July, 2006
Amman
El Mawardi Cafe, al-Rabiya
I was meeting my friend Rami for the first time since he relocated to Jordan since 2005, he has brought his friend, Mohammed, with him. Mohammed is a very pleasent, good-natured kid, he's three years younger than both of us, and he's a Shiite. Rami is also a Shiite, but his mother is a Sunni. After a pleasant introduction and a slew of jokes to break the ice, I asked Mohammed why did he move to Jordan. This is what he said:
My father, Ali, runs a contracting firm in al-Harthiya district in Baghdad. Six months ago, masked gunmen broke into his firm, beat my father until he was unconscious, then took him and dumped him in the trunk, and rode on...my father woke up shortly thereafter, and the first thing he did was empty his pocket of all the business cards of foreign firms. After a long and bumpy ride, the gunmen took my father and threw him in an empty room in a deserted, dirty house. They accused him of working with the crusading occupation.
The gunmen called on Mohammed's family, and demanded a big chunk of money as ransom (I can't remember the exact amount, but it was impossible), they wanted it in two days notice or his father will be beheaded.
Those two days were, needless to say, frantic. In between sits with his mother, his uncles and cousins, and selling everything they can get their hands on...Mohammed's family managed to obtain the desired sum.
As for his father, the Mujahideen said to him: You shall spend the day alone, tomorrow the Emir will come and decide what your fate shall be.
and with these words, they left. and Ali slept.
With the fact that Ali's father deals with foreign firms (Mohammed didn't say exactly what was the type of business) and his Shi'ism, there was little chance that the Emir will persuaded to understand the concept of mercy in this case. Also bear in mind that back in 2005, sectarain killings weren't as audacious as they were today, they were usually veiled in ransoms.
Sometime after that, Ali's father woke up, alone. After a time of defeated idleness...Ali decided that he will not go down without a fight, he tried with all his might to do something about the rope that ties his hands...after much wriggling, the rope somewhat let loose and he was freed - after a brief euphoria, Ali realized that nothing much has been achieved, perhaps the Mujahideen didn't care much about tying him up, because the room was locked and there was only a small, high window that will not provide exit to anything but a cat.
So this is how it ends, huh?
Ali's father looked around, gave up and cried...
Is there a God? the question was posed for centuries past, but in this particular case, I strongly think so.
As as footnote, Ali's father decided to feel the bricks in the wall, which was unpainted. Lucklily, one brick was loose...Ali's father did all what he can to further pull the brick out of way, after much work and effort, he did pull it out, and used it to destory the adjacent bricks.
Half an hour later, Ali's father went out in the open like a madman who has never seen the sun...the area in which he was was semi-barren, he went running into the middle of the desert, people who were in the area fled, and as he was crying for help from a pick-up truck, the driver alarmingly drove away, Ali's father collapsed in the middle of the street.
10 minutes later, however, the pick-up truck returned, carried Ali, and provided water and food for him. He drove him down into Ramadi, found a way for him to get into Baghdad, and wished him well with these words: "This is just you know that not everyone in Ramadi are bad people. I bid you farewell."
Ali's father returned late that day, the next morning, Mohammed and his uncles were supposed to hand a briefcase filled with cash to the Mujahideen in exchange for Ali's safety.
They were sitting dead silent when Ali's father came banging on the door....his mother cried again, but this time it was tears of joy.
The next day, Mohammed, his father Ali, his mother and his siters were on the road leading to Ramadi again, but this time they weren't stopping until they reach all the way to Amman, Jordan.
NOTE: The father's real name is not Ali, in the previous story, the boy was actually named Omar. I am recounting the story from my memory, so several details may be missing.
Showing posts with label militas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label militas. Show all posts
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Omar's Oddyssey
---------------------------------------------------
This is a translation of the Arabic posted a week ago
----------------------------------------------------
In the past, I didn't want to leave Iraq - earlier to February 2006, life was difficult, but in a way, Iraqis got used to it, after my friends were killed, it took on a whole new meaning, and two days after the last friend passed to the world beyond, I heard this story, it was all I needed to know that there is no life for me here anymore.
Had this story told by anyone other than a guy that I know won't talk crap to me, I would have immediately called it off as typical Iraqi exaggeration one way or the other, Omar may have exaggerted as some point or the other - as it simply involves pretty much everything and everyone you see on TV - and much, much more! You are probably so bored of individual Iraqi death stories by now but this one simply crosses the Rambo line.
WARNING: This story has a happy ending.
------------------
ENTRY
------------------
An oddyssey normally refers to the mythical trip undertaken by Odysseus in ancient Greek literature, where he encounters strange beings and nameless creatures on his way back home. The following real-life story has been narrated to me by a friend of mine, Omar, one hot morning in Baghdad, and if it doesn't qualify as an honest-to-Homer Oddyssey, I don't know what does.
