Daughter of Sheena (45)

2015-8-22

Daughter of Sheena-45
Memories of Qadamkheyr Mohammadi Kanaan
Wife of Sardar Shaheed Haj Sattar Ebrahimi Hajir
Memory writer: Behnaz Zarrabizadeh
Tehran, Sooreh Mehr Publications Company, 2011 (Persian Version)
Translated by Zahra Hosseinian

Little by little, other neighbors arrived and resided there. Company-provided and residential houses had located at the corner of barracks and were away from military zone. Mr. Hamadani’s wife and Bashir’s and Haj Samavati’s, who were my fellow citizen, were among our neighbors. After spending all that hardship, we had begun a new life in barracks that was interesting to me. After Morning Prayers, we would sleep again and wake up at nine or ten o’clock. We would eat breakfast which had been readied by men for us. We would deal with kids and then sent them to the hallway or downstairs to play. After washing the dishes, we women would gather in a room and speak with each other and narrate memories. We also hadn’t our men for lunch anymore.

A soldier would bring lunch for us with a car. Hearing the sound of his car’s horn, we would give cooking pots to our kids and send them to take over the lunch. Everyone had a special cooking pot depended on the number of family members; two-member cooking pot, four-member, more or less.

One day we were so overwhelmed with talking that we didn’t hear the soldier’s car horn. He had thought that we were not inside the building, so he had gone back and hadn’t followed the matter. In short, that day we waited long time, but they didn’t bring food for us. We stayed hungry until night when they delivered dinner.

One day, the sound of soldiers’ parade in the courtyard of barracks woke me up. I drew aside the corner of blanket that we set it up behind the window as a curtain. Soldiers were parading in the center of barracks. When I looked well, I saw one of our fellow-rural is parading too. He was Seyed Aqa. Seeing an acquaintance far away from home was a pleasure. I stood there and watched him until the parade was over and everyone left. At night, when I told the story to Samad, I noticed that he didn’t like it and said in tantrum: “Now you stand behind the window and look at the strange men?!”

I didn’t stand behind the window anymore.

Two weeks elapsed. One day Samad said: “Today we want to go for a ride.”

The children got happy and made ready very soon. Samad took kettle, cups, sugar and tea and said: “Bring spread and bread, and spoon and plate.”

I asked: “Now where are we going?!”

He said: “The front line.”

I said: “Isn’t dangerous?!”

He said: “Surely it is dangerous, but I want my kids to see where their father fights. Mahdi should know how and where his father may be martyred.”

Always I would get upset and pester him when Samad spoke of martyrdom, but this time, I didn’t say anything as I was beside him and it was not supposed to be a separation. I got ready Somayeh and took things and moved. The same car, by which we had come from Hamadan to Sarpol-e Zahab, was in front of the building. We got into. After we went out of barracks Samad stopped the car. He handed me an army overcoat and said: “Wear this. Also take off your Chador. If seeing a woman in the zone, the enemy runs fire here.”

The children laughed when they saw me with that appearance and said: “Mom’s become Dad!”

Samad wanted children to lie down on the car floor. Then he threw a blanket over them and said: “Be quiet. If you make a noise and they see you, they won’t let us go forward.”

As we went forward, the number of tanks increased. Military vehicles and trenches next to the road were very interesting for us. Sometimes Samad stopped the car, got out, went into the trenches, spoke with fighters, and returned. The sound of explosions could be heard from far and near. Once we stopped. Samad took us behind a camera and showed us some hills and earthworks, and said: “It’s the enemy line. Do you see that tanks? Those tanks and trenches belong to Iraqis.”

It was nearly noon, when we turned to another side-road and Samad parked the car behind an earthwork and all of us got out. He himself laid a fire and then brought a kettle and a small water container from car. He poured water into kettle. He made a fire, placed the kettle over it and put a few cans of fish into kettle. The children and I sat around the fire. Samad hugged Mahdi and went together into trenches which were around there. By seeing me and my kids, it was like young fighters recalled their family, mother, sister and brother, so with more intimacy and kindness they spoke with us. They hugged Somayeh and kissed Mahdi and asked about circumstances behind the front lines. At lunchtime, we spread a blanket on the earth and unfolded our small spread and sat down together. Samad opened the fish cans and poured them out into plates. Then he put them one by one in front of us. Kids, who were very hungry, ate their food voraciously.

After lunch, Samad showed us Iraqi’s trenches which had been conquered by Iranians. He introduced positions and lines and trenches for our kids in such a way and spoke of operations, as if they are adults or some persons in charge who have come to visit the front line.

At sunset, when war zone plunged into darkness, I felt bad. “Samad!” I said, “Let’s get back.”

He said: “Are you afraid?”

I said: “No, but I’m very sad. I missed my father, my Haj Agha, out of blue.”

A fourteen or fifteen-years old boy had stood in the darkness and was looking at me. I felt sorry for him. I said: “Now his poor mother must be worried and upset for him. Into this darkness, what are these poor children doing?!”

He answered firmly: “Fighting.”

Then he brought his camera from car and said: “Let me take a photo of you in this state.”

I was not in mood. I said: “Just leave it.”

He ignored and took some photos of me and kids, and said: “Why are you so sad?!”

I said: “I felt sorry for these guys, these young men, these fighters.”

He said: “War is difficult. It’s our duty: defense. You women also have another duty. You must educate the young well and properly. These brave guys weren’t well-trained, if you good women weren’t.”

I said; “I hate war. I want everyone to live in peace.”

He said; “Let’s hope the Absent Imam Mahdi does advent sooner, so we all get to our wish.”

The explosion sound of mortar shells and cannons were increased by darken. We got into the car to move. Samad turned and looked at trenches and said: “These are my kids. I just think of them. These are my sorrow. I want to do whatever I can for them.”

All the way I thought about that young fighter; where we moved into sheer darkness and with lights out. I said myself: “Now how that poor child stands guard into darkness and coldness and how he spends the night.”

To be continued…