Seyyed of Quarters 15 (17)

Memories of Iranian Released POW, Seyyed Jamal Setarehdan

2017-2-4

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 5

Tikrit, Camp 15

We were on the way a few hours until reached a camp. Like Jalula camp, I saw soldiers are waiting for us with cables and batons, when got off the IFA truck. My arms and back still hurt because of previous blows of cable and baton in the Jalula camp. I took my hand in front of my face. I received a dozen blows of batons until I reached to the entrance of the quarters. We all were sat down in five queues. One of the officers came in and stood next to us. He hit the head of prisoners with his cable and counted: "One, two, three, four, five ... fifty ... ninety ... one hundred ..."

He counted one hundred and twenty-seven of us and sent us to one of quarters. The nose and mouth of three or four ones were bleeding because of the blows of cables and batons. They closed the doors and left. Prisoners sat down here and there, so that there was no other space to sit. The noise of dividing captives still could be heard from outside.

After dark, we were ready to sleep, but there was a little room for sleeping. We gave more space to the injured and had to sleep side by side tightly. The lights of quarters were turnedـon. One of the Iraqi soldiers walked outside the quarters and peeped through the window now and then.

The next day, I found out it was campـ15 in Tikrit city of Saladin Province and we're in a quarters 15, plot 2. The ground was surrounded with coils of barbed wire and iron. The barbed wires were about eight meters in height. Some prisoners said the camp has three prévôt where the vehicles were inspected in turn when they passed. Because of the blows of cables and batons, head and face and under the eyes of some newcomers were swollen and bruised. My shoulder and hand also ached.

Iraqis elected two ones as the monitor and a few ones as the heads of food delivering groups. One of the two monitors of the quarters was darkـcomplexioned and tall. He seemed about thirty-five years old. He calculated and said each one has a place in the size of two spans and one finger.

In the morning, they opened the door and whistled. They asked us to sit down in five columns and put our heads between our legs. I sat and looked down. A soldier came and started to count. Everyone who moves he hit him with his cable and shouted: ‘Don’t move, buffoon!’

The counting was over, but we still had sat down. Little by little, we understood we shouldn’t move until the collecting statistics of all quarters hasn’t finished. The heads of food delivering groups went and brought breakfast; a loaf of bread and a glass of vegetable soup with sifted tiny lentils for each one. In a flash, we devoured the breakfast. One of the prisoners[1] said grumbling, "It doesn’t feed even a little child!"

Many ran toward the lavatory. The queue in front of i gradually became longer and longer. Some of prisoners’ had gotten diarrhea and it took a long time to come out. The prisoners who had stood in the queue weren’t in a good condition too. The guard who stood in front of the lavatory counted to ten or fifteen with a load voice ... and sometimes kicked the door. The one who were in the lavatory should come out before the end of his counting.

The space was strangely gloomy for me. I wanted to cry in sorrow. The small gravel in the ground hurt my feet. Sometimes, I bent and pull out the gravel which was being digging into my sole flesh. I was still confused about the camp space when a whistle was blown. We returned to the quarters and soldiers closed the door.

At noon, the trays of steamed rice were brought. Every ten of us should eat from one tray. Seeing the food, that captive who had objected about the amount of breakfast, said, "It’s too little!"

Ebadollah Bahoosh was the head of our tenـsome group and we should eat food together. He should take the food and divided it between us. He served in brigade 3, division 81 and had been captured on the 22^nd July 1988. A’aleta’aha brothers were also in our tenـman group. Seyyed Kazem A’aleta’aha was a guardian and his brother, Abbas, was a clergyman. I was so hungry that I could eat all the food. Ebadollah leveled the rice in the tray with a plastic spatula which he himself had made. Then he divided it into ten equal parts. Each person’s share was not more than seven or eight spoons.

In the afternoon, when we were taken outdoors to take in fresh air, I looked for Ardebilian captives. I found Farazollah Vahabzadeh, who was one of the prisoners in quarters 15. He served in Omid battalionـ113, brigadeـ4, divisionـ81 and had been captured on the 22^nd July 1988. I asked him about Ardebilian captives. He said Jamal Jafarpoor, Ataollah Khanzadeh, and Hossein Ghasemi are in the quarters 14.

Hossein Ghasemi was the monitor of quarters 14. His parents were Ardabilian but he had born and grew up in Tehran. I remembered unconsciously my memories of childhood friendships and naughtiness. Rahim Rezaie was my classmates in the fourth grade of elementary. We were intimate and went to and came from school together. Mr. Sadraee was our teacher, and Jalal Fazaei, our teacher in the second grade, had become our principal’s assistant. We all were two groups in school and kicked up a row for nothing. One of those days, I and Rezaei walked in the yard when we began row with the students of fifth grade. As we were in awe of our principal’s assistance, didn’t dare to fight. We agreed to meet each other outside the school and then fight. We paled when the bell rang. A group of fifth-grade students were waiting for us in front of the school. We were not able to move back or forward; we were two and they were a few ones. Inevitably, we came to grips with each other. We couldn’t fight back and they beat us up badly. Many children had stopped and watched us. This was the inevitable destiny of all of us which came to us in turn. I also had watched other’s fighting a few times, and now they watched me how I got beaten up and they whistled and screamed and clapped. We had no choice but to flee.

Failed and tired, we got home. Rezai blew his nose and said, "Don’t be upset, I tell my brother to avenge!"

The next day, brother of Rahim along with a few neighborhoodـmate were waiting for the students of fifth grade in front of the school. They had come to take revenge for their neighborhoodـmate! I and Rahim jostled one or two of them and rowed. Rahim’s brother and his friends took revenge for us when they stepped forward. We cooled down.

The next day, two or three of fifthـgrade students appeared with a line of bruising under their eyes. Being proud of defeating them and inflated with pride, we walked in the yard. I did not see Rahim in second break. The break was finished. I saw Rahim when wanted to go to the corridor. I made a face unaware. Suddenly, Jalal Fazaei appeared in front of the door. Unlucky, he kept an eye out for my movements and had kept Rahim in front of the staircase to punish him. Fazaei said, "Come here. I’m looking for you!"

I did not think it is because of yesterday fighting, but the fifth-grade students had reported him. He beat and kicked us badly and gave us hell, and then sent us to our class.

Taking in the fresh air and wandering in the ground was ended, and we all sent to our quarters at 5 PM. I had choked up in sunset of that day. The prisoners had sat down together and talked to each other, but no one was in a mood at all. All were somber and mournful. I wanted very much to see the moon and stars, but the quarters had a porch and also we could not see the sky through windows. One of the prisoners was crumpled in pain. The one who had sat next to me, said, "He is suffering for a few days."

I said, "Why you don’t inform the Iraqis?"

He said: "There is no sign of medicine and doctor here. If one is in critical condition, they may take him to the doctor of camp. "

One thing suffered me more than other thing was that I had heard that it was a camp for the missing in an action and the Iraqis didn’t give the name of captives to the Red Cross. I felt sorry for my parents. They did not know what has happened for me. Am I alive? Have I injured? or killed?

To be continued…