Omar is my Kia driver, he is my age, but have dropped out of high school midway through and started a carrier as a plumber, before buying a Kia and starting this 'line'. He is mentioned earlier in my blog, in this post. Omar is a streetwise kind of guy, but in the same time he is such a sweet lad, despite his constant swearing and sun-burned tan that suggests back-alleys, his green eyes betary a niceity which I have seen very little of these days.
One day, Omar's mother, his sisters, and two younger brothers (one born 1987, the other 1990) were all taking a taxicab from now-infamous Adhamiya, unfortunately, the taxi dude turned out to be a chewer, (i.e. a person who's connected to a criminal organization one way or the other, the traditional menaing of chewer indicates the middle man between regular people eligible for kidnap and murder, and the interested gangs) The Chewer delievered them to their Grandfather's house safe, but, perhaps on knowning that they are Sunni in someway, or perhaps of something they might have said, the guy returned with 3 pick-up trucks, broke the door and took the two boys away.
Omar wasn't around at the time, his mother called him weeping and sobbing, after knowning what has occured, he hurried back home, took a Shiite friend of his, who we shall call Salim, and went as fast as he could to an area in Baghdad now known as The Presidential, where a Sadr office is located. By the time he undertook this quest, the time was 9:00 pm, way past the curfew, he was stopped by several checkpoints, frenzily explaining his story he would be let go by the soldiers, at one point he asked them for help, but whenver the words 'militia' was heard, faces would recoil in fear and he would just be let through.
Upon reaching the presidential area, Omar lost his grip and his friend Salim took over driving, the area was barren and empty, like all of Baghdad, after roaming around for a few blocks lost they found a drunk guy, who answered in a drunk, overconfident "Hell, yeah! Sure I know where the office is!!!" They picked him up, and despite his drunk incongruence, he sure knew where the office is. However, The office was just as desolate and unhospitable as everything else is.
At this particular moment, Omar's frustration bubbled to the surface, and he let loose in massive frantic that cursed all the Shiites on the face of the earth, he kept on screaming, yelling and shouting until the glorious pick-up trucks came back to the office, and beat them inside it. Omar and Salim took a few cables, but the militiamen beat the shit out of the drunk guy, while on duty, in sync with the religious ideology of the Mahdi's army - they assume a very hostile tone to alcohol. That done, Omar and Salim were separated for questioning.
-What's your name?
-Omar. he gave that up, cuz they already looked in his ID
-You Sunni or Shiite?
-Shiite (cable slashes across his body)
-Don't talk shit to me now.
-Sunni....Sunni....
-What brought you here?
Omar told him his whole story, the tale was filled with joyful intermissions exercised by the investigator on Omar's thin, frail body. After the investigator got tired, they brought Salim, who looked like he's been treated with a similar reception, and then shortly afterwards came the Sayyid.
Sayyid is the 'religious authority' in the office, he's the guy with the turban, all militiamen cowered in respect, he asked the two about their names, and then quickly issued his verdict. "Those people are terrorists, go to Sadda and kill them very well."
------------------------
MEANWHILE.....
------------------------
Man: What is your name?
Omar's youngest bro: Mazin
Man: Are you a Salafi (Wahhabi)?
Mazin : No.
Man: Do you love Ali?
Mazin: Yes.
Man: Curse Omar.
Mazin: (curses Omar)
Man: Tell me what you know about the 'brave resistance'?
Mazin: I don't know anything....
(Man falls with a sledgehammer deep on Mazin's fingernails....a horrible shriek comes from Mazin, as broken nails are driven deep inside his own flesh in a mess of blood.)
Man (laughing): Good. The Mujahideen has taught you not to speak.
Afterwards, Mazin has heard the name of that man, when Omar told it to me, it was the first time I ever heard of it, but I would hear it countless and countless times after that.
The man's name was Abu Dera'.
----------------------
SADDA
----------------------
The executioner took the two unfortunate men and hurled them inside Omar's own minivan (Kia), they were blindfolded, he switched the ignition, and the car was filled with Hussam al-Russam's Iraqi party music, he quickly turned it off and murmuered in anger, and the car now headed to Sadda. Sadda is an area in Sadr City that serves as the execution ground for the Mahdi's army, Omar has now gone from crumbling despair through unflinching anger into silent oblivion. But his friend Salim kept talking to the man every now and then.
-Sir, where are we going.
-Sadda.
-How long yet?
-Soon. ...
-Sir, are you going to kill us?
- ....
The sir didn't answer, and his silence soon grew until it horribly engulfed the whole car, Omar became certain of his destiny at that moment, and he began reciting the Shahadas (couplets recited by Muslims upon death) as quickly and repeatedly as possible, he said that all he was thinking about at that particulalr moment of time was how his mother has wound up with losing all her sons together, he just wanted to have once last chance to see her and tell her goodbye.
