Da (Mother) 97
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra HoseyniSeyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
Translated from the Persian with an Introduction by Paul Sprachman
2024-05-12
Da (Mother) 97
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
Translated from the Persian with an Introduction by Paul Sprachman
Persian Version (2008)
Sooreh Mehr Publishing House
English Version (2014)
Mazda Publishers
***
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Heavy Fighting, Paralyzed, Evacuation
Conditions had become so dangerous and the Iraqis had advanced so far there was no longer any need for me to beg to be taken to the front. Our front lines were falling one after another, and more and more of the central parts of the city were becoming battlegrounds. Because it was too hard to transport the wounded by car, aid workers who could were asked to go to the front and treat them there. I believe Dr. Sadeqi made this suggestion in hopes of saving lives.
The night before October 12 the battle at the port reached a climax. After this several new fronts formed. Our side was badly in need of personnel, which meant every able-bodied person was asked to leave the clinic and to go to Sentab.
Early the next morning, we filled empty munitions boxes with everything we could get our hands on: tape, bandages, scissors, needles, blood clotting drugs, xylocaine, and a variety of sedatives and salves. Well supplied by the visiting medical groups, we were very generous with our supplies. We also filled two munitions boxes with magazines, weapons, and RPG rounds.
When the pickup arrived Sabah, Dr. Sa’adat, and I loaded the boxes. Two young men who had been bringing wounded to the clinic joined us. To prevent the clinic from being completely devoid of personnel, Mr. Najjar kept a few of us behind. Sabah and I sat up front, and the boys found room in the back. Dr. Sa’adat in his white coat sat on boxes and held onto the side of the truck.
The truck started off, and to avoid being hit by the shells the driver took a circuitous route, safer but more difficult to negotiate. He went around the Congregational Mosque, the Forty-Meter Road, Naqdi, Gate Circle, Mowlavi Avenue, and finally through the alleys, lanes, and date groves behind the Mowlavi area. From there we entered the Satan Bazaar. In the last several days, the Iraqi fire had intensified and gave the city an awful pounding. It felt like a replay of the tenth day when they hit Darya Bod Rasayi School.
We arrived at 9:00 or 9:30 and got out of the truck in the grove. We then unloaded the boxes. I picked up a knapsack with RPG rounds and grabbed one handle of a box. One of the boys took the other with one hand and with his other got a box that Dr. Sa’adat had. They piled some other equipment on the box. The other people carried the remaining boxes.
It wasn’t far to the area around the railroad tracks, which was under heavy fire. As we got close to the tracks, the soldiers who had taken cover there poked their heads out and asked, “Where are you going?”
The boys answered, “We’re following the tracks to the to Sentab gate.”
“You can’t,” they said. “That place is under heavy fire. It’s almost impossible to get to that end.”
“What should we do, then?” asked the boys.
“If you want to reach the gate, you’ll have to cross the tracks. Then you’ll have to go from one alley to the next alley on that side. You can’t go directly. The Iraqis have set themselves up in the customs area and are firing at us from there.”
“Tell us what to do,” the boys said.
“We’ll lay down covering fire, so you can cross quickly. But don’t raise your heads, or they’ll shoot them off,” they warned.
The tracks and the avenue alongside it were higher than Mowlavi Avenue, giving the Iraqis a clear shot at anything that moved on them. We decided to cross two-by-two. We took some things out of the boxes so they’d be easier to carry. I had three G3s on my shoulder, an ammunition belt around my waist, and held a box of medicines in my hand. “You won’t be able to run like that,” they said.
“Sure I will,” I said.
Although I nearly died carrying all of those things, I was too proud to admit it. I was afraid of not bringing enough supplies, and thought we wouldn’t be able to go back for more. Dr. Sa’adat picked two knapsacks and the box I had been carrying. The rail line and the avenue were a total of around eight meters wide. We had to cross it crouching down, because if they hit the explosives, all that would be left of us would be ashes.
The signal came in a flash, and the doctor and I started to run. Our forces lay down covering fire behind us to keep the Iraqis pinned down. By the time the doctor and I reached the sloping roadside, we were breathing hard. The rest of our party, also ducking down, came running, and once again we were off. Before us was a barren field and, beyond that, some mud village houses and the date grove.
