Eman Ahmed Khammas

Jan 13,2005

 

Ein Tamor (Spring of Dates) is a small picturesque spot in the western Iraqi desert, 90 kilometers to the west of the sacred Karbala. It is part of a bigger oasis that contains the Razzazah Lake, many smaller towns, date palm and fruit thick orchards surrounding the lake, and a very important historical fortress called Al-Ekheider Castle. In the seventies, this area was developed as a resort; a tourist complex was built in Ein Tamor.

The tourist complex was fifty small flats surrounding the lake and the colorful natural springs. After the 1991 war, and during the UN economic sanctions against Iraq through the nineties until 2003, this tourist area was neglected, like many other similar places all over Iraq. During this period, when tourism was not a priority in Iraq, the complex was mainly visited by newly wed couples who spent their honey moon there. In April 2003, after the occupation of Iraq, the complex was looted and damaged, nothing remained except the wall

 

Now it is a refugee camp for more than 50 Fallujan families, who fled the bombing and killings last October. It is like Habbaniya, another refugee camp, which was a tourist complex 40 kilometers to the north, near the Habbaniya Lake.

Obviously, Fallujans fled to these places because there were walls and roofs which can be used as better shelters than tents in the cold season. Ein Tamor, once one of the most beautiful areas of Iraq where picnics were made especially in winter, is now one of the saddest places. To go there, one has to go through the Triangle of death south of Baghdad, where many attacks against the occupying troops take place daily.

 

Usually it takes an hour to go to Karbalaa. It took us 3 hours, because of the check points, a bombed car that was still on fire, and traffic jam due to fuel (kilometers-long) queues. The roads are not the same. I used to go there to visit my grand mother. These are not the roads I used to go through; they are not roads at all, nothing is straight, just snake-like curves in the dusty wilderness. Paradoxically, the way from Karbalaa to Ein Tamor was calmer, better, and easier to go through, although the Iraqi Human Rights Watch members who accompanied us to the refugee camp warned us of looters.

 

The refugee camp was a club of sadness. Every one there had a story, even the children.

"No one visited us, except these people" said Sabiha Hashim, pointing to the Iraqi HRW members who accompanied us. She is a crippled widow in her fifties, and a mother of two young boys. She was burnt two years ago, and was handicapped since. Wrapped in a blanket, she was sitting in the middle of her miserable properties. Few dirty dishes, a blackened broken oil lamp that has not been cleaned ever, small primitive oil stove…etc. There was a new electric heater donated by some generous donor, but there was no electricity. Sabiha was silent," why do not you talk to this lady" Sami of the Iraqi HRW asked her, pointing to me," she came from Baghdad to see you".

 "She did not ask" replied Sabiha.

"How did you come here?" I asked looking for some thing to say, after I saw her inhuman, totally unacceptable situation.

"The neighbors brought me when the bombing began"

" She promised to give me a dinar for every joke I tell her" said Sami,  trying to lighten the very gloomy atmosphere " she is my fiancée now"

  "poor Sami" I said, "now you have to look for 1000 jokes to get 1000 dinars" ($ 0.7)

"What do you need", I asked Sabiha

"My medicine"

"What is it?"

"I do not know, I did not bring the doctor's receipt, there was no time. It is unfair" that was the only thing Sabiha said about her tragedy.

I looked for my friend Dr. Intisar, she is a pharmacist who is working with me and other Iraqi doctors to help Falluja refugees with medicines and supplies. I could not see her any where, but I could see a big crowd of women and children near the gate.

"Your friend, Dr. Intisar, is examining the children and giving medicines", said Ismael Chali, a man in his fifties who is helping in running the camp.

It was not raining that day, Ein Tamor was sunny and warm. The gardens are no more than dusty yards now, few dry trees scattered, the once beautiful tourist flats are just walls, with hanging sheets of cloths serving as doors and windows. Falluja women did amazing job keeping the whole place clean.

"May be you want to see this old man" Sami said and pointed to a man sitting in the sun, two crunches in his hands. Hussein Abdul Nabbi, had an accident and broke his thighs. He is the father of a family of 18; two of them are young and very healthy looking men.

"What are you doing here?" I asked them, in a rather criticizing tone.

"Waiting for God's mercy" one of them replied," we are cotton carders, our shop was burnt, three electric sewing machines, cotton and cloths that worth 2 million dinars, and other equipments ,all are gone"

"But staying here does not help, does it" I insisted

"We went to Falluja a week ago; we waited the whole day but could not pass through the check points. Next day we went at 3 am, it was not before 3 pm that we could pass through the third sonar check point. Our house was destroyed, there is a huge hole in the ceiling, the fence is totally ruined, and the furniture damaged. The soldiers told us not to move out side the house or open the door after 6 pm. We are not supposed to make any noise; there is no electricity, no water, no shops, no hospitals, and no schools. How are we supposed to live there with our families? There are no families there, only men, those who can not live in tents any longer."

Other Fallujans told us that burning houses, bombing and looting are still going on until now.

Mustapha, 20 years, a student, said that he found his house, the furniture, the door, and the car destroyed and burnt. But the American soldiers told him not to use any thing from Falluja, not to use the sheets and blankets for example, not to drink water, and that if he does, it is his own decision and he has to take the responsibility for that.

"What does that mean?"

It means that everything in Falluja is contaminated" "

Ahmad Hashim, a guard in the Falluja sewage station, and a father of 3 children, found his house, which was no more than a room under the water tank, burnt." If a child gets ill, he simply dies, it is suicide to decide to go back to Falluja now"

Alahin Jalil, a young beautiful wife and a mother of 4 children, decided to go back home , no matter what. She was too tired of difficulties in the refugee camp, "I have to go to Karbalaa for medicines, there is no water here, no fuel, no money" . When she went to Falluja, she found out that her house which was in Nazzal district, one of the most bombed areas in Falluja, was totally destroyed. She decided to return back to the refugee camp, but it was not a better option. "For the whole family we get half a sheet of ampiciline (anti-biotic)

 Money was the most difficult problem in the camp. These families consumed all their savings, if they had any. Food is given according to the food ration ID. Many of them fled Falluja without bringing their documents. Those get no food.

"What about the 150.000 dinars that are given to each Falluja family that we read about in the newspapers this week?"

"We never heard about them" every body replied. Where is UN, the Iraqi government, the humanitarian orgs, the Red Crescent, the Red Cross…they asked.

