The 373rd Night of Memories – Part 4

Compiled by: Iranian Oral History Website
Translated by: Fazel Shirzad

2026-4-20

The 373rd “Night of Memories” event was held on Thursday evening, October 23, 2025, in the Sooreh Hall of Hozeh Honari [Arts center], featuring wartime recollections shared by former POWs Nabiollah Ahmadlou, Mohammad Hadi, Mahmoud Shabani, Ali Moradi, Mohsen Jannat, Hadi Izzi, and Abbas Pirhadi. The event was hosted by Davood Salehi.

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As the program continued, the host invited the fourth narrator, Mr. Ali Moradi, to share his memories and asked him to describe his role in the battalion and his age at the time of his service at the front.

The narrator introduced himself as born on December 31, 1968, saying:

“I volunteered for deployment to the front when I was seventeen, from Shahriar [city]. Because of my young age, they initially refused to allow me to go, but eventually, by altering my birth certificate, I managed to join the front.”

He continued, answering the host’s question about his role:

“After completing my training, I participated in operations as an RPG operator.”

He then recounted the hardship of his captivity:

“I was freed on August 31, 1990, and that day was no different from the moment of birth itself. Like a child emerging from the safety of a mother’s womb, we were born again. In captivity, life was extremely difficult; the atmosphere was full of darkness, despair, and a kind of emotional frost and rigidity. The only thing keeping us going was our faith in the Almighty and our hope for freedom. Despite all the suffering and the daily beatings we endured (with cables, wires, and hoses) it was that hope which enabled us to persevere.”

In response to the host’s question about the duration of his imprisonment, he said:

“We were held captive for four years, and during that time, we were completely missing in action. Until the day we returned, no one (not our parents, not our families) knew whether we were alive or had been martyred.”

The narrator then spoke about a siege they endured:

“During the blockade, our rations and water supply were depleted. To get food, we fired our Kalashnikovs at the palm trees so that the dates would fall, and we gathered them. We filled a chemical mask bag with dates. But for water (it was after three nights and four days of extreme thirst) we became so desperate that we turned to a canal where the bodies of martyrs had fallen, and bloodstained water was flowing. Very carefully, we collected water from the canal’s edges with our canteens, avoiding the blood. Then we disinfected it as best we could with chlorine tablets, and with that water, we regained a spark of life.”

He continued:

“I was the RPG gunner. During the last days of the siege, I saw an enemy bulldozer coming toward us to clear the road. The Iraqi driver was whistling to himself, utterly relaxed! I fired my RPG and destroyed that bulldozer, once again stopping them in their tracks. The enemy thought that palm grove was packed with our forces, while in reality, most of our comrades had been martyred, and only a few of us were left.”

He went on to describe the condition of his injuries, saying:

“I had been wounded in several parts of my body and was bleeding heavily. The boys tore pieces from our pants and clothing to bandage my leg wounds and stop the bleeding. These injuries remained untreated for four years until my release and gradually healed on their own. In the first few hours, because of shrapnel hitting my spine, I even experienced temporary paralysis.”

At this point, the host, visibly moved, interrupted the narrator’s account to emphasize the gravity of the tragedy and said:

“The audience must truly feel this. In normal circumstances, when we get even a small wound, we immediately clean and disinfect it to avoid infection. Now imagine enduring deep wounds (bullet and shrapnel injuries) for four years without any medical care or treatment. How unbearably painful that must have been.”

The narrator continued:

“As enemy forces approached, following the advice of the elder among us, Mr. Khaledi, we concluded that captivity was also part of the war and decided to surrender. I thought they would surely execute me, since the Iraqis usually didn’t take the wounded prisoners. But by divine will, two soldiers came, lifted my bloodied body, threw me onto an IFA truck, and took me toward Basra.”

He added:

“On the way, before our fate was determined, we were forced to pass through a place known as the ‘Tunnel of Terror.’ On both sides of the passage, Iraqi soldiers were standing, beating us with cables and hoses. Each person had to try to pass as quickly as possible to receive fewer blows. Even in my wounded state, limping and struggling, I made my way through that path (and by God’s mercy, I survived).”

In conclusion, the narrator recalled a memory from his time on the front lines:

“One night, while I was on guard duty, I saw our commander, Mr. Mohammad Hadi, approaching. Recognizing him, I didn’t ask for the night password. When he reached me, he suddenly scolded me, saying: ‘Brother, what are you doing? Are you asleep? Why didn’t you ask for the password?’ I said, ‘I’m supposed to ask strangers, but I know you!’ He sternly replied, ‘No! What kind of talk is that?’ And right there, at seventeen years old, I learned that discipline and regulations must be observed with everyone (even those we know).”

To be continued…