At the head of one of the alleys we saw a sandbagged bunker, in which a young soldier was talking on a radio. Seven or eight soldiers and some civilians were gathered around him. I came closer and saw that on the floor of the bunker were other radios, which the military man was operating constantly. On closer inspection I noticed he was wounded. He was pale and obviously fatigued. They had propped up his bandaged right leg with a cement block. He was wearing slip-on sandals, and his bluish and swollen toes were sticking out from the bandage.
The boys said, “This is Lieutenant Aqareb Parast.”
A soon as he saw Sabah and me (we were standing in front), he got red in the face and said, “What are you doing here? You think this is a game? The Iraqis are here!”
Then he turned to the boys and said, “Why did you bring these sisters with you? Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the entrance to Sentab,” they said.
Dr. Sa’adat said, “Well, they told us to come here. They wanted medical help, so we’ve come to help.”
“Very well. You can stay,” he said. “But the sisters’ll have to go back.”
As soon as he said this, I said, “We won’t go back. Do you think you’re some kind of general to order us around like that?! We’re here, and we know what we are doing.”
“Sisters, you’ve got to listen to me,” he said. “What do you think you’re doing being here without orders?”
“We didn’t just come on our own,” I said. “We’re nurses. They told us to and we came. No one can tell us to go back.”
During the heated discussion, a reporter showed up—from where, I do not know—and said to Sabah and me, “Wait a second. Let me take your picture.”
This made me furious, and I yelled at him, “Get out of here, man! What the hell good is our picture? You should have a gun, not a camera!”
The lieutenant kept insisting that Sabah and I not go with the group. I was so angry at his attitude I began to scream, “No one has the right to stop us, and I’ll shoot anybody who tries.”
The poor man looked at me and then at the rest of us and said, “You go and you’ll be taken prisoner. Iraqis are everywhere.”
“Fine, I’ll be captured. But I’ve got to do something.”
“You’ll be killed,” he said.
Dr. Sa’adat and I started speaking at once. I said, “That could
happen anywhere in the city. The difference is that here we’re moving
against the enemy, standing up to them. At least here a person can die
defending himself.”
Dr. Sa’adat added, “Whatever happens, sir, we’re ready for it. These sisters aren’t afraid of anything. They’re aware of the risks and have come to the front willingly.”
Sabah backed him up on that. Then I said, “We know the risks: being wounded, martyrdom, or capture.”
I felt the grenades in my pocket and said, “These are for the time when the enemy is about to take me prisoner.”
The lieutenant gave in and said, “You know best. I don’t know what to tell you. You don’t know where the Iraqis are, so at least wait.
There’s a group about to go to Sentab. You should join up with them.”
We stood there waiting for the group to form. I heard from the military boys that Lieutenant Aqareb Parast was the ranking officer. They told me that even though he was wounded, he would never retreat himself.
I now remembered meeting him, a young man of around thirty, when he was standing in front of the mosque with Major Sharif Nasab. We didn’t wait long. Suddenly a group of armed men emerged from one of the village houses. There were all sorts among them, from soldiers to civilian forces of various ages. The twelve of us joined them. Before we left, a young soldier who was the leader of the group conferred with Lieutenant Aqareb Parast. I tried to overhear what they were saying, but didn’t get much. Most of the jargon they used seemed like military code. Then the commander addressed the group, “As soon as we move out, there’ll be no more talking. You have to walk in absolute silence.”
As we left, Aqareb Parast said, “Sisters, be very careful how you go. Try not to get separated from the brothers. Walk in the middle of the column; do not trail behind or go ahead. You’re not allowed to break ranks.”
Then he addressed the men, “Look out for the sisters, and, God willing, they’ll come back safe and sound.” Then he turned to me saying, “You don’t have to have so many weapons with you.”
I kept a G3 and gave the other weapons to the boys. I stood in the middle of the column with an ammunition box in each hand. As we walked we constantly changed places to relieve the strain on the middle person who was holding a box by himself. We were headed for the now familiar date grove and the mud huts that stood isolated here and there or arrayed in crooked rows along the alleys and roads. As we entered the grove, there was the sound of firing everywhere and bombs going off all around us. The grove was in a terrible state. Many of the palms had been hit; some were burned and stripped of their fronds. Others were uprooted by direct mortar hits. Some of these had not quite fallen to the ground, seeming to be resting as they leaned against trees that were still upright. Dates littered the ground and birds’ nests, especially
nightingale nests, lay ruined among the dry, scorched weeds.
To be continued …
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