The car reached the Saddah, the man descended and took the two silent boys to the ground, he took his gun out, reloaded....and then his mobile rang out. The caller ordered the man to stop the execution but continue routine investigation. It seems that Salim's father has connections, and his connections worked at just the right time.
As I told Omar, and as Iraqis normally would say, Omar has "the luck of bitches."
They were transferred from in various cars afterwards, until finally reaching an air-conditioned prison, the drunk man was reinstated in the shithouse, though.
After a merciful investigation that didn't involve attempts to connect coaxial cables with Omar's asshole, a man came smiling sociably and said: "Amoori, we apologize, you're free to go."
"What about my brothers?"
"They are doing well and alive in Sadr City. Don't worry, they will return soon."
For the first time that night, Omar exhaled.
------------------------------
OUTSIDE
------------------------------
Omar and Salim came out at 3 AM, like wet dogs in the rain, they rode Omar's Kia and proceeded down the road, but no sooner than they had crossed a few blocks that a swarm of bullets was being fired at them by local generator guards who mistook them for thieves. Omar pointed to the side of his Kia and sure enough, a nice line of holes decorated the side of the dark purple van. After they were well out of the way, they were met by, lo and behold, the old bandits of the streets! the average carjackers...four Opels flashed their headlights in the distance before Omar managed to use his experience as a Kia driver and dodge them around some side-streets, eventually ditching the car in some dump and spending the night at a friend's house.
Omar arrived in his house in Adhamiya the next day, to find that 2 brothers have already arrived before him, the older one wasn't tortured much, they only used his face as an ashtray, putting them out on his mouth, cheeks, nose and eyelids....but the youngest.....
the youngest was another story, a horror story, Abu Der'a's sledgehammer has made good memories out of his fingernails, and had transformed his knee-joints "Soaps, in Arabic" into actual soaps. His back was filled with light drill marks here and there....and whatever was left of him was filled with all sorts of mischief. He was immediately transported to Adhamiya's major hospital, al-Numan.
By noon, Omar's modest household was filled with all sorts of people - family relatives, friends and other people....soon, a group of men who Omar described as "al-Mujahideen" came smiling and tender, Omar's voice beamed with pride as he talked of the way one of them, upon wrapping up their diplomatic mission, swore to Omar that they'd make them pay back by 'hijacking a bus of Shiites.'
-----------------------------
"But, but, is that right?" I said to Omar in a low voice that came from the depths of some unrealistic pool that felt like an obligation, a laughable imitation of the corny, fake stuff they put on television.
"You're right, sure sure...I even told them so..." Omar's voice was just as dead.
NOTE: This story is happy, because nobody is killed - that's how far can a story be considered 'happy' in Iraq.
This is a translation of the Arabic posted a week ago
----------------------------------------------------
In the past, I didn't want to leave Iraq - earlier to February 2006, life was difficult, but in a way, Iraqis got used to it, after my friends were killed, it took on a whole new meaning, and two days after the last friend passed to the world beyond, I heard this story, it was all I needed to know that there is no life for me here anymore.
Had this story told by anyone other than a guy that I know won't talk crap to me, I would have immediately called it off as typical Iraqi exaggeration one way or the other, Omar may have exaggerted as some point or the other - as it simply involves pretty much everything and everyone you see on TV - and much, much more! You are probably so bored of individual Iraqi death stories by now but this one simply crosses the Rambo line.
WARNING: This story has a happy ending.
------------------
ENTRY
------------------
An oddyssey normally refers to the mythical trip undertaken by Odysseus in ancient Greek literature, where he encounters strange beings and nameless creatures on his way back home. The following real-life story has been narrated to me by a friend of mine, Omar, one hot morning in Baghdad, and if it doesn't qualify as an honest-to-Homer Oddyssey, I don't know what does.
Omar is my Kia driver, he is my age, but have dropped out of high school midway through and started a carrier as a plumber, before buying a Kia and starting this 'line'. He is mentioned earlier in my blog, in this post. Omar is a streetwise kind of guy, but in the same time he is such a sweet lad, despite his constant swearing and sun-burned tan that suggests back-alleys, his green eyes betary a niceity which I have seen very little of these days.
One day, Omar's mother, his sisters, and two younger brothers (one born 1987, the other 1990) were all taking a taxicab from now-infamous Adhamiya, unfortunately, the taxi dude turned out to be a chewer, (i.e. a person who's connected to a criminal organization one way or the other, the traditional menaing of chewer indicates the middle man between regular people eligible for kidnap and murder, and the interested gangs) The Chewer delievered them to their Grandfather's house safe, but, perhaps on knowning that they are Sunni in someway, or perhaps of something they might have said, the guy returned with 3 pick-up trucks, broke the door and took the two boys away.