 

Darawsha is a small village 5 kilometers to the west of Ein Tamor. The Iraqi HRW in Karbalaa told us that its villagers share their houses with Falluja refugees. When we entered Darawsha, I remembered what James Baker said before the 1991 American attack on Iraq. "We will return Iraq to the middle ages" he said. This is not even the middle ages. The narrow muddy streets, small clay huts were dark, cold and crowded with big families. The smoky burning wet branches are not giving warmth to the damp cottages, more than the thick suffocating smoke .

 Sheikh Farhan Al-Duleimi, the local council head, said" my name is Farhan (happy), but I am very sad for what happened to Falluja… at the same time this is a good example of the Shiite-Sunni unity in Iraq. Darawsha families are all Shiite, but they are welcoming Sunnis from Falluja as if they are one family, despite the fact that they are poor, and already in need of much help themselves

 

We decided to stop in the middle of the village, and to donate the medicines and financial help to the families, promising them and ourselves to come back again to listen to their stories. It was already 4 pm, we need to hurry back because it is too dangerous to be on the highway after sunset. There are at least 85 Falluja families here. Dr. Intisar opened the car box and began to donate medicines. A young, shy girl approached her and said "do you need help, I am a pharmacist". We asked the villagers to form a committee with at least one woman in it, to receive the money and distribute it on the Falluja refugees.

"You need to go to Rahaliya and Ahmad bin Hashim villages" said Abbass, from the Iraqi HRW, who was accompanying us all the time," the situation in those refugee camps are much more difficult, and they rarely get any help, because they are too far away"

"Then we need to come back again soon", I replied

"Yes, you have also to visit refugees from Basra, Amara and the marshes"

"What are you talking about?"

"There are refugees from the south, fleeing from the worsening security situation"

 

The way back to Baghdad was the most difficult part of the trip. At 5.30 it was deep dark. No lights on the way, no moon and too much dust. Some of the check points were already deserted by security men. The highway was almost empty except of us. "If you were men I would not worry "Ahmad, our driver said. We could tell that he was very tense, reading lines of the Holy Quran all the time, and smoking too much. "Those  looters are the worst of criminals".

Dr. Intisar was very calm and exhausted "I love you" she suddenly said.

I was too tired to ask what made her say so. Surprisingly, we were not afraid at all, of any thing.

 

To be continued

 

Part 2

 Refugee Camps in Ahmad bin Hashim and Rahaliya villages 

Eman Ahmad Khammas 

We were supposed to leave to Karabla'a, and from there to two Falloja refugee camps deep in the western desert, at 7 am, but Ahmad who insisted on accompanying us for protection, showed up at 9.00am. I was impatient.

-"I had to stay with my family for awhile; there were American snipers on my roof" he explained…

-What?!!

He told me the story. His wife went up the roof to check the water tank at 4.30am. For the last three days there was no water in Baghdad. Families fill their water tanks at night when water is available some times. It was still dark. On the roof, she was taking another ladder to go up the attic roof, when she heard a "shshshsh …" sound. Stunned, she looked in its direction, she could not figure out what was there, then she realized that there was a man, an American soldier, heavily armed, pointing his gun at her. Another voice, whispering, came from the other side of the roof, this time it was another soldier, a black one. He said some thing in English and the first soldier put his gun down. He waved to her to go down silently. She did, but she did not know what to do next. She decided to wait for a while. Half an hour later she went up again, they were gone. When she waked up her husband she was still shivering, it took him two hours to calm her down.

Eid?!! 

This is the second day of Eid Aladha (Sacrifice Feast)*. There were not any of the usual Eid manifestations in Baghdad streets, no children in new colorful dresses, no traffic jam of jubilant families celebrating Eid, visiting relatives and friends, going to parks…etc. The streets were almost empty, except for few quickly driving cars, Iraqi National Guards pick ups, filled with young men in black masks pointing their guns in every direction, police cars and a very long line of American big trucks loaded with tanks and many  humvees and armored vehicles heading north. The streets themselves were not of Baghdad that we knew. Sand barriers, cement blocks, burned out and destroyed buildings, with many elections posters pasted every where. Dr.Intisar, my friend, the pharmacist with whom I am working on donating medicines and aids for Falluja refugees, was weeping silently as usual. I remembered that Christmas and New Year celebrations were canceled too. This is the election season, which is in Iraq very different from any where else; it is also the season of extreme insecurity

On the Way 

On the way, through what is called now the Triangle of death south of Baghdad, the situation was worse. Too long queues at the check points, even longer queues  at fuel stations, many ING pick ups stopping at the road sides, too serious masked men jump quickly and run in different directions, obviously on a dangerous duty. Some  of them were at the check points handing over elections announcements,  many burned or destroyed cars, walls covered with bullet shot holes . One of the buildings in Haswa was flattened to the ground; a new neighboring building was thickly surrounded by 2 meter high sand barriers." This is the new police station "Abu Hussein, our driver said "the other one was exploded by cooking gas tubes". He is from Najaf, and he works on this line long enough to be well-known at the check points. Some times we were delayed for an American patrol to pass 

Different kind of Refugees 

Mr. Mohannad Al-Kinany, the Iraqi Human Rights director, with all other members, happily volunteered to help us around again. We told him that we want to see the Falluja refugee camps and the refugees from the south too. He explained to us the story of the southern refugees and how badly they are in need of help. Karbala'a population is around 790.000 thousands, he said, now they are 1.050.000. Over 200.000 refugees came since the 1990s, from Basra, Nasiriya, the marshes, Amara, and Samawa, over 70.000 came after the occupation in 2003. "It is a big problem that no one is taking care of". These refugee communities have become a fertile ground for crime. We decided to spend the next day in these places.

Ahmad bin Hashim 

On the way to Ahmad bin Hashim village (ABH) we passed by Ein Tamor camp, to greet them for the Eid and to give them the medicines that they asked for two weeks ago when we visited them last time.

