Children of War (7 page)

They came so often that we stopped locking our yard gate, and we left the
front door open, too, so they could come in without breaking anything. My father and
uncles got tired of fixing things just to have them broken again.

I've seen many people arrested, mostly men and boys — bigger
boys than me. I heard from my friends, too, and the friends of my parents, and they said
the same things. The women and children would be shoved into one room like the kitchen,
and the men would have to lie face down on the floor or the ground. I'd watch
sometimes, if my mother or aunts didn't pull me away. It looked like the soldiers
were stepping on the men's heads. Some soldiers had the job of yelling and
arresting. Other soldiers had the job of breaking furniture and making a mess.

Now we are in Jordan, and no one comes in the night. There are other
problems. I hear the problems about money. One of my uncles worked installing satellite
dishes for TVs, and his boss wouldn't pay him. He was angry, but what could he
do?

I might want to be an actor like my father, but I'll probably be a
painter instead. I am also going to be an engineer, because I want to build my family a
house that soldiers can't get into.

Things are starting to get a little better for us. My mother is doing an
art show for CARE. My father is
working on a play for CARE. These
things bring in some money, so my parents are happier now and more relaxed. My mother is
busy painting, my father is busy acting, and I am busy talking to you. We are a very
busy family.

Eman doesn't talk.

Her father died two weeks ago, from a long illness. She lives with
her mother in a small, dark room. Her mother suffers from severe depression, and
possibly other mental illnesses.

Her mother collects stale pita bread from shops and restaurants
and sells it to Bedouin shepherds, who feed it to their animals.

Eman doesn't go outside. There was no treatment for her in
Iraq or in Jordan. Her mother thinks Eman's difficulties are from all the
chemicals in the bombs that have been used in the wars. She has no one to help her
with Eman's care.

The neighbors walk right into their house and hit
Eman and her mother. When a charity brings them food or blankets, the neighbors
sometimes steal from them. “We are poor, too,” the neighbors say.
“Why doesn't anybody help us?”

It is hard to get a coherent story from Eman's mother. Too
many years of too much difficulty have stopped her mind from thinking
clearly.

There is a bad smell in the house, and a heavy feeling of damp and
dirt.

The Ahliyyah School for Girls in Amman, Jordan, was founded in
1926. Its big, bright buildings surround a courtyard of volleyball nets and
basketball courts. Girls read and giggle in the sun, eating lunches bought at the
student-run canteen. The school even has its own forest, and each student is
entrusted with a tree to look after while she's there.

Rusol, Sally and Vinn are three of several Iraqi girls who attend
the Ahliyyah School, and whose families have the resources to pay the private school
fees.

RUSOL
– I have been in
Jordan for five years. We left Iraq one month before the war. We thought something bad
was going to happen. Everyone knew the war was coming. We came here first as tourists.
We didn't know that we would end up staying so we didn't pack up all our
things. We brought very little with us.

I am from Baghdad. My father had a lot of factories in Iraq. My mother was
busy at home, taking care of us.

SALLY
– I came here with my family two
years ago. Like Rusol, we didn't know if we would stay. We thought we would just
come here as tourists and see what it was like. We decided to stay because the situation
in Iraq was very, very bad. Whenever we went off to school, my mother didn't know
if she would ever see us again. It was hard for me at first, because I was a stranger
here, but when I found friends it became easier.

My family is also from Baghdad, but we went out to Syria during the time
of the bombing. We went back to Baghdad for three years after the fall of Saddam. Then
we came here.

Our home in Baghdad was a very well-protected place, but all around us,
the way between home and school, was very dangerous. It was very hard to go out
anywhere, to see friends. You know, I'm a girl, and I want to live my life at this
time and do everything. It's hard for me to live in one house between four
walls.

That's why we came here, to build a new life without war and without
fear.

VINN
– I left Iraq
three years ago. During the war and the beginning of the invasion, I was here in Jordan.
We were here for a year, then we went back to Baghdad. It was hard for us girls because
we had to wear a headscarf everywhere. This is not something we were used to, even
though we are Muslims. And it was hard for my mother to drive, because the same people
who made us cover our heads decided that it was wrong for women to drive! Such thoughts
in a forward-thinking country like Iraq. Every time we went anywhere, my father had to
drive. If there was a woman driving herself in the car, she would be dead. She would be
killed. This is not normal for Iraq. This is backwards.

SALLY
– We face a very big problem when we
travel to another country. They make a big difference between the Iraqi people and other
people. It is hard for us to get a visa to go anywhere. We are not dangerous, but still
they make it difficult for us.

RUSOL
– At the same time, we are not
planning to stay here in Jordan. Now my father is in Canada, in a place called Winnipeg.
He is trying to find work there, and I would like to study there.