Omar wasn't around at the time, his mother called him weeping and sobbing, after knowning what has occured, he hurried back home, took a Shiite friend of his, who we shall call Salim, and went as fast as he could to an area in Baghdad now known as The Presidential, where a Sadr office is located. By the time he undertook this quest, the time was 9:00 pm, way past the curfew, he was stopped by several checkpoints, frenzily explaining his story he would be let go by the soldiers, at one point he asked them for help, but whenver the words 'militia' was heard, faces would recoil in fear and he would just be let through.
Upon reaching the presidential area, Omar lost his grip and his friend Salim took over driving, the area was barren and empty, like all of Baghdad, after roaming around for a few blocks lost they found a drunk guy, who answered in a drunk, overconfident "Hell, yeah! Sure I know where the office is!!!" They picked him up, and despite his drunk incongruence, he sure knew where the office is. However, The office was just as desolate and unhospitable as everything else is.
At this particular moment, Omar's frustration bubbled to the surface, and he let loose in massive frantic that cursed all the Shiites on the face of the earth, he kept on screaming, yelling and shouting until the glorious pick-up trucks came back to the office, and beat them inside it. Omar and Salim took a few cables, but the militiamen beat the shit out of the drunk guy, while on duty, in sync with the religious ideology of the Mahdi's army - they assume a very hostile tone to alcohol. That done, Omar and Salim were separated for questioning.
-What's your name?
-Omar. he gave that up, cuz they already looked in his ID
-You Sunni or Shiite?
-Shiite (cable slashes across his body)
-Don't talk shit to me now.
-Sunni....Sunni....
-What brought you here?
Omar told him his whole story, the tale was filled with joyful intermissions exercised by the investigator on Omar's thin, frail body. After the investigator got tired, they brought Salim, who looked like he's been treated with a similar reception, and then shortly afterwards came the Sayyid.
Sayyid is the 'religious authority' in the office, he's the guy with the turban, all militiamen cowered in respect, he asked the two about their names, and then quickly issued his verdict. "Those people are terrorists, go to Sadda and kill them very well."
------------------------
MEANWHILE.....
------------------------
Man: What is your name?
Omar's youngest bro: Mazin
Man: Are you a Salafi (Wahhabi)?
Mazin : No.
Man: Do you love Ali?
Mazin: Yes.
Man: Curse Omar.
Mazin: (curses Omar)
Man: Tell me what you know about the 'brave resistance'?
Mazin: I don't know anything....
(Man falls with a sledgehammer deep on Mazin's fingernails....a horrible shriek comes from Mazin, as broken nails are driven deep inside his own flesh in a mess of blood.)
Man (laughing): Good. The Mujahideen has taught you not to speak.
Afterwards, Mazin has heard the name of that man, when Omar told it to me, it was the first time I ever heard of it, but I would hear it countless and countless times after that.
The man's name was Abu Dera'.
----------------------
SADDA
----------------------
The executioner took the two unfortunate men and hurled them inside Omar's own minivan (Kia), they were blindfolded, he switched the ignition, and the car was filled with Hussam al-Russam's Iraqi party music, he quickly turned it off and murmuered in anger, and the car now headed to Sadda. Sadda is an area in Sadr City that serves as the execution ground for the Mahdi's army, Omar has now gone from crumbling despair through unflinching anger into silent oblivion. But his friend Salim kept talking to the man every now and then.
-Sir, where are we going.
-Sadda.
-How long yet?
-Soon. ...
-Sir, are you going to kill us?
- ....
The sir didn't answer, and his silence soon grew until it horribly engulfed the whole car, Omar became certain of his destiny at that moment, and he began reciting the Shahadas (couplets recited by Muslims upon death) as quickly and repeatedly as possible, he said that all he was thinking about at that particulalr moment of time was how his mother has wound up with losing all her sons together, he just wanted to have once last chance to see her and tell her goodbye.
The car reached the Saddah, the man descended and took the two silent boys to the ground, he took his gun out, reloaded....and then his mobile rang out. The caller ordered the man to stop the execution but continue routine investigation. It seems that Salim's father has connections, and his connections worked at just the right time.
As I told Omar, and as Iraqis normally would say, Omar has "the luck of bitches."
They were transferred from in various cars afterwards, until finally reaching an air-conditioned prison, the drunk man was reinstated in the shithouse, though.
After a merciful investigation that didn't involve attempts to connect coaxial cables with Omar's asshole, a man came smiling sociably and said: "Amoori, we apologize, you're free to go."
"What about my brothers?"
"They are doing well and alive in Sadr City. Don't worry, they will return soon."
For the first time that night, Omar exhaled.