Ahmad bin Hashim is the name of a grandson of Imam Mosa Al-Kadhim or Imam Al-Hassan (both are of the 12 imams in Islam who are descendants of the Prophet Mohammad family). It has been a sacred place where people visit to get the blessings in a kind of pilgrimage. It is a very beautiful calm village west of Razzaza lake. The villagers built rows of big rooms for pilgrims coming from far away places. These rooms are now the Falluja refugee camps 

Cultural Crime 

 Near ABH there is also an unexcavated historical site that goes back to about 4000 years. It was protected by the Iraqi police and the Tourism State Institute before the occupation. Mohannad told us that this very culturally precious site was looted after the invasion, and that the Iraqi HRW in Karbala'a has documented everything on tapes. He told us how looters attacked the place, dug the tombs and stole what ever was buried there of historical jewelry, beads and household properties... The place is buried again now by tons of sand for protection, we could see the large freshly covered area on the foot of a big castle called the Berthaweel Castle in the middle of the desert 

Roofed Walls 

There are 18 Falluja families living in the ABH pilgrims' rooms. The majority of them were from Jolan district in Falluja, which was heavily bombed last October. As expected, there is no electricity, no clean water, to bathrooms in the pilgrim's rooms. Mohannad who owns a hotel in Karbala'a offered his hotel free to these families, but they preferred to stay near the shrine. Ten other hotel owners in Karbala'a did the same. These relatively wealthy people and others formed a group called the Karbala'i Group to collect and donate aid to the Falluja refugees here and in other places. It is another example of the Iraqi people unity between Shiite and Sunnis.

The rooms are very primitive, just roofed walls. Falluja women kept them very clean and tidy, although the rooms were used for sleeping, cooking, washing and living. The most needed thing here is medical. The sick and the old are most hurt, and of course women because they have to run everything in this too difficult environment.

Abdulrahman Khalaf, for example, suffers from chronic schizophrenia that goes back to his years in the Iranian POW camps in the 1980s. He is married, has 6 children, and very friendly. His only abnormality is repeating himself many times.

-"I am the honored one, I am the honored one, I am the honored one, I am the….." He repeated at least 8 times, replying to Sami of the Iraqi HRW when he said "I am honored to meet you".

He was repeating the number 50, tens of times. I felt so ashamed of myself when I thought he was asking for $50, because his relatives explained that he needs Modicate injections/50 m, and that was what he was asking me. They showed me his chronic diseases card; he used to get his medications from Falluja hospital free, as all Iraqis who have chronic illnesses used to in the past. Not any longer. I promised to bring him the medicine as soon as I can get them from Baghdad 

Solution rather than Aid 

Aalaa' Hussein, 6 years, suffers from hemiplegia; She looks ok except for her left leg which was shorter and slack. Naufa Hamza, awoman in her70s, suffers from joints pain. Tilba Ali, another old woman who does not know her age, 60 or 70, she said, suffers from diabetes. Sahira Ali, 35, suffers from hormone abnormality; she keeps on getting fatter and fatter. She also suffers from chronic diarrhea, "because of the water" she explained. Dr.Intisar saw them all and promised to send the medicines. Ahmad was busy giving the children some toys donated by the American Families for Peace delegation. I tried to take some pictures of the children, but a young tall man, dashed in, and threatened to beat one of the young girls who joined the others for the picture

"What kind of help is this, just for the media, I know your kind" he was talking to me.

"I understand your feelings very well" I replied, and did not take the picture. "Please do not beat her, here is my camera, I did not take the picture". He left silently, giving me a very angry look.

Other men apologized, and invited us for lunch. 

UN Silence Unacceptable 

I did understand his feelings; at many times I feel the bitter humiliation these people feel. They do need aid, but what they need more is a solution to their problem. They are not beggars. They used to have their houses, jobs, lives and every thing. May be they were not rich, but they were dignified. Everyone said that they want to go back to Falluja. This is a big human rights violation that must be investigated, accounted for, and compensated. International organizations, especially the UN, should give this problem the utmost priority. The occupation is responsible for their misery. Silence, justifications, excuses are totally unacceptable. All the human rights, political, medical, law, journalists, teachers….organizations all over the world should not keep silent to these crimes 

Rahaliya Refugee Camps  

Rahaliya is a village on the borders of Anbar. Mohannad told us that there are at least 150 families here. I realized that I am in a big problem. I can hardly cover 30 families 

 , and by covering I mean giving them a gift for Eid Al-Adha. We decided to visit 3 camps where there are many families. There were two schools and a clinic where such camps are, again promising ourselves and the others to try to come back. In the first school, Al-Waha Al-Khadra (the Green Oasis) which is a boys' high school, 15 Falluja families live, each one(or more) in a class room, the teachers', and the director's. The director's story is interesting. When the refugees came last summer, he decided to give them the school except his room where he kept the files, books and documents. In the last minute a woman came with her children, she had no place to stay in, he gave her the room. The school time table is still hanging on her stove, the books piled under the mattresses. The desks are piled in the unpaved yard, on which children clothes are hanged now to dry.

-"What about the students?!" was my question.

-" there are no schools in all the cities of the Anbar governorates this year, the students just had mid-year exam formally, the boys in the yard and the girls in one class room"

-"what about other schools?" I insisted

-" it is the same in the majority of Anbar schools". Children gathered near the desks pretending to be very polite to get Ahmad's toys. Their naughty eyes exposed every thing. Sami, Dr Intisar and Ahmad were very happy with them, asking for more and more pictures.

Beida'a, Iqbal, Amaal, Sajida, Haala, Montaha, Aziza, Um Sofian, Sundos... and others were young women and mothers running the camp. They were heroines, simply, doing an extraordinarily amazing job keeping life going on as smoothly as possible. Cleaning, cooking, making fires, washing, baking bread, and taking care of the children. But Sami was unhappy. He asked Sundos who was a teacher" why did not you open a class for these children?" she was embarrassed, "this is a good idea", she replied" I will think about it"

When Sajida talked, dr.Intisar could not help her tears. Sajida is a very beautiful girl in her early 20s. She suffers from some kind of brain damage that made it difficult for her to speak normally. She lives in a room with her mother who sells petty things on the street side. Thier room was destroyed. Sajida made a great effort to tell us how her glass dishes, cups and other small belongings were smashed 

Medical Needs 

I asked Ghazi Mnachid, an assistant doctor in Rahaliya clinic about the situation. "Very bad" was his reply, "we need medicines" and he gave me a long list of most needed medicines. The majority were children's. Cold, fever, antibiotics, skin, intestinal worms…etc. The most dangerous thing is that there are no vaccines in the clinic. This village is in danger of a health catastrophe if this problem is not solved soon.