VINN
– I will stay in Jordan. I like it
here.

SALLY
– Everybody thinks we Iraqis have a
lot of money because our country has oil, but that doesn't mean that we are rich.
The American soldiers are sometimes very kind, but
there are other
strange people in Iraq — not Americans but other nationalities — and they
are trying to destroy Iraq now.

RUSOL
– Saddam Hussein being in power was
normal for us. That's how we grew up. We didn't know what was difficult
about our lives until we came here and saw another way of doing things. We saw what we
were missing. We didn't have internet or satellite TV. When we came to Jordan, we
saw these things, and now we are used to them, but under Saddam, it was normal not to
have them.

SALLY
– Maybe we didn't have internet
or satellite or mobile phones, but we had security, a good situation, a good life to
live. It is not important to have satellite TV. It is more important to have a good
life.

VINN
– Everybody was in danger in Iraq.
Whenever you left your home, you never knew if you would be alive at the end of your
trip. It was hard to feel safe anywhere.

We left behind our house, our books, all our furniture, all our little
things that we had gathered in our lives. We had to start here from the beginning.

If I could go back, all I'd really want to get are my pictures
— my photos of friends and family and my childhood. Everything else we can get
again, or get something like it. But the photos, we can't get. And I can't
go home, so I'll never see them.

I think it's hard for American people to see Iraqi people happy.

SALLY
– It's not
the American people, it's the American government. There are a lot of American
people who don't like to be killing Iraqis. We have to remember that and not blame
the American people for what their government decides.

RUSOL
– It's important to think of
the future, and to work for what we want. I want to study medicine in Canada, to find
some nice guy there and get married.

SALLY
– I also want to be a doctor. I know
it's hard, but I will be one.

VINN
– I want to be a pharmacist here in
Jordan. I want to live my life in Jordan.

RUSOL
– If I had the power to make the
world better, I would say that we need peace, and to have everyone knowing the culture
of everyone else, and having lots of people meet each other and get to know each other,
so there will be no fear.

SALLY
– There should be no difference
between Arab people and European people. We should see each other as the same, not one
better than the other. An open world, not closed. No borders! No visas! Just people,
living.

Even those Iraqis who have found safety in Jordan have no
reason to believe that safety will last. Jordan, like any nation, has the right to
decide who can reside within its borders and under what conditions. Many Jordanians
claim that the large influx of Iraqis has pushed down their own wages and raised
rents for everyone.

Most Iraqis who are in Jordan now have entered under time-limited
visitors' visas. If they are caught staying longer than they have permission
for, they are fined, with penalties that grow each day, or they are expelled. If
they are caught working without proper permits, they are deported back to Iraq,
without the ability to return to Jordan.

Iraqi workers who are cheated by their bosses
cannot report this behavior to any authority, since they are not supposed to be
working in the first place. Economic hardship forces Iraqis to work illegally, at
great risk. They are unable to lead relaxed lives. A single mistake could see them
deported back to Iraq. They must take great care not to come to the attention of the
authorities. A traffic accident, an argument with neighbors, a problem with a
shopkeeper — any of these things could draw the notice of the immigration
police and lead to questions about papers and trips back to the border. Iraqis are
even afraid to report crimes committed against them, in case that reporting leads to
their deportation.

B.'s brother was caught working illegally in Jordan and was
sent back to Iraq, which is why B. doesn't want his real name or photo used.
He lives with his father and older sister and her baby at the end of an alley. In
front of the house is a small walled courtyard of broken concrete. The rooms of the
house are small and dark, with water and mold patches on the walls and odd bits of
furniture for the family to use.

My brother was caught working here in Jordan, and he was sent back
to Iraq. That's why you can't take my picture or use my real name.
That's why I never leave the house. I feel that the immigration police are out
there
watching for me and waiting for me to make a mistake. Then
they will grab me. People tell me I am wrong about this, that there are so many Iraqis
here the police don't have time to worry about me, that there are lots of others
they can catch. To them I say, so where is my brother? And to that they have no
answer.

I am almost a man, but I have no work, I have no future. My hair is
already turning gray. When I was young, I wanted to be a famous football player. I feel
foolish now, for having that dream.

I have been in Jordan with my family for nine years. We live in Zarqa, a
crowded, noisy place outside Amman. Our house is a poor house without even a proper
ceiling. It's all reeds and we've put plastic under the reeds to keep out
the rain and the dust, but it doesn't work that well.

My life was not supposed to be like this. I was supposed to have a
different future. My father is a goldsmith. He learned the trade from his father, who
learned it from his father, who learned it from his father, back many, many generations.
I was supposed to be learning the trade in my father's goldsmith shop in Baghdad,
but the shop doesn't exist any more.