------------------------------
OUTSIDE
------------------------------
Omar and Salim came out at 3 AM, like wet dogs in the rain, they rode Omar's Kia and proceeded down the road, but no sooner than they had crossed a few blocks that a swarm of bullets was being fired at them by local generator guards who mistook them for thieves. Omar pointed to the side of his Kia and sure enough, a nice line of holes decorated the side of the dark purple van. After they were well out of the way, they were met by, lo and behold, the old bandits of the streets! the average carjackers...four Opels flashed their headlights in the distance before Omar managed to use his experience as a Kia driver and dodge them around some side-streets, eventually ditching the car in some dump and spending the night at a friend's house.
Omar arrived in his house in Adhamiya the next day, to find that 2 brothers have already arrived before him, the older one wasn't tortured much, they only used his face as an ashtray, putting them out on his mouth, cheeks, nose and eyelids....but the youngest.....
the youngest was another story, a horror story, Abu Der'a's sledgehammer has made good memories out of his fingernails, and had transformed his knee-joints "Soaps, in Arabic" into actual soaps. His back was filled with light drill marks here and there....and whatever was left of him was filled with all sorts of mischief. He was immediately transported to Adhamiya's major hospital, al-Numan.
By noon, Omar's modest household was filled with all sorts of people - family relatives, friends and other people....soon, a group of men who Omar described as "al-Mujahideen" came smiling and tender, Omar's voice beamed with pride as he talked of the way one of them, upon wrapping up their diplomatic mission, swore to Omar that they'd make them pay back by 'hijacking a bus of Shiites.'
-----------------------------
"But, but, is that right?" I said to Omar in a low voice that came from the depths of some unrealistic pool that felt like an obligation, a laughable imitation of the corny, fake stuff they put on television.
"You're right, sure sure...I even told them so..." Omar's voice was just as dead.
NOTE: This story is happy, because nobody is killed - that's how far can a story be considered 'happy' in Iraq.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Mecca Document? Iraqis choose Mahdi's Army
I watched the Mecca PR stunt yesterday, a dazzling feast that has plenty of action and romance, with dazzling special effects, I especially loved the way they made them all sit with the holy Kaaba visible from the window with people circling it, the fatwa is supposed to be the religious s be-all end-all viewpoint on the sect-fueled war that is going on between Sunnis and Shiites in Iraq, it was supported by all the big players - Read about it in details here, if you want
In the conference that was broadcast live, a table was shown, Ahmed Abdilghaffour al-Samarrie, the Sunni endowment head, in my opinion a nice harmless guy who's just about as clueless about this as any, and a SCIRI representative, approprietly frowny and white-bearded like a Jalal al-Din al-Sagheer fashion fan, sat together and told knock-knock jokes about Sunni-Shiite being as much friendly to each other as teddybears and that their faith is in the essence the same, brilliantly clad in symbolic black & white turbans as a cinematic afterthought, after the blah-blahs faded, they gave space for reporters to ask them questions, this was what they asked them, the actual exchange was much more graceful, but luckily I had my Bullshit Filter on:
REPORTER 1: Do you have any mechanism for implementing your edict on the ground? (actual question was more decorated than this)
KHOSH-WALAD SAMARRIE 1: blah-blah yaddad yadda peace and prosperity, but we hope that Iraqis are naturally good and this is the last night of Ramadhan.
REPORTER 2: Do you have any method by which you can apply your fatwa in Iraq?
FROWNY-JALAL TURBAN 2: wiggilie-wiggilie peace humpty dumpty love sumbul bulaybul dumbk dunaibuk understanding.
REPORTER 3: Excuse me, but on terms of a practical appreciation of your document, do you expect that it will be endorsed and applied (same question reworded)
THE COORDINATING GUY IN THE MIDDLE: All right buddy, you asked for it, this is the top religious clergy here, we tell you how in which direction to shit and how many papers you use to wipe your arse, we are here to say that blood is forbidden, it is up for the Iraqis, the natural loving and peaceful nation to endorse it, if they do not - we have made ourselves clear on the matter.
Meanwhile, Iraqi Shiites favor al-Mahdi's army Read it, it's very nice, and very honest.
Can you blame the Iraqi Shiites? I do not. They tell the truth, this is not a simple ideological struggle that can be waived aside by the whiff of a religious clergy's ruminations, even Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani is waning, after being used by UIA as an advertising campaign to win the elections. Anyone who calls for peace is shut-up by the realities of life as it is, everybody is so afraid of each other, I remember when Zarqawi died and I went to the mosque to listen to the Friday speech in an Adhamiya mosque, the Imam was practically crying! Nobody wants militas or Zarqawi, but everybody is so afraid of the other now, there is no trust.
Unless the National Reconcillation gimmick targets those who you should really make up your peace with, the blood-soaked Baathists, the backbone of the insurgency, who had their homes and money but now lost it all and are giving Iraqis and Americans a hard time about it, it will be fruitless. al-Qaeda is worthless without their straetgic allies the Baathists, who adopted a more Islamic veil to fit in with the times and bring us all to this sectarain lollapalooza. Shiite militas atrocities are infintely more horrific, but you have no right to blame them when you are part of the blame, get real. In Sadr City, Abu Der'a is a national hero, to quote Abdilaziz al-Hakim's 12 year old son. These murderers will lose their support only when you negotiate with the Baathists.