All the women agreed that the bathroom is most difficult thing. The toilets were more than 50 meters away from the nearest class room; mothers have to take children all this distance in the cold at night. With no electricity, no water, no fuel, it is almost a miracle that women can manage to take care of the children, and keep so clean and tidy rooms. "You should see the well we dug behind the school, you would not believe it" Iqbal Abdulla , 29, a mother of 5, said. Some times women go to a brook outside the village to wash in cleaner water 

 Night in the Camp 

"It is almost 5" Mohannad said, "we need to go back to Karbala'a now, it is becoming too dangerous now"

"I am staying here. I need to listen to these women, I need to see how they live here" I said. Dr. Intisar, Ahmad and Sami exchanged glances. Dr.Intisar pulled my arm and took me a side "these people can barely manage their food and supplies, you are embarrassing them". Falluja people are well-known for their extreme hospitality; they would do any thing to make the guest comfortable. Actually there are many jokes on there almost illogical hospitality. We had some food, but we know that it is almost a crime even to show your food while you are in a Falluja house. I know that Dr.Intisar was right.

"I can just put my head on my arm and sleep, I do not need any thing, you go if you want" I insisted again. Sami was the first to approve and support.

"I am not leaving you alone here" Dr. Intisar said. Ahmad and the driver had nothing else to say.

 We decided to go to the clinic first, then to visit the Refugee houses. We had plenty of time to talk.

"Dinner is going to be here" said Mohammad Abdulla, a taxi driver who is unemployed now.

"No, dinner is at my place" Ghazi objected, referring to the clinic camp.

"Listen, we are here to work, let us finish the job, and then see what we can do about dinner invitations" I said. 

    The Clinic 

Many men gathered to talk to us in the Diwaniya (guest room for men). Beautiful mattresses and pillows were layed on the ground for us to sit on.

"Why do not you ask the women to join us?" I asked, although I know that women do not share such men gathering in Falluja. "May be you can talk to them later" replied Ggazi.

They began to tell their stories. The houses which were bombed, burnt, looted and occupied…

"What do mean by occupied" I asked the speaker.

"Our house is occupied now by the American troops, it is now a headquarter for one battalion"

"Which one?"

"I do not know. But the Iraqis are down stairs and the Americans are on the second floor. Actually they took the neighboring house too, and opened the wall between the two houses. It is not a house any more. It is surrounded by barbed wires, the aerials on the roof; we can not even go near"

"What did you do?"

"I went to them; I asked them to give me back my house, an Iraqi captain said this is impossible, I asked what am I going to do, he replied: go wherever you want to go. My mother does not want to give up. She goes there every day; sits in front of the house til the afternoon, just looking at her house."

Another man sitting in the room laughed and said" prepare your self, you are going to be arrested tomorrow"

-"are there any foreigners fighting in Falluja?

-"even if there are, how do we know! They do not go around saying we are foreign fighters. The majority are Fallujans defending their houses. Many of them were killed guarding their homes. There are bodies till now in some places like Alqudoos mosque, many injured people were shot in the head, and few injured people were left. Falluja smells very bad 

Living in a Barn 

The other man lives in a cow barn now. There is a store room in the barn that he sleeps in with his family, a wife and 6 children. The room was dim, wet and smelling bad. Again the main problem for the wife was the toilet for the children, especially at night. This man went to Falluja the day before, he went on a wrong road mistakenly, his car was shot but he was not injured. A tank approached and hit his car from the back. The soldiers told him to get down; they tied his hands, put a sac on his head and took him through a zigzag road. They investigated him for two hours, then let him go.

 "Why did not you ask them to pay for repairing the car?" I asked….

"I wanted to run away as soon as possible, I was afraid that they are going to arrest me again" 

Abid Awad Sheilam, a driver in his 50s, is a father of a family of 12. They live in an unfinished house structure whose owner let them to use, but Abid had to put a roof for one of the room. He did, using date palm trunk and leaves and a tent donated by Rahaliya mosque sheikh 

Iraq Smell

 "Oh, this smell!" Sami said, taking a deep breath, while we were entering the roofless house. It was a typical Iraqi farm smell, a mixture of smoke, fresh bread being baked, fire, thick green plantations, and dust. It was not dark yet, there were few deep red lines still hanging in the sky, dog barking in the distance. Abid's daughter was preparing the traditional Iraqi fire place, manqala. There were two empty water barrels.

"How do you get water?" I asked

"Water tank car comes some times and fill the barrels, now the driver says he has no gasoline, we have to pay him to come again"       

Shiha, Abid's 98 year old mother, was deaf and blind. She kept on kissing Ahmad, Dr. Intisar and Sami, and cursing Bush for preventing her of going back to Falluja. There was no door, just a sheet of cloth. Another sheet traditionally embroidered "In the Name of God, the most Gracious, and the most merciful". The family told us how their house in Jolan was shot, how the furniture was destroyed. Strangely enough, every body we met told us how their glass and porcelain buffet were smashed. The American soldiers must have fun smashing these things.

Sami told the family how he spent 20 years in the US, how his friends were crying in the good by party, how they asked him to tell the Iraqi people that they have nothing to do with killing the Iraqis and occupying their country.

Sami asked Lina, 15, one of Abid's daughters:" If I were an American soldier what would you want to tell me?"

"Get out of my country"

"and if I were a civilian American coming as a guest?"

"I would say you are welcome, you can stay"

"for how long?"

"As long as you need"

Abid said we thank the American people who reject the war. Isam, a neighbor in his 30s, a graduate of electricity institute, but studying to be a teacher now, said the resistance is legal, as far as there is occupation people resist. We do not want to be humiliated. We do not want them (the American) to be humiliated. But they did not suffer as we did.

Mohammad Kreidi, is 85, he lives with his 4 sons and there families in one house. He can barely feel what is going on around him, he was dying. Dawood Obeid is 73, he suffers from muscles atrophy, and he lives in another house with his 15 daughters and sons….

We had to go back to the school camp. The women have baked fresh bread, cooked dinner and were waiting for us.

 Back to the school

It was very dark in the school, the oil lamps can hardly help in the big class rooms, neither the fading embers, or the kerosene heaters which were sending suffocating smoke. It was getting very cold; obviously it was going to rain. Dinner was a big meal, with meat, beans, rice, salad, potatoes, typical Falluja tea, black, sweet and hot, and even Eid cookies. The women helped us wash in warm water.

