24 October 2002
Youth Writes About His Family's Escape from Iraq
(Fleeing at age six, memories are still painful) (1950) Following is an essay written by Mahmood Naama about his family's forced exile from Iraq in 1991. Written in high school, Naama's story was published in his local newspaper in Irvine, California, in 1999. There are no restrictions on its republication. (begin text) ESCAPING TO ANOTHER LAND By Mahmood Naama The dawn of Thursday April 21, 1991, my family and I left Iraq to its happy and sad childhood memories. It left me with the impression that all I once knew had been torn from my heart and destroyed. Why did we leave? In March 1991, my father, and other generals in the Iraqi Army joined the popular uprising in the north and south of Iraq. They figured out it was time to revolt against Saddam's bloody regime. But unfortunately, he moved the Republican Guard army divisions and security service to destroy kill and crush thousands of innocent Iraqis. They arrested 10,000 others, who were mistreated and tortured without justice to stop our uprising. My father came home disappointed with fear in his eyes that something bad was going to happen to us. He told my mom it was time to take the kids and go somewhere for a few days where we could not be found. My scared mother took us to her aunt's house in an off-the-road village. This began days of living in fear and not knowing if my father was dead or alive. My mother cried day and night. We could do nothing but cry. We didn't know if we were crying just because our mother was crying, or because it was coming to a point where we might lose each other. We stayed in that farm for about one week, until my mother's sister came looking for us with the news that my father had been killed. From the point on, crying could not solve any of our problems. My mother decided it was time to move to a different location, a different farm. We went to stay at one of my mother's relative's farms. My mother wanted to go back home to find out if my father was really dead. She decided to leave my two sisters and two brothers and took me, the youngest, with her. We went in search of my father. We were gone for days and came back with good news. My father was alive! He was able to flee with several thousand others toward the American troops who were still in Iraq from the Gulf War so Saddam's authorities couldn't apprehend them. We knew that my father was still living but still had no clue where he was. We felt like now Saddam's men would be looking for us because they thought my father was dead. Mother decided that it was time for us to move to the capital, which was crazy because there were checkpoints all along the way. When we went to the capital, we went in a big bus. We were still afraid that they would know who we were, even though we looked like poor farmers. If we were searched at a checkpoint and asked for the reason we were going to the capital, my mother was to say, 'my daughter is sick and needs special medication. I'm taking along all my kids, because I have no family here and my husband was killed during the Gulf War while fighting for our country.' We arrived in Baghdad safely. There we stayed at my aunt's house for about two weeks. Then we had to find another place for a couple more days because of the neighbors. The school year started and we couldn't go to school. Then we had to move to another place. We were prisoners in our own country, moving form one hiding place to another. We stayed at my cousin's house for a few days with her and her five kids and husband. Then we were at my uncle's house for another few days. It was hard for my mother to keep us five kids in the apartment. The rule was we were to stay in one room and not open the door or windows no matter what or who. During that time, an angel was sent to come and take us out of the country. The angel was one of our relatives, but we knew very little about him. He took us back to the south where we stayed in his mother's house. She took care of us longer than anyone else. After a few days they found a driver to take us out of Iraq to Saudi Arabia. The next day at 4 a. m. the hot sun was rising on the desert. Shades of pink, red and orange illuminated the sky. We were riding in an old dingy cab, with my family piled tightly in the back. I was in so much fear my stomach felt like someone was walking all over it. I wanted to throw up. We drove past a few checkpoints where soldiers were sleeping. But at the time we did not know they were sleeping. All we knew was that we were going to get caught and be killed. As we approached the Saudi Arabia border, there were piles of sand and dirt piled high into small hills. "This is the border," said the driver, "and here is where you all get off." We were quiet getting out of the car, looking at each other and the desert. There was trash scattered all over the ground, near old broken down tents where there was once a refugee camp. We had no food or water, but being in another country was a relief. My mother, brothers, sisters and I struggled over the hill into Saudi Arabia and started to walk a great distance in the blazing desert sun. It was so hot; you could boil water on a rock. We