Ayad Jamal al-Din, my only favorite politicain (aside from stand-up comedian parliament speaker Mahmood al-Mashhadani) says: "I support dialogue with those who killed Iraqis, you see, most of the insurgents attacks these days are 95% targeting Iraqis, and 5% targeting Americans, reminding them that we, the Baathists, were your loved ones before and we can stir shit up if u ignore us - these are not necessarily terrorists in the regime time but they had homes, positions, and gains and now these were all stripped and they were even persecuted, so it is only natural that they resort to violence. It is like a young stubborn child who's being kicked out by his mother and is starting to throw rocks at the house. Unless you convince them, there is no hope behind it all."
PEOPLE ARE AFRAID. and they resort to their sectarian identity because they ARE AFRAID, not because they are hateful beings.
--------------
KID (leaving the mosque's prayer with Habib, his neighbor): Man, that speech was one disgusting peace of crap!
HABIB: Come on man, now they can slaughter us like sheep! and we can't do anything about it! If they killed one, we could've killed a hundred! it's like Saddam, he was bad but when he left everyone missed him.
-----------------------------
"Be careful of the Wahhabis!" said the father in Sadr City to his departing 8-year-old son
"I just want him to know whom to hate."
-----------------------------
You may laugh and say look at these nomadic Arabs slicing each other's heads off like there's no tomorrow, but please try to understand...this is no joke...
We are dying? Do you understand....we are dying...
In the conference that was broadcast live, a table was shown, Ahmed Abdilghaffour al-Samarrie, the Sunni endowment head, in my opinion a nice harmless guy who's just about as clueless about this as any, and a SCIRI representative, approprietly frowny and white-bearded like a Jalal al-Din al-Sagheer fashion fan, sat together and told knock-knock jokes about Sunni-Shiite being as much friendly to each other as teddybears and that their faith is in the essence the same, brilliantly clad in symbolic black & white turbans as a cinematic afterthought, after the blah-blahs faded, they gave space for reporters to ask them questions, this was what they asked them, the actual exchange was much more graceful, but luckily I had my Bullshit Filter on:
REPORTER 1: Do you have any mechanism for implementing your edict on the ground? (actual question was more decorated than this)
KHOSH-WALAD SAMARRIE 1: blah-blah yaddad yadda peace and prosperity, but we hope that Iraqis are naturally good and this is the last night of Ramadhan.
REPORTER 2: Do you have any method by which you can apply your fatwa in Iraq?
FROWNY-JALAL TURBAN 2: wiggilie-wiggilie peace humpty dumpty love sumbul bulaybul dumbk dunaibuk understanding.
REPORTER 3: Excuse me, but on terms of a practical appreciation of your document, do you expect that it will be endorsed and applied (same question reworded)
THE COORDINATING GUY IN THE MIDDLE: All right buddy, you asked for it, this is the top religious clergy here, we tell you how in which direction to shit and how many papers you use to wipe your arse, we are here to say that blood is forbidden, it is up for the Iraqis, the natural loving and peaceful nation to endorse it, if they do not - we have made ourselves clear on the matter.
Meanwhile, Iraqi Shiites favor al-Mahdi's army Read it, it's very nice, and very honest.
Can you blame the Iraqi Shiites? I do not. They tell the truth, this is not a simple ideological struggle that can be waived aside by the whiff of a religious clergy's ruminations, even Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani is waning, after being used by UIA as an advertising campaign to win the elections. Anyone who calls for peace is shut-up by the realities of life as it is, everybody is so afraid of each other, I remember when Zarqawi died and I went to the mosque to listen to the Friday speech in an Adhamiya mosque, the Imam was practically crying! Nobody wants militas or Zarqawi, but everybody is so afraid of the other now, there is no trust.
Unless the National Reconcillation gimmick targets those who you should really make up your peace with, the blood-soaked Baathists, the backbone of the insurgency, who had their homes and money but now lost it all and are giving Iraqis and Americans a hard time about it, it will be fruitless. al-Qaeda is worthless without their straetgic allies the Baathists, who adopted a more Islamic veil to fit in with the times and bring us all to this sectarain lollapalooza. Shiite militas atrocities are infintely more horrific, but you have no right to blame them when you are part of the blame, get real. In Sadr City, Abu Der'a is a national hero, to quote Abdilaziz al-Hakim's 12 year old son. These murderers will lose their support only when you negotiate with the Baathists.