I was telling them how deeply impressed I am with the wonderful work they are doing in the camp. Sundos said that 25 years of war taught us a lot. Her father was the first man to enter Falluja ten days after the October bombing was over." The decomposed bodies' smell was the most hideous thing "he said. Many people stayed in Falluja because they did not imagine that it was going to be so notorious, and because they had no place to go to. Some are still under the rubbles till now. Many houses and shops were looted, even after the bombing stopped. Sundos and her mother tried to go back to Falluja; they found a 20 kilometer queue of cars.

The American soldiers were using obscene words, if some body objected they beat and arrest him. One soldier near the new bridge was repeating "Haush ,Baa' …Haush, Baa'"(calling the people cows and sheep).

When we went to the toilet we realized what the women were talking about. It was already raining, we had to cross the unpaved yard to the toilet which was dark, blocked, and there was no water. The drain was open, sending very bad smell. Dr. Intisar was furious; she gave the men hard words for leaving the drain open, jeopardizing the children lives and every body's health.

The night was noisy with foxes and wolves howl. We had to leave early in the morning. It was colder and the still raining heavily. We had other kind of refugee camps to visit and write about. Sami had to attend a training course in the Iraqi HRW office, as a facilitator. It is a course suggested by the Christian Peacemakers Team, an organization which has been working in Iraq for more than two years. This training course is about creating an Islamic Peacemakers Team.

I am supposed to write now about the Karbala'a refugee camps, the 200.000 thousands refugees on the outskirts of the city. But this story is already very long, the new one is   different and my computer battery is running out in few minutes.

*Many of the names mentioned here are not real. The people are.

*Aladha Eid is connected to Mecca pilgrimage. God ordered Prophet Abraham in Mecca to slaughter his son, when he was about to do it, God sent him a ram to slaughter instead of his son. In this Eid Moslems slaughter sheep and feed the poor, and to celebrate the Mecca pilgrimage.  

 

Eman Ahmed Kmammas was a journalist with, and was co-director of Occupation Watch (that doesn't exist anymore in Iraq) , a translator, and advised the Code Pink Delegation on Iraqi women’s issues during January 24 – February 4, 2004.

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IRAQ: Fallujah: the truth at last

 Dr Salam Ismael took aid to Fallujah in January.

It was the smell that first hit me, a smell that is difficult to describe, and one that will never leave me. It was the smell of death. Hundreds of corpses were decomposing in the houses, gardens and streets of Fallujah. Bodies were rotting where they had fallen — bodies of men, women and children, many half-eaten by wild dogs.

A wave of hate had wiped out two-thirds of the town, destroying houses and mosques, schools and clinics. This was the terrible and frightening power of the US military assault.

The accounts I heard over the next few days will live with me forever. You may think you know what happened in Fallujah. But the truth is worse than you could possibly have imagined.

In Saqlawiya, one of the makeshift refugee camps that surround Fallujah, we found a 17-year-old woman. “I am Hudda Fawzi Salam Issawi from the Jolan district of Fallujah”, she told me. “On November 9, American marines came to our house. My father and the neighbour went to the door to meet them. We were not fighters. We thought we had nothing to fear. I ran into the kitchen to put on my veil, since men were going to enter our house and it would be wrong for them to see me with my hair uncovered.

“This saved my life. As my father and neighbour approached the door, the Americans opened fire on them. They died instantly.

“Me and my 13-year-old brother hid in the kitchen behind the fridge. The soldiers came into the house and caught my older sister. They beat her. Then they shot her. But they did not see me. Soon they left, but not before they had destroyed our furniture and stolen the money from my father’s pocket.”

Hudda told me how she comforted her dying sister by reading verses from the Koran. After four hours her sister died. For three days, Hudda and her brother stayed with their murdered relatives. But they were thirsty and had only a few dates to eat. They feared the troops would return and decided to try to flee the city. But they were spotted by a US sniper.

Hudda was shot in the leg, her brother ran but was shot in the back and died instantly. “I prepared myself to die”, she told me. “But I was found by an American woman soldier, and she took me to hospital.” She was eventually reunited with the surviving members of her family.

I also found survivors of another family from the Jolan district. They told me that at the end of the second week of the siege the US troops swept through the Jolan. The Iraqi National Guard used loudspeakers to call on people to get out of the houses carrying white flags, bringing all their belongings with them. They were ordered to gather outside near the Jamah al Furkan mosque in the centre of town.

On November 12, Eyad Naji Latif and eight members of his family — one of them a six-month-old child — gathered their belongings and walked in single file, as instructed, to the mosque.

When they reached the main road outside the mosque they heard a shout, but they could not understand what was being shouted. Eyad told me it could have been “now” in English. Then the firing began.

US soldiers appeared on the roofs of surrounding houses and opened fire. Eyad’s father was shot in the heart and his mother in the chest.

They died instantly. Two of Eyad’s brothers were also hit, one in the chest and one in the neck. Two of the women were hit, one in the hand and one in the leg.

Then the snipers killed the wife of one of Eyad’s brothers. When she fell her five year old son ran to her and stood over her body. They shot him dead too.

Survivors made desperate appeals to the troops to stop firing.

But Eyad told me that whenever one of them tried to raise a white flag they were shot. After several hours he tried to raise his arm with the flag. But they shot him in the arm. Finally he tried to raise his hand. So they shot him in the hand.

The five survivors, including the six-month-old child, lay in the street for seven hours. Then four of them crawled to the nearest home to find shelter.

The next morning, the brother who was shot in the neck also managed to crawl to safety. They all stayed in the house for eight days, surviving on roots and one cup of water, which they saved for the baby.

On the eighth day they were discovered by some members of the Iraqi National Guard and taken to hospital in Fallujah. They heard the US soldiers were arresting any young men, so the family fled the hospital and finally obtained treatment in a nearby town.

They do not know in detail what happened to the other families who had gone to the mosque as instructed. But they told me the street was awash with blood.

I had come to Fallujah in January as part of a humanitarian aid convoy funded by donations from Britain.

Our small convoy of trucks and vans brought 15 tonnes of flour, eight tonnes of rice, medical aid and 900 pieces of clothing for the orphans. We knew that thousands of refugees were camped in terrible conditions in four camps on the outskirts of town.

