_“Did “M” tell you about my father?”
_ “No, but; I got it myself; haven’t you got anything about him? It has been more than a year now!”
_ “No, nothing at all; we tried with everyone, we checked with the two sides, but we couldn’t get any clue!”
“H” is another one, another young doctor; and probably another one with a sad painful story.
This guy is quiet by nature, shy, polite, nice and always soft and gentle.
Yet, his peaceful personality didn’t protect him from being involved in our misery!
While sitting in the train, he told me more about his father’s story; the man who was going home but never arrived!
His father was a “Sunni” working in a good position before the invasion and got a higher one after, but he wasn’t an American agent and didn’t get Iranian roots.
One day and while going back to his house, his car was stopped by a group of police cars, a group of gunmen wearing military suits with “Slippers!!” surrounded him and took him somewhere, and nobody knows where that is!!
His family got many phone calls, asking them to pay money in order to get information, but they didn’t get anything.
They tried with Al-Mahdi army, Ministry of Interior as well as with Sunni insurgents, they were ready to pay, they begged, they cried, but that didn’t help.
In the middle of that tragedy; they got a phone call threatening that they all will be killed.
They had to run away from Iraq, leaving their father with his vague destiny.
His eyes were filled with sorrow and pain when he mentioned the “mistake” his father did by going back to Iraq few decades ago “Not with the American Tank”.
The poor “H” can’t talk about Iraq at all; whenever I mention the name of Iraq, he keeps quiet and tries to change the subject.
He mentioned many times that he would love to live here and to forget everything from the past.
I always talk proudly about my father and many others who left the U.K or any western country and went back home to teach and work in Iraq, they did the best their best for their country and that is really a great thing.
It’s a fact that they suffered a lot but, they wrote their names in the history of Iraq.
When I sat in front of “H” I just shat up, I didn’t dare to say one word of that.
It’s very easy to talk and to keep talking, but it’s so hard to be through such experience.
While walking in the park, I sank in a deep thought; many people think that it’s a type of cowardice to leave your invaded country and run away instead of fighting, others are so stupid and talking about rebuilding the country as we’ve got rid of the dictatorship (secure life) we used to face.
The worst are the ones who try to justify kidnapping and murder by accusing the others of doing so while their fellows (sect) are just nice and peaceful.
I think about H’s mother, I tried to put myself in her place, I’m asking, whoever wants to think about Iraq, putting themselves in her place.
Imagine the way she thinks and how she feels, she misses her husband, maybe she didn’t kiss him goodbye that day, she didn’t tell him how much she loves him.
She shouldn’t have let him go out that day, she would have locked the doors, she would have asked him to take care and to appoint someone to protect him, and she would have asked him to use another car not his usual one.
She would have done a lot of things if she knew. Things; which come into the mind after the loss.
Nowadays; She wishes being able to hug him once more, she wants to know if he is alive or not, are they torturing him? Are they using the drills to leave holes in his body, did they kill him?
Where is his body in case they did? Was it buried somewhere? Was it thrown to be eaten by dogs?
Many questions and many horrible ideas are ruing the mind of any woman in such situation; Why him? What did he do? What was his sin?
Still; she doesn’t know his fate; I’m sure she still have a hope, a slight vanishing one, but she can’t stop it, a hope to see him again, a hope to live another day with him, and maybe a hope in getting a hope.
Every time I think about her, I get headache, I feel low, I feel like being surround by fire, I get worried about everyone there, a big question is digging deeply in my mind; will I go through such a horrible experience.
I feel like I have to hug all the ones I love; I’m worried of not being able to do so before I lose them for good; I turn right and left to see one of them but, I always realize the fact; there is no one of them around; I’m lonely here.
Such a lady is a great one, and there are thousands like her back home, they’re really brave, and most of them lost good husbands or nice brothers or sons.
If their sufferance is a type of bravery; and I’m sure it is, Are we ready to be brave like them? Are we really happy to sacrifice the ones we love in an unjustified stupid war?
It’s much easier to sacrifice our lives than sacrificing the ones we love, we sound so brave when we pretend being ready to die, but aren’t we selfish when we don’t think about the ones we love or the ones who are in love with us?
I do believe that I should have stayed there and kept helping people; I do believe that I was selfish and thought about myself rather than all the ones who need me.
But; my condition is different; I’m not beloved and I wish no one be in love with me at all. The only thing tightening me is my mother; I don’t want her to live what my friend’s mother is living.
In the middle of that sense of cowardice and depression; a slight hope turned up, I met Firishteh again, showing how hopeless I was, I asked her what she thinks our future will be, “It will be solved and Iraq will settle down” with a warm smile and usual confidence she replied.
“So, you’re still planning to go back and start a small investment there?”
“No, my dream is to go back after collecting all my money and selling my property to build an orphanage”, she replied.
While walking alone I kept saying:
“Still there are decent ones, still there is a way to be brave; of course there is a hope”