Seyyed of Quarters 15 (16)

Memories of Iranian Released POW, Seyyed Jamal Setarehdan

2017-1-28

Seyyed of Quarters 15

Memories of Iranian Released POW, Seyyed Jamal Setarehdan

Edited and Compiled by: Sassan Nateq

Tehran, Sooreh Mehr Publications Company

‎2016 (Persian Version)‎

Translated by: Zahra Hosseinian

Chapter 4

Jalula camp

There was not much traffic on the road. Sometimes, a military vehicle came close from the opposite side of road and passed. After about two hours, we reached to one of their headquarters. A few other prisoners added to us. One of the soldiers asked us to hand over everything we had. I didn’t have anything. The others gave their watches and money. We moved off again. It was now dark and a light was seen from far away.

Arriving there, I found out it was one of their camps. One of the two soldiers in front of the camp gate raised his hand when he saw the driver of IFA truck. They exchanged something. The tailgate was opened and we got off the IFA and entered the ground. One of the soldiers looked through our pockets angrily. Our boots and cartridgeـbelt were taken. I looked around when I was body searched. About nine hangarـlike quarters were seen. It appeared they were used as training camps in the past and now the Iraqis used them to keep prisoners temporary. A soldier, who had searched our pockets, took us to the front of one of quarters. He untied our hands and shoved us into it.

About a hundred and fifty of Iranian fighters were in the quarters. I saw a few fighters of our battalion among them. A number of prisoners were injured. They were sick and had lain. Several of them also had been stung by snake and their hand and legs had been swollen. The quarters were about eight meters by four meters. There was no room. It was suffocating. I smelled a bad and pungent smell from the back of quarters. When I went forward, saw they have urinated in the corner of quarters and the bad smell came from there. I did dry ablution where I was and wanted to perform my evening prayers. One of the prisoners said: "Bro, if they see, kill you!"

"If I’m killed for the sake of praying, it won’t matter." I said.

I performed my prayer. Then I asked a prisoner who had leaned against the wall, "Where it is?"

"You’re newly arrived too?"

I nodded. He said, "It is Jalula[1] camp."

We heard a sound; the peepـhole on the iron door of the quarters was opened. Some loaves of breads were thrown into and the peepـhole was closed. They were in the size of a hand palm and baguetteـlike. The prisoners suddenly rushed toward the bread. I moved along through them. I took one loaf of bread and bit it off. They were not enough for all of us and a number of prisoners had gone hungry. I slept among the wounded who groaned. The floor was naked; we didn’t have any mat or mattress and blankets. There was so little space that one of the prisoners had folded his hand and feet and lain down by the window like a child. Seeing him, I felt a lump in my throat. I woke up more than ten times until morning. Every time I opened my eyes, heard the wounded’s groaning.

They came early in the morning and knocked the door. The prisoners, who had lain behind the door, pulled back. The peepـhole was opend and some loaves of breads were thrown into like last night. I went ahead fast and stretched my hand through the prisoners’ feet to pick the bread. One of prisoners stepped on my hand. It caused pain. I grabbed two loaves of bread with my left hand. One of them had gotten dirty. I went where I was. I gave the cleaner bread to one of the wounded who couldn’t move. I rubbed the dirty one to my tonic. It didn’t clean. I closed my eyes and ate it.

An hour later, the door of quarters was opened. With cables and batons in their hands, twelve soldiers appeared on the threshold of door. Six of them came in. they beat our head and body with their batons, and said ‘go out’. As we wanted to go out, those who had stood in front of the door, began to hit us with their batons and drove us back. Several of us had held the wounded’s arms. We did not know what to do. My left arm hit against one of the batons. It hurt me so badly that I screamed. The wounded and the prisoners called for help from Imams. One of the injured had fallen on the ground. As the other prisoners escaped from getting beat by Iraqis’ cables and batons, hit him. He had put his hand over his head and constantly was screaming, ‘O, Fatima Zahra; O, Fatima Zahra’. One of the prisoners bent to lift him, but he himself fell down and the others stepped on him too. My arm was numbing, as if it was not mine. I had an attack of nausea and wanted to cry. At the same time, one of the prisoners shouted in a loud voice: "O, Abolfazl help us."

In a jiffy, the Iraqis closed the door and went out. The prisoners’ groaning and moaning continued for an hour. Those who had survived went to help the wounded. They helped them to lean against the wall and began to massage their hands and feet.