Ayad Jamal al-Din, my only favorite politicain (aside from stand-up comedian parliament speaker Mahmood al-Mashhadani) says: "I support dialogue with those who killed Iraqis, you see, most of the insurgents attacks these days are 95% targeting Iraqis, and 5% targeting Americans, reminding them that we, the Baathists, were your loved ones before and we can stir shit up if u ignore us - these are not necessarily terrorists in the regime time but they had homes, positions, and gains and now these were all stripped and they were even persecuted, so it is only natural that they resort to violence. It is like a young stubborn child who's being kicked out by his mother and is starting to throw rocks at the house. Unless you convince them, there is no hope behind it all."
PEOPLE ARE AFRAID. and they resort to their sectarian identity because they ARE AFRAID, not because they are hateful beings.
--------------
KID (leaving the mosque's prayer with Habib, his neighbor): Man, that speech was one disgusting peace of crap!
HABIB: Come on man, now they can slaughter us like sheep! and we can't do anything about it! If they killed one, we could've killed a hundred! it's like Saddam, he was bad but when he left everyone missed him.
-----------------------------
"Be careful of the Wahhabis!" said the father in Sadr City to his departing 8-year-old son
"I just want him to know whom to hate."
-----------------------------
You may laugh and say look at these nomadic Arabs slicing each other's heads off like there's no tomorrow, but please try to understand...this is no joke...
We are dying? Do you understand....we are dying...
Monday, July 03, 2006
Kid escapes Death
It was probably June 14, two days after my four friends were killed. We decided to hold a funeral for them in the college, I remember being a cold sense of detachment from the world and everything in it...I quickly dressed in ALL OUT BLACK. Black shirt, black pants.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized the danger in my uniform, so I opened the buttons of the shirt, reavealing an olive vest underneath! cool, now not only I am in the Mahdir's Army, but also a member of the army.
I whatthefucked and hurled ass out, after all, I was just going to go up the street and rent a taxi...
I told you earlier, I was so detached, however, as soon as I walked to the tip of the street, I changed my mind, and decided to return home.
Tough luck. Three dudes about my age in small motorbikes (lovingly called Bestas in iraq) came lazily behind me, passed me a little bit, then barricaded me.
The guy who was directly at my center was dark of tan and ugly of teeth, he was obviously the leader, his teeth stuck out, Ronaldinho-style. He calmly said :
"Salamaalikum"
I replied, calmly too : 'Aalkumsallum'
'What are you doing here?'
'I am returning home.'
'Where is your home?'
'Near the mosque'
'What mosque?'
The mosque was small and had two name changes, I took a wild bet and after a moment of hesitation I spoke the latter.
He paused for a moment, and then:
''Hop on, let me drive you home'
I was a little panicked now.
'Wait a minute, this is my area, right here is house of Mr. A'
He didn't answer
'I am going to a funeral ; I was just going to pick up a taxi'
It was certain they all carried guns underneath their casual clothes. It is also of no coincidence that they chose to do this here, the place was adjacent to an abadonened farm, where bodies are regularly found, our street witnessed about 10 deaths in the very same area. Even if he bought I was of the area, he could kill me if he thought I was a Shi'ite.
'Show me your wallet'
I showed him, my attitude was a smily nice dude.
'Here's my wallet, and ID'
My first name is neutral, but my second is somewhat more of a Sunni name, although Shiites do name it every now and then. It was not proof enough in my opinion.
The only ID i regularly carry is not my Civil ID, it is my college ID.
The second guy asked, he was more of a wiseguy:
'What's this ID?'
'It's my college ID, university of [Cornyname]'
'What?'
'[Cornyname]'
'What??'
'[CORNYNAME]', he was enjoying this. but the first guy nodded in approval with me
'Cornyname'....
he looked through the wallet, took out the money, looked in the sidepocket where I keep my keys, asked of my other pocket, I showed him my mobile.
'Okay, you're free to go' He returned the wallet, and the money. My impression of him was somewhat positive.
They could still shoot me when I turn my back, but there was a certain change of pace that I recognized that they really are going to let me go.
Ronaldino said, as an aftertaste: 'You're wearing black...'
I quickly said, arms out 'You really think I am THAT stupid if I was of them sonovabicthes?'
'At least you could look more neat'
This was true, my shirt was open and my hair was unshaved, I could pass a decent slipper-torn Madhi's servant anywhere. In a sense, they had a right to stop me, precautions matter, I could only be thankful that the dudes who stopped me had some time to think it over.
'Well, the guys were killed yesterday and I am pissed'
'How?' The wiseguy asked, the third guy was just compars.
'Karrada explosion'
'That's terrorists work' but the side-cracking smile on his face strongly added another dimension to his sentence.
'Okay, bye'.
On thinking it over, I think subconsciously that day, I wanted to die. I was so filled with meaninglessness that day I just wanted it all to end, I couldn't imagine that a living person I talked to just the other day could just vanish....
Shit.