looked on the trash-filled ground for anything we could possibly find to eat or drink. We found an old American Red Cross can of orange juice. The can was shiny aluminum with an orange on the front, on the back an American Red Cross logo. The Juice smelled sweet, but was very warm. Not having had anything to drink for a while, I greatly appreciated the juice but I was still painfully thirsty. After five miles of walking, the Saudi border security surrounded us. They asked us who we were and where we were heading. They took us to their headquarters and made some calls. The soldiers asked if the refugee camp was still accepting any people. They weren't, but they couldn't say that to us. The truth was they were taking us back to the border. We were so happy, thinking we would be safe in Saudi Arabia. We said nothing until my mother noticed that they were taking us back to the border. My mother started yelling and we started crying, "please, if you take us back, they are going to kill us. Saddam is going to kill us!" The thought came to my mind, "oh my God, our lives are going to end. We're going to see each other get shot." I was frightened at the point, but I had no tears. Why should I cry anymore? With every second that was passing by, pieces of my heart were tearing apart. I knew that I had to say 'kill me first!' because no way was I going to see my mother, sisters and brothers get killed in front of my eyes. I couldn't even cry any more. It was coming to the point where they didn't even need to shoot me. I was dying of all the pain I was suffering. Even the thought of hunger and thirst was not a problem. If it were only that, it would have been easier. We had no choice but to stay at the border. We could not return to Iraq. We spent three days living without much food and water. I think we thought we were going to die of hunger or thirst. After the third day, an officer from the Saudi army came and asked us if he could have our names. My mother told him that my father was in the camp and just some hope my mother had in her heart. The soldier said that he was going to go to the camp and announce our names and ages. If any father or husband in the camp knew our names they would come to the camp's main door. My dad heard our names and ages announced. He came to the camp's main door, not knowing why he was hearing his family's names. They told him our story and asked if he wanted to go back to the border. He decided that bringing the family in would be the best thing for the safety of the family. They came back and took us to be reunited with our father. The first night we spent with my father relieved a lot of pain. The loss of my toys and all my other belongings meant nothing. My family members were all together and we were all safe. We stayed in Saudi refugee camps for more than 18 months. The desert was stormy and windy, very hot in the summer and cold in the winter. In Rafha camps we lived in tents with no electricity, no restroom, and no showers. We slept on dust without beds, all the family in one tent. After a few months some of the conditions improved but still there was no peace and still we saw the fear in my father's eyes because we were only five to seven miles from the Iraqi-Saudi border. We were afraid of the danger from Saddam's undercover agents that might kill us, poison the water supply or even the food. But the light of hope came to us when the American Embassy representatives visited the Rafha Camp with the United Nations and Red Cross. People had to submit their names in order to be interviewed by a country that was taking Iraqi refugees. My father saw our names on a list posted for interviews for the United States of America. It was very blessed day for my family. The day after my family was interviewed to come to America, I returned back to my tent home dreaming that my dream to see a city, real schools, streets, trees, flowers and other living things and living in peace again was finally coming true. The dream came true when we got on the airplane to come to America. We arrived at John Kennedy Airport in New York on Friday morning, September 17, 1992. Coming down from the airplane we all felt like our lives started again, like we just were born. John Kennedy Airport was not our final stop. We had to fly to San Diego and that is where we were going to live. We got to San Diego at 9 that night and we didn't know anybody. We were clueless. We saw a man that had a sign that read 'Catholic Charity for immigration and refugees.' Before leaving the camp, we were informed that is what we need to be looking for and that person was going to take us to a home. Since then, life has given us some of its ups and downs. But we always say it's not as bad as it could have been. Now I am a senior attending East Lake High School taking life as a journey day by day, with every opportunity that passes me by. I would also like to thank every one that has taken the opportunity to read my story, God Bless You, for your support and thoughtfulness. (end text) (Distributed by the Office of International Information Programs, U.S. Department of State. Web site: http://usinfo.state.gov)
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