Everyone who needed to urinate went to the corner of quarters, and inevitably turned his back on the others and urinated. Due to embarrassment, they held their heads down and did not want to meet the others’ eyes, when they returned. At noon, the door opened again. A few numbers fled toward the back unconsciously. With cables and batons in their hands, about ten soldiers put the food containers in front of the door hurriedly and went out very soon. It was like they were afraid we rushed them. A few of prisoners divided the food and we began to eat with our dirty hands.

Three days of my captivity in the Jalula camp passed. Every day and hour I thought about my family and the past. One year in the summer, my brother, Jaber, had bought a second-hand bike from his friend, Maghsoud Bairami. Maghsoud was a good footballer. When my brother came home that day, said, "Go to Bairami’s house and bring the bike."

The enthusiasm of riding the bike made me to go Bairami’s house as a blithely bird and handed it over. I jumped on the bicycle saddle and pedaled. It had two round air horns. I really floated on air. I was so enthusiastic that sounded the horn until I reached home. Whoever passed me, cried, "What's wrong with you?"

I and my brother, Seyyed Hojat, always rowed with each other for buying bread. Waking up in the early morning wasn’t enjoyable and both of us couldn’t bring ourselves to lose the sweetness of sleeping. We rowed more than enough, so finally we were assigned to go in turn; but with the arrival of bike to our life, it took another form. To be able to ride the bike the next day, I woke up early. My mother said, "It's still early. Where are you going?"

She was right. It was still dark. I rode the bike and went out, but when I reached in front of the bakery, saw it is closed. Assad and his wife owned the bakery. Aunt Khadija, the wife of Assad, was dough maker and Assad himself sold the bread. They hired a man to bake the bread and help them. I went up and down the street two or three times until the bakery was opened. Without getting off the bike, I shouted, "Aunt Khadija, I’m the first one in the queue."

This time I went and wandered around the neighborhood. When I returned, saw a man has stood in front of the bakery. I said, "Sir, It’s my turn."

That day I took the bread home. The next day, it was Seyyed Hojat’s turn, but I got up early and went to the bakery. From that day, Seyyed Hojat enjoyed his early morning sleep. Enthusiasm of riding the bike had caused I went to buy bread even when it was his turn. I sounded the horn so much that had deafened the entire world. Sometimes, neighborhood children stood and looked at my bike riding. I couldn’t bear their looks which were full of yearning. I got off and gave my bike them to ride. I got upset when they looked at me pleadingly. After a while, bike riding became ordinary for me. Now Seyyed Hojat should wake up early in the morning and went to buy Barbari and Lavash bread whenever it was his turn.

Recalling this memory had made me to smile when suddenly I heard a noise from out. Along with some of the prisoners, I went behind the window and looked out. The Iraqis were punishing three or four soldiers. They forced the soldiers to crawl through mud and water, beat them with baton, stepped on their hands with boots, and gave a cry and swore them. "God help us, they don’t spare even their own soldiers." One of the prisoners said.

Through the window, one of the prisoners asked the guard who walked out of the quarters: "brother, Water, water."

The guard turned to us. He suddenly frowned. Angrily he bent down, picked up a stone from the ground and ran toward the window. We stepped aside soon. The guard came and threw the stone through the window toward the prisoners. The stone hit one of the prisoners. The guard said something. He turned away and went, but was still groaning and swearing.

The wounded’s moaning, the Iraqis’ lack of attention to them, and hunger and thirst had made the quarters unbearable. Several prisoners had put the wounded’s heads on their feet and stroked and consoled them.  Everyone who went behind the window to ask for bread and water, the guards answered them with stones. One of the guards was more violent than others. He cursed and hour by hour threw the stones of the quarters’ ground toward our head and face. Two or three of the prisoners collected the stones. One of them went behind the window and called the guard who cursed. The guard habitually picked up a stone and came to the window. The prisoners threw their stones toward him as soon as he arrived behind the window. He was surprised and pulled back shouting. He stood far away and opened his mouth and poured out a torrent of invective and threatened us. The prisoners knew that no one dared to open the door until the lunch time; so, they were weight off their minds about punishment.

Thirteen days we got beaten up once every day until the fourteenth day before noon, when IFA trucks entered into the camp ground one by one. I saw the guards have stood in two rows facing each other. As soon as we stepped out, they beat us with their cables and batons and even punched and kicked our head and face. I went quickly toward the truck, but received a few bumps. I grabbed the truck body and pulled myself up and sat down. A number of prisoners had held the wounded’s shoulders to help them walk, but they also were beaten by soldiers’ cables and batons. The beds of IFA trucks were covered and we couldn’t see anywhere.

To be continued….