I returned home, and some of the ominous dirge of the past 10 minutes caught up with me, I murmured in quick prayers, but in an hour or two I managed to forget about it.
I changed.
I arrived in college, attended the symbolic funeral and was about to return home when a few friends took me aside and told me not to wear that shirt I am wearing right now again.
'What for?'
'Are you crazy? How could you dare to wear a blue shirt, that's the sign of the FPS police, they could kill you second.'
Shit? You bet your fucking ass!
They didn't understand why I was laughing, you can't dress black, can't dress blue, can't even dress the collegeboy's white after the recent killings....well, that's Iraq for you.
I apologize, I haven't told you about my friends' murder, I have no energy to discuss it again! even if I wanted to, I wrote it twice, and one of them was for the NYT, so I can't publish it.
Maybe I could work it out sometime, but not now.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized the danger in my uniform, so I opened the buttons of the shirt, reavealing an olive vest underneath! cool, now not only I am in the Mahdir's Army, but also a member of the army.
I whatthefucked and hurled ass out, after all, I was just going to go up the street and rent a taxi...
I told you earlier, I was so detached, however, as soon as I walked to the tip of the street, I changed my mind, and decided to return home.
Tough luck. Three dudes about my age in small motorbikes (lovingly called Bestas in iraq) came lazily behind me, passed me a little bit, then barricaded me.
The guy who was directly at my center was dark of tan and ugly of teeth, he was obviously the leader, his teeth stuck out, Ronaldinho-style. He calmly said :
"Salamaalikum"
I replied, calmly too : 'Aalkumsallum'
'What are you doing here?'
'I am returning home.'
'Where is your home?'
'Near the mosque'
'What mosque?'
The mosque was small and had two name changes, I took a wild bet and after a moment of hesitation I spoke the latter.
He paused for a moment, and then:
''Hop on, let me drive you home'
I was a little panicked now.
'Wait a minute, this is my area, right here is house of Mr. A'
He didn't answer
'I am going to a funeral ; I was just going to pick up a taxi'
It was certain they all carried guns underneath their casual clothes. It is also of no coincidence that they chose to do this here, the place was adjacent to an abadonened farm, where bodies are regularly found, our street witnessed about 10 deaths in the very same area. Even if he bought I was of the area, he could kill me if he thought I was a Shi'ite.
'Show me your wallet'
I showed him, my attitude was a smily nice dude.
'Here's my wallet, and ID'
My first name is neutral, but my second is somewhat more of a Sunni name, although Shiites do name it every now and then. It was not proof enough in my opinion.
The only ID i regularly carry is not my Civil ID, it is my college ID.
The second guy asked, he was more of a wiseguy:
'What's this ID?'
'It's my college ID, university of [Cornyname]'
'What?'
'[Cornyname]'
'What??'
'[CORNYNAME]', he was enjoying this. but the first guy nodded in approval with me
'Cornyname'....
he looked through the wallet, took out the money, looked in the sidepocket where I keep my keys, asked of my other pocket, I showed him my mobile.
'Okay, you're free to go' He returned the wallet, and the money. My impression of him was somewhat positive.
They could still shoot me when I turn my back, but there was a certain change of pace that I recognized that they really are going to let me go.
Ronaldino said, as an aftertaste: 'You're wearing black...'
I quickly said, arms out 'You really think I am THAT stupid if I was of them sonovabicthes?'
'At least you could look more neat'
This was true, my shirt was open and my hair was unshaved, I could pass a decent slipper-torn Madhi's servant anywhere. In a sense, they had a right to stop me, precautions matter, I could only be thankful that the dudes who stopped me had some time to think it over.
'Well, the guys were killed yesterday and I am pissed'
'How?' The wiseguy asked, the third guy was just compars.
'Karrada explosion'
'That's terrorists work' but the side-cracking smile on his face strongly added another dimension to his sentence.
'Okay, bye'.
On thinking it over, I think subconsciously that day, I wanted to die. I was so filled with meaninglessness that day I just wanted it all to end, I couldn't imagine that a living person I talked to just the other day could just vanish....
Shit.
I returned home, and some of the ominous dirge of the past 10 minutes caught up with me, I murmured in quick prayers, but in an hour or two I managed to forget about it.
I changed.
I arrived in college, attended the symbolic funeral and was about to return home when a few friends took me aside and told me not to wear that shirt I am wearing right now again.
'What for?'
'Are you crazy? How could you dare to wear a blue shirt, that's the sign of the FPS police, they could kill you second.'
Shit? You bet your fucking ass!
They didn't understand why I was laughing, you can't dress black, can't dress blue, can't even dress the collegeboy's white after the recent killings....well, that's Iraq for you.
I apologize, I haven't told you about my friends' murder, I have no energy to discuss it again! even if I wanted to, I wrote it twice, and one of them was for the NYT, so I can't publish it.
Maybe I could work it out sometime, but not now.
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