Beyond Love (Middle East Literature in Translation) by Hadiyya Hussein
Authors: Hadiyya Hussein
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save what little money I had until Youssef's arrival in
three months or four or five-I didnt know.
THE FIRST DIALOGUE I had with Youssef went as
follows:
"This is Samia." (I gave the false passport name out
of fear of intelligence agents.) "I hope I won't have to wait
long until I see you."
"Don't worry. Just look after yourself."
"I miss you. I miss you all. How is Grandma?"
"She misses you a lot. She suggested renting your
house in Baghdad; if this works out, I'll send you the rent
money."
And the second conversation:
"You'll be getting your permanent identity papers
soon."
"What about you?"
"Be patient a little bit more."
"Can I talk to my grandma?"
"She's not here. She went out with my mum to visit
the Imam al-Kadhim. How can I reach you?"
"I don t know. I don t have a phone. I'm calling with
a phone card."
"A card-what does that mean?" (Of course, no one
in Iraq knew the phone card system.)
"It's a public phone where we use special cards; listen, I'm afraid it will cut off soon. I'll call later."
The third time was different:
"Did you receive your permanent ID?"
"Yes, the papers arrived along with the money."
"Samia, what's the matter with your voice?"
"I just have a cold."
"No, your voice is very sad."
"Do you remember my friend Nadia?"
"Nadia? Yes, I remember her."
"She was killed."
I pulled out the phone card right before I broke into
tears.
NADIA AND I had to go our separate ways at the end of
1993. Her family had to leave Baghdad during the evacuation of those originally from the South who had fled
their homes because of Desert Storm. Of all the cities in
Iraq, Basra had suffered the greatest destruction because
it was the only city along the route for both the lines of
invasion into Kuwait and the lines of defeat coming back
from there. After the death of thousands on the battlefields and along this "trail of death," the defeated troops
who remained alive had returned from Kuwait. In Basra
houses had been destroyed with their inhabitants inside;
those who were able to had fled to Baghdad, Karbala, and
Najaf, thinking that the capital and the holy places would
be safer.
On her second visit to my home on Mount al-Hussein,
Nadia had told me that when her family had returned
to Basra, they couldn't find their house or even their old
neighborhood. Both had been completely destroyed and become a dumping ground for garbage and waste. One
of their acquaintances suggested that Nadia's family register their names on the list of those who had suffered
damages from the war. But other people warned them
that doing so was useless because no Iraqi ever received
compensation. The people of Basra were particularly
stigmatized for their hostility to the regime because
the 1991 uprising had originated there. This meant that
in response to any request for compensation, the intelligence services would unearth files, sources, origins,
and relatives-not to offer compensation, but to find out
whether the requester had any connection with the uprising. Nadia's uncle had been killed in the first days of the
rebellion in front of Nadia's house while he was trying to
remove a corpse from their threshold. For this act, he was
considered against the regime, and the family had to take
refuge with one of their relatives. Then Nadir was hired
as a driver by Hamid Kalla.
AT THE REFUGEE OFFICE, the waiting line only grew
longer and longer. It would organize and dissolve, then
gather and dissolve again. After almost an hour, an
officer appeared and from the bars of the closed door
called some names. He handed people notices that their
appointments were postponed. Some grumbled and
walked away, but a fifty-year-old man standing next to a
woman holding a child said, "Please, I have been on the
waiting list for six months. This is the fourth time I've
been postponed."
The officer continued distributing notices of new
appointments as though hehadnt heard anything. The
man
three months or four or five-I didnt know.
THE FIRST DIALOGUE I had with Youssef went as
follows:
"This is Samia." (I gave the false passport name out
of fear of intelligence agents.) "I hope I won't have to wait
long until I see you."
"Don't worry. Just look after yourself."
"I miss you. I miss you all. How is Grandma?"
"She misses you a lot. She suggested renting your
house in Baghdad; if this works out, I'll send you the rent
money."
And the second conversation:
"You'll be getting your permanent identity papers
soon."
"What about you?"
"Be patient a little bit more."
"Can I talk to my grandma?"
"She's not here. She went out with my mum to visit
the Imam al-Kadhim. How can I reach you?"
"I don t know. I don t have a phone. I'm calling with
a phone card."
"A card-what does that mean?" (Of course, no one
in Iraq knew the phone card system.)
"It's a public phone where we use special cards; listen, I'm afraid it will cut off soon. I'll call later."
The third time was different:
"Did you receive your permanent ID?"
"Yes, the papers arrived along with the money."
"Samia, what's the matter with your voice?"
"I just have a cold."
"No, your voice is very sad."
"Do you remember my friend Nadia?"
"Nadia? Yes, I remember her."
"She was killed."
I pulled out the phone card right before I broke into
tears.
NADIA AND I had to go our separate ways at the end of
1993. Her family had to leave Baghdad during the evacuation of those originally from the South who had fled
their homes because of Desert Storm. Of all the cities in
Iraq, Basra had suffered the greatest destruction because
it was the only city along the route for both the lines of
invasion into Kuwait and the lines of defeat coming back
from there. After the death of thousands on the battlefields and along this "trail of death," the defeated troops
who remained alive had returned from Kuwait. In Basra
houses had been destroyed with their inhabitants inside;
those who were able to had fled to Baghdad, Karbala, and
Najaf, thinking that the capital and the holy places would
be safer.
On her second visit to my home on Mount al-Hussein,
Nadia had told me that when her family had returned
to Basra, they couldn't find their house or even their old
neighborhood. Both had been completely destroyed and become a dumping ground for garbage and waste. One
of their acquaintances suggested that Nadia's family register their names on the list of those who had suffered
damages from the war. But other people warned them
that doing so was useless because no Iraqi ever received
compensation. The people of Basra were particularly
stigmatized for their hostility to the regime because
the 1991 uprising had originated there. This meant that
in response to any request for compensation, the intelligence services would unearth files, sources, origins,
and relatives-not to offer compensation, but to find out
whether the requester had any connection with the uprising. Nadia's uncle had been killed in the first days of the
rebellion in front of Nadia's house while he was trying to
remove a corpse from their threshold. For this act, he was
considered against the regime, and the family had to take
refuge with one of their relatives. Then Nadir was hired
as a driver by Hamid Kalla.
AT THE REFUGEE OFFICE, the waiting line only grew
longer and longer. It would organize and dissolve, then
gather and dissolve again. After almost an hour, an
officer appeared and from the bars of the closed door
called some names. He handed people notices that their
appointments were postponed. Some grumbled and
walked away, but a fifty-year-old man standing next to a
woman holding a child said, "Please, I have been on the
waiting list for six months. This is the fourth time I've
been postponed."
The officer continued distributing notices of new
appointments as though hehadnt heard anything. The
man
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