|
“They
are here! Finally, they are here!” Qassim joyfully whispered
to Layla, his life-time sweetheart and neighbor, expecting her
to share this long-awaited moment with him.
However,
his fiancée froze, looking at him in total shock and disbelief.
Layla’s kind, gentle face changed. The familiar worry lines
around her eyes were more visible, as they always were when she
was upset. Her dark eyes narrowed with fury. “How dare you!”
Along with a slap on the face, that was the only response he
got.
She
glared at him, turned around and left… He stood there, under
the tree, their tree… The tree that witnessed their love for
each other grow… The tree that witnessed their ambitions and
listened to their dreams of a free democratic country, where
everyone could freely express their feelings and speak their
minds without fear of the “Tyrant of Baghdad.”
Qassim
stood there, with small tingling beads of sweat making his
favorite Tommy Hilfiger T-shirt stick to his body. It was very
hot, with the warm, dusty wind starting to pick up momentum. Too
hot for jeans. Qassim looked enviously at a sweets-seller across
the street wearing a traditional galabiya. The cool fluidity of
the galabiya looked so much more comfortable than his own
clothes.
The
Americans have finally unleashed their full firepower against
the Tyrant, to liberate us… We can finally get married and
bring up our children in a better world, like we had always
dreamed… What is wrong with her?
Qassim
just could not get it.
Why
has Layla reacted in this way? Has she forgotten about the long
days and months I suffered in the detention camps of the Tyrant,
for expressing my views on the way he ruled us?
She
had cried when I showed her the scars on my back and chest. Has
she believed the empty, meaningless slogans the Tyrant’s dogs
have been repeating during the past months? Has she bought their
calls on us to stand up to the invading and occupying forces?
Questions
kept rolling into Qassim’s head… They remained questions…
with no answers…
The
sound of sirens went off again… Another raid by the liberation
forces, Qassim thought. The heavy sound of bombardment was
coming closer… Slowly, Qassim started walking home, deciding
not to join the others in the shelters nearby… “It’s OK,
honey… I know once the Tyrant is gone, once you breathe the
breeze of freedom, you’ll calm down and we will be together
forever,” he thought.
Heading
home, Qassim saw a couple of his friends and neighbors standing
in the neighborhood, carrying their rifles and shouting; “God
is great! We will be victorious”… “Come down here, you
cowards, we will teach you a lesson you’ll never forget”…
“With our souls, we will defend our homeland against invaders
and occupiers”…
“Idiots!”
he thought.
The
sounds of the bombing was getting closer… He went inside his
house. Not bothering to switch on the lights, he moved in the
dark to his room, and stretched out on the bed… Too tired and
too excited to do anything, he closed his eyes… A powerful
boom made him jump to his feet… “Oh, my God, that was
close!”
His
windows were shattered, the whole building was still shaking…
“I don’t remember seeing any military or even official
buildings in this area… That must have been a stray shell by
the Tyrant’s stupid air defense systems…”
Looking
through his shattered windows, Qassim’s heart stopped…
“Oh, my God! Where is Layla’s home?” The whole
neighborhood was flattened… He realized how lucky he was to be
still alive.
Rushing
out of his house, he joined the others in looking for
survivors… It was horrible… A huge pile of rubble, dust,
debris, mixed with charred human limbs… “This is insane,”
he thought, suppressing an urge to vomit.
He
kept digging away at the debris away in the spot where Layla’s
home used to be… Struggling to keep his eyes clear of the
tears that amassed behind them, he knew that it was in vain, no
way can they be any survivors…
But
wait, “Yes, that doll!” He spotted a half-burnt doll that he
got her 20 years ago when she was only six. He reached out for
the doll, but his hand froze… Burnt fingers were around the
doll… Layla… He could not take it any longer… He passed
out…
Again
the raid sirens woke him up… This time, he was not in his bed.
Looking groggily around him, he tried to see through the
confusion. This looks like a hospital bed… People running back
and forth… Explosions are getting closer again… “Oh, God!
Not a hospital!… young people, men and women, children,
babies.. all were there with different injuries and handicaps…
“Such
a small price for the liberation of the Iraqi people,” Qassim
tried to assure himself.
A
few hours later, he checked out after donating some blood to a
severely injured friend, and went home… Home alone, his heart
ached… “Oh, Layla! I wish you were still here to witness the
fall of the Tyrant”… For over eight years now, Qassim never
mentioned the name of Saddam Hussein, not even in arguments with
friends… He knew there were informants…
Ever
since that day nine years ago – when he was arrested along
with others during a demonstration against a local Baath
official – Qassim had been dreaming of the day this corrupt
regime would go to hell… That day is almost around the
corner…
America
is a great free, democratic nation… The Americans will
bring their model of freedom and democracy to
Iraq
… Yes, that’s the only thing that matters now, Qassim
kept reassuring himself.
He
turned the radio on, listening to Radio Sawa… “The coalition
troops are about to liberate
Baghdad
… According to
U.S.
military officials, the regime of Saddam Hussein is no longer in
control…”
It
was a matter of days, during which Qassim never left his home,
watching his neighbors move in and out with their rifles… Each
time, there were fewer and fewer of them… Faces he knew kept
disappearing…
“The
military ruler of
Iraq
, General Tommy Franks, is speaking to you,” the voice came
out of the radio in heavily accented Arabic.
“Wow!
They did it!” Qassim finally shouted… “No more
whispering… Freedom, freedom, freedom! Oh, Layla! How much I
miss you! The Tyrant is no longer around…” Qassim wept. For
joy, in disbelief. He felt he was dreaming, floating in a
fantasy.
“Free
people of
Iraq
, your country has been liberated… For your own safety, no one
is allowed out of their home. In my capacity as the military
ruler of
Iraq
, I hereby, declare marshal law… Any one in the street will be
shot at sight, thank you, free people”.
Looking
through his window, Qassim saw coalition troops take their
positions in and around the area. “Oh, those crazy people!
They are carrying an anti-tank weapon! They will fire it at the
American guys!… No… Too late, the shell went off.. it missed
the target, however…
Then,
hell broke loose… Qassim’s voice was lost among the
deafening sounds of tank shells and missiles raining down on the
whole area… In a few seconds, no building was standing, no one
was alive…
Blood
everywhere, unable to move, Qassim heard an echo… “Qassim, I
hate him, too, but how can we wish for another people to come
here and occupy our beloved country to get rid of him? Change
must come from within, from us, to be genuine, to be true, to be
meaningful, to be peaceful, and lasting…”
On
its way up, the last image Qassim’s soul had from earth was
the sight of “coalition troops” looking at destroyed
buildings and burnt body parts – including Qassim’s – and
… smiling.
Khaled
Mamdouh is an editor and staff writer in the News
Desk of IslamOnline. He is also a radio announcer, journalist
and translator for several Arabic magazines.
|