There we heard the accounts of families killed in their houses, of wounded people dragged into the streets and run over by tanks, of a container with the bodies of 481 civilians inside, of premeditated murder, looting and acts of savagery and cruelty that beggar belief.

Through the ruins

That is why we decided to go into Fallujah and investigate. When we entered the town I almost did not recognise the place where I had worked as a doctor in April 2004, during the first siege.

We found people wandering like ghosts through the ruins. Some were looking for the bodies of relatives. Others were trying to recover some of their possessions from destroyed homes.

Here and there, small knots of people were queuing for fuel or food. In one queue some of the survivors were fighting over a blanket.

I remember being approached by an elderly woman, her eyes raw with tears. She grabbed my arm and told me how her house had been hit by a US bomb during an air raid. The ceiling collapsed on her 19-year-old son, cutting off both his legs.

She could not get help. She could not go into the streets because the Us military had posted snipers on the roofs and were killing anyone who ventured out, even at night.

She tried her best to stop the bleeding, but it was to no avail. She stayed with him, her only son, until he died. He took four hours to die.

Fallujah’s main hospital was seized by the US troops in the first days of the siege. The only other clinic, the Hey Nazzal, was hit twice by US missiles. Its medicines and medical equipment were all destroyed.

There were no ambulances — the two ambulances that came to help the wounded were shot up and destroyed by US troops.

We visited houses in the Jolan district, a poor working-class area in the north-western part of the city that had been the centre of resistance during the April siege.

This quarter seemed to have been singled out for punishment during the second siege. We moved from house to house, discovering families dead in their beds, or cut down in living rooms or in the kitchen. House after house had furniture smashed and possessions scattered.

In some places we found bodies of fighters, dressed in black and with ammunition belts.

But in most of the houses, the bodies were of civilians. Many were dressed in housecoats, many of the women were not veiled — meaning there were no men other than family members in the house. There were no weapons, no spent cartridges.

It became clear to us that we were witnessing the aftermath of a massacre, the cold-blooded butchery of helpless and defenceless civilians.

Nobody knows how many died. The occupation forces are now bulldozing the neighbourhoods to cover up their crime. What happened in Fallujah was an act of barbarity. The whole world must be told the truth.

---

lloja - the American Earthquake

E.A.Khammas 

Seeing Fallujah, I realize why the American called the operation woe and shock. It is not only the American earthquake ridden city, the completely destroyed houses, schools, hospitals, market places, shops, streets, vehicles, not only the burnt out walls,  the hills of garbage, not the only the broken life, it is more the feelings read on the Fallujan's faces, I could not find any other description more expressive than woe and shock. It is the silence that hides anger, bewilderment, fatigue, helpless, suspicion of any thing and any body. It is the sadness.

"Are you from the committee?"  An old man who was collecting some ruined materials from the rubbles, asked me when he saw my camera.

"What committee?" I asked. He exchanged glances with his young son.

"If you have something of benefit for us, say, if not, please go sister, and put your camera in your pocket"

Why?"

"Look behind me!"

Behind him there were four soldiers’ nests, as an American friend called them, hiding on the houses' roofs.

"If you want to move around, just say that you are from the committee" he adviced.

He was refering to a compenstaion committee which was visiting Falloja, estimating the damage and the compensations.

I did not say that.

I told the pharmcist , who was repairing the public clinic in Golan area, that I was looking for families, especially children and women, who are badly in need of help, trying to help them in whatever way I can. He asked one of the construction workers to help us a round 

In the Health Care Center

Dr. Najm, the director of Jolan health center, said that the center receives at least 1000 patient a day, because the nearest health center, in Hay Al-Jomhuria, is ruined in bombing. In his center, which works 24 hours a day, only 4-5 male doctors can attend work now, female doctors find it too difficult to come from Baghdad. They have shortage in every thing, even stethoscopes and manometers. He gave my colleague, Dr. Intisar , a long list of the medicines they lack. It includes all the essential medicines, such as antibiotics and painkillers. They just got electricity generators a week ago, 3 months after the October attack on Falloja.

What about the children vaccines? Dr. Intisar asked

No vaccines, was Dr. Najm's answer. 

Dr Thamir , the director of the  Falloja area hospitals, complains that the Ministry of  Health has no good understanding of problems he faces in his area. Lacking of medicines, supplies, medicines for chronic diseases, electricity…is not his only problem. To come to the hospital daily is.

"Some times I have to wait at the check points queue for hours. This is our main problem. A road that normally takes 10 minutes, takes now 1.5 hours or more. We do not care any more about searching and humiliating us, but we need to pass through easily. Ambulances are attacked. Last time we had medicines, they were not allowed in, so we had to divide them into smaller packages and deliver them little by little. Now the way to Ramadi (the province capital) is cut. Ramadi is under siege for days."

Dr. Najm's family was not allowed to enter. 

"But to go to the Falluja main hospital is even more difficult"

"We need to go there; do you think this is not possible now?" I asked

"You can try" He called Dr. Ayad, the director of the Falluja main hospital, who promised to wait for us, no matter how long it would take. 

The Main Hospital

When we went to the main hospital, we had a better understanding of this situation. It is located across the Old Bridge, outside the city. The American troops use the river as a natural barrier to enter Falloja. The bridge is closed. Patients have to go through three check points to reach the bridg. They have to go on foot. We had to leave the car in the destroyed market place (Sooq Al-Shohada'), far away from the first Iraqi check point, and walk. The Iraqi soldiers did not think that we can pass through because we were females, but they allowed us to try at the American check point.

"No madam, female patients have to go through the other bridge" confirmed the American soldier at the next check point, who had Asian features, pointing to the other bridge far away behind him. The other bridge is more than 2 kilometers away. We had to walk there, cross the New Bridge and come to the hospital all the way again on the other side of the river, and of course we had to make the same trip again back.

"But why females?" I asked.

"Do not know, madam"

"But we are not patients" said Dr. Intisar, "we want to meet Dr. Ayad for half an hour, that is all, he is waiting for us". The soldier called his officer, who came to see us. We explained the problem again, he allowed us to go through, if it is no more than 30 minutes.

We had to run on the bridge. "why do not they allow women patients to come through this bridge? What if a woman has labor or bleeding'' was my first question to Dr. Ayad.

