali or if I have just had enough of seeing suffering. I do know
that I feel
emotionally drained - in a way I had the most amazing experience of
my life with the gentle men of the Mahdi Army, but in another way, I
wish it hadn't happened - that none of this was happeneing and I only
wish it would stop soon and that they will prevail. I cannot be unbiased
about this, I am sorry - it is just impossible.
(Today we have been
to visit 'Jamal' - I have talked about him many times before - he looked
after the boys in the temporary accommodation shelter. His brother 'Ali'
is fighting in the Mahdi Army in Nagaf, alonside another brother. Happily
'Jamal' has heard off 'Ali' and he is alive and well. And the other
brother arrived in Bagdad yesterday, safe and sound. Thank goodness
- 'Ali' is such a nice man, I could not bear anything to happen to him.)
All for now
Helen Williams
living in Bagdad amongst Iraqis
from Newport, South Wales