"They do not have woman soldier to search women, that is all. This is a big problem for all patients, not only women. The Handicapped, the old, the emergencies, imagine how these people walk all the way to the hospital, especially in the middle of the night. Women normally have labor at night, which makes it even more difficult and dangerous". There are no priorities, explained Dr. Ayad, not for ambulances, not for emergencies, not for doctors…

"But why do not they simply put the check point behind the hospital, so that patients do not have to go through all these difficulties?" I asked again

"We have been negotiating this for months with the American officers, some of whom are women. They understood and agreed to open the bridge, but did not open it yet"

Dr. Ayad was very grateful that we tried to meet him and ask about his needs. Again he gave Dr. Intisar a long list of medicines and supplies.

"Do you thing you can provide wheel chairs, especially for children?"

"How many?" I asked

"Oh, as many as you can get?"

"Ten?"

"Hundred if you can"

I explained to him that there are international humanitarian organizations that are willing to help children injured in the bombing. He promised to give me these children’s  medical records 

We had to run again back, Dr Ayad was searched on his way out." Do not they know you?"

"Of course they do, but these are the normal procedures. We are used to it". 

The Angry Sheikh 

Some men in the market place were very happy that we could enter the hospital." Do you want to see the graveyard? There are at least 2500 new graves" One of them volunteered enthusiastically to take us there.

"Not really, we are here trying to help the injured".

"Do you want to go to Fawzi's house?" another one said

"What about him?" I asked

"His three daughters, who are students in the medical college, are killed under the rubbles".

We had to leave Falloja before 4 pm, other wise we could not go back to Baghdad.

"You can stay with my family" he insisted.

"Thank you, may be next time" I said sincerely" can you take us to Gebeil, and to some one who can help us around " I explained to him that we were looking for injured children.

He took us to a sheikh, who was hesitant to help.

"Many people come here and they ask for medical records of people in need of help, we do our best to provide all the medical papers, then they go and we never hear about them again, and I remain embarrassed, do not know what to tell these families" the sheikh explained.

I understood his situation perfectly. I did not insist. He was very angry about many things: the promises of compensations that never come, the absence of services, the tricks played by some political parties during the elections, the burning of libraries, his helplessness before families who come to him asking for help.

He took us to see two neighboring families. The first was of a widow and two girls. The widow, Wichriya Alwan,50, lost her husband,51, and son, 18, in the bombing. They were buried alive under the rubbles. Her house was totally destroyed. Her daughter Sheima',12, is mentally retarded and paralyzed. The family lives on relatives donations.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Waiting for God's mercy, and the compensations" she replied.

The second family was of Khalaf Abid Khalaf , the ambulance driver who was killed during the fighting, when he was trying to help the injured. He left behind a widow and six children, the oldest of them is 12 

Schools! 

"Yes, go to Gebeil, and then you understand what I am talking about" the sheikh suggested angrily.

On the way to Gebeil, I stopped the driver in front of a school. There were two girl schools in the same building according to the sign, Falloja and Sokeina. Part of the roof was flattened to the ground, a 10 meter wide hole was opened in the yard, windows and doors were broken. I had some pictures and was leaving when a voice of a woman called me." Come in please, have some photos for the classrooms, see how the girls are studying"

"Are you saying that there are students here?"

"Of course" said Ikhlass, the assistant director, who saw me from the window and came to meet me. I did not imagine that there were people in.

The crowded classrooms were freezing. Big holes and broken windows were entering very cold wind. The director's office, the bathrooms, the yard, were all destroyed.

"Is not it dangerous for girls to be here?"

“Of course it is, what else we can do?" said Ikhlass. She suggested that I visit

the neighboring boy's high school, Al-Jahidh. There was no one in that school except the guard and his family. The school was more badly damaged. There was a huge opening in the biology laboratory with the iron and cement ceiling falling to the ground. The class rooms, the administration and teachers' rooms were burned

"What are guarding here?" I asked sarcastically.

"Where else would I go, this is my home" was the guard's answer. It was so bitter, I could hear all the Iraqis saying the same sentence. 

Gebeil Was the Worst 

"Are you sure you want to go to Gebeil?" The driver asked

"Yes, why not?" I was very childishly curious

"Nothing, lets go, only you have to hide your camera" he answered

It seems that the American "earthquake" hit Gebeil most badly. The majority of the houses were 100% damaged. Lakes of stagnant water, hills of garbage, dusty roads were all around. Few families were still there. Queues of women were waiting near 3 big water tanks, trying to get some water for the families.Dr. Thamir had already explained to us that the water was not good for drinking. He tested six samples, 2 of them had bacteria, the other 4 had under minimum chlorine.

"I need to have some photos!" I told the driver

"Not now!" was his abrupt reply. He moved the car few meters back ward "now, and make it very quick"

He did not stop the car. I had two shots for a school and a mosque, and he drove quickly.

There were 4 or 5 American snipers around, as he explained later. Many American vehicles were driving along one of the roads. The driver decided to take a side road.

"You do not have to do that" I objected. "We are not doing anything wrong". He did not reply, just smiled.

In the side road, a red old Toyota stopped us. Four men came out of the car and approached. Who are you? What are you doing here? Why this sister was taking pictures...etc. were their questions. We introduced our selves, and explained what we were doing there. They were still suspicious. We were more suspicious.

"It is getting too late, you come with us now, and stay with our families, or you come tomorrow, we can give any help you need". We thanked them and promised to return in few days.

On the way back to Baghdad, three Iraqi National Guards check points stopped us. They were surprised that we were going on the high way that late. They searched the car, checked the papers, made some jokes, gave suspicious hints and let us go.

---

Letter from Mark Manning, eye witness in Fallujah.

 

Dear Friends,

 

I have been out of touch. I have been in Iraq and would like to share a little of my story with you today.

 

I got back from Iraq a few weeks ago where I stayed inside the city of Falluja and lived with the refugees of that city for over two weeks. I decided to go there because it seems to be the heart of the trouble in Iraq and the place to see if any sense or peace can be found. I had also heard that the city had 250,000 citizens in it who were told to leave when my government attacked, yet there had been no stories of their situation in our media. As an American, I felt responsible for this and decided to take a look myself.

 

On February 10^th 2005 I flew into Iraq and drove to the city of Falluja.  For over two weeks I was a resident and a refugee of Falluja and I am honored and privileged for that experience.  They hosted me in their homes, and cared for me because they believed that I was there to listen to them and to honestly bring home their stories to the American people. I came to Falluja without military escort or armed protection in any way. I think because of this they thought I was crazy, but they honored what they thought was courage and they trusted me. Trust means everything there and they look deep into your eyes as they decide who you are.   I lived with them and listened to their stories.  They told me they do not trust American journalists to accurately tell the story of Iraq. They believe that the American public does not know what is really happening there, and that if they did they would feel differently about the war. They feel that the American people are their brothers and sisters and they are asking them for help. They wanted me to tell you their story.

 

The horrors of war have been brought to the people of Falluja. The people there say the city had 500,000 people in it, not the 250,000 quoted by our media.  The refugees told me that they were given one week notice to leave the city. After three days, they were told they could no longer drive out, they had to walk. No camps were established for them and no refugee location was given. There was no planning by the American government for the people, no food, no shelter and no water. They were just told to leave or be killed. Anyone who stayed in the city after one week would be considered a terrorist and would be killed.

 

For five months these people have been living in any location they could find, nothing was established for them in the surrounding areas of the Falluja countryside. They are living in tents in the mud, schools, abandoned chicken coups, burned out buildings, cars and other buildings that people were not using or where others have made room for them. The weather is bad, with much rain and it is very cold. When they were told to leave the city, it was summer and they were not dressed for this cold and many could not carry out their clothes. Some lucky children are going to school in tents and all the classes have been shortened to 2 hours per day. Food is short and they are eating what the farmers grow and the surrounding community can spare. Again, even after five months they have received no outside aid from either the American government or the new Iraqi government.

 

The city itself has been devastated. Most houses have been seriously damaged, with about 65% of them totally destroyed. Evidence of depleted uranium (DU) shells is everywhere. This leaves radioactive contamination behind which has a half-life of 4.5 billion years. (See note1). Unexploded ordinance is a common sight.  Many residents who were there speak of chemical weapons, napalm, cluster bombs and phosphorous used by the Americans. These are all illegal weapons and considered war crimes by the international community. Many of the houses were fired, meaning that the troops burned them down after searching them. Many houses with white flags and markings stating “Family Here” were destroyed.

 

Some families who had nowhere to go stayed in the city during the fighting and have paid dearly. I interviewed many people who were there and their stories will live forever in my mind. Here are some samples:

 

·      A mother whose son was killed by DU shells. He was in his bed sleeping when the shells came through the walls.

 

·         A father who at 65 years of age was shot during a raid of his house, whose son was arrested during that raid and has not been seen since (he states that his son was not a fighter.)

 

·         A 17 year old girl who hid under her bed with her 13 year old brother during a raid of her house and witnessed her father, her cousin, and her two sisters 18 and 19 years old, all shot to death. She hid for three more days with the dead bodies of her family and then they returned and shot her and her brother after finding them under the bed. Her brother died. She survived and told me her story.

 

·         A Family of ten who lived through all the fighting. The kids were 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 and 12.  They were a mess. These kids will never be ok. Their faces were marked with open and oozing sores and they were exhibiting serious signs of emotional damage.

 

There is presently very little medical aid available to the residents and refugees, and again, no aid has been provided to the refugees in the surrounding area. The medical centers in the city have been destroyed and have not been rebuilt. The main hospital has been reopened, but to get there you have to walk, as the ambulances are still being shot by the Americans and the Iraqi National Guard. The doctors have been beaten and their lives have been threatened by the Iraqi National Guard. These are the security forces that the Americans are training.  The new government has warned them not to talk to any journalists about the conditions in Falluja. They understand this threat to be very real and a direct threat on their lives and the lives of their families. 

 

To walk to the hospital you must go through checkpoints, sometimes through fighting, and only at certain daylight hours. The checkpoints are manned by the Iraqi National Guards and they are very hostile to the residents of Falluja.  When we were at the hospital, an old man died of a heart attack because he was not allowed through the checkpoint. A woman gave birth in the ambulance because they would not let the ambulance back to the hospital after 5 pm and instead turned it away with her in labor.

 

We delivered by hand the medical aid provided by some of you to the hospital in Falluja. Me and one Iraqi woman, WE were the international medical aid to Falluja. We carried these boxes one at a time through the checkpoints, across the bridge and into the hospital. They would not let us drive in, we had to walk these boxes in. We did it every day for a week, one box at a time.

 

All of the people I talked to had messages to the American people. They said: “We did not attack you!  We have done nothing to the Americans. Why have you done this to us?”

 

These are the people who hosted me, fed me, and worried about my safety. They took care of me and I will never forget their generosity, compassion and grace. They want peace with America and they want the fighting to stop. They feel they are the ones being attacked and that the Americans are the terrorists. They see absolutely no justification for this war and were constantly asking me to explain how the American people can support these acts against a civilian population.  For the  first time in my life, I was ashamed to be an American.

 

There are so many more stories to tell you and I will be making a film about it all. But for now, what I want you to know is that I spent two weeks in the heart of the beast. The place where our government and media said is the heart of the resistance, terrorists and Saddam Loyalists, and guess what; the place is full of people. People like you and me. Kids are everywhere. The average Fallujan family has 10 people in it. That means about 8 kids. 500,000 people in the city, you do the math. That is a lot of kids.

 

There are fighters in Falluja. That is a fact.  But they are surrounded by some 490,000 innocent people. As a country, we have decided the damage to the innocents is worth the end result, whatever that may be.   These people are being shattered by this very serious situation that they have no control over. They are the innocent victims of this war.

 

I cannot tell you what to do. This is a story of just one area in Iraq. These stories are all over the area we call the Sunni Triangle. But I was there and lived with these people and they taught me about love, forgiveness, truth and compassion. They, after all that has happened to them, still have the ability to differentiate between the acts of an enemy and the people of a nation. They cry out to us to save them from the ignorance that has brought this destruction on them. They have suffered 33 times 9/11. Over 100, 000 Iraqis have died at the hands of the American invasion (note 2) and still they say that they have nothing against the American people. This is grace.  I learned from these people how to find peace. By deeply listening to my “enemy” I have found that the real enemy is ignorance and fear and acting from that place of weakness.

 

I will never forget the people of Falluja.

 

Thank you for listening to them.

 

Your Friend,

 

Mark Manning

 

www.conceptionmedia.net 

1. http://www.fas.org/man/dod-101/sys/land/du.htm  , http://www.sundayherald.com/32522

2. http://progressivetrail.org/articles/041029Cole