Just Pretend They're Fireworks

"We were never able to live in Iraq. It always seemed like there was something going on there; whether it was a war, the advancement of terrorism, a dictatorship, or now ISIS... So we were forced to live abroad, and my parents were forced to watch the slow but sure destruction of their home take place in the name of what many people in the West called 'good', from a distance and not be able to do anything about it.

I remember in 2003 when my grandmother came to visit us. We were all sitting on the fancy guests' dining table and the television was on in the background. We weren't very close to our grandmother, or most of our family because they were still living in Iraq, so this opportunity for us to bond with a member of our family was truly a gift and a blessing for all of us. We were all sitting at the table, talking about our days and what we had done at our new school and what we were planning to do on the weekend. All of a sudden, the atmosphere was demolished completely, as we heard the words 'the offensive against Iraq has begun and the Americans have reached Baghdad' come from the TV. I remember my mother, God bless her, jump up from her seat and run to the TV and start weeping because that's where her family was located. She and my father were going through the shock of their lives; they did not know what to do or think. We kept asking what was wrong but they would not answer us, we were sent to our rooms and away from the TV, confused, afraid and worried. I would not wish the situation upon anybody, not even my worst enemy.

The next thing I could hear from my room, everybody was on the phone trying to contact anybody they knew in Iraq just to make sure they were still alive and breathing. I remember hearing the question 'kolhom 3aisheen?' meaning 'are all of them alive?' and holding my breath for the answer. I could not help but think, if it was so hard for us, imagine what it must be like for them. My mother and father wanted us to talk to our families on the phone but it was so hard to convince myself to take the phone and ask them that one question, 'how bad is it today?'. I felt horrible. We all did. But I think most of all, we felt guilty. We felt guilty that we got out and our family didn't. Guilty that while we were having our dinner, people were battling for their lives over a fight that had begun and will end with political incentives that disregarded the very value and essence of human life in the region.

A few years after the war began we visited Iraq; I believe it was in 2010. This was the first time we visited since before the war was even anticipated. Everything changed. I remember riding from the airport in the taxi and seeing a never-ending wall adjacent to the airport highway and my dad asking 'hay shinoo?' (what is that?) and the taxi driver explaining how the terrorists hid behind among the trees and shot people with snipers, so they built a wall in between the trees and the highway to prevent the incident from happening anymore. That's when I realized how terrified I was to be in Baghdad, the war torn city of the Middle East. The city that was dubbed too far gone to be saved.

When we got to my aunt's house, which was where we were staying, my family explained to me the norms of the country, or what they had begun to consider the norms. This included staying clear of windows, taking a flashlight with you to the bathroom (you never know when the electricity would be cut off), always locking the gate and the door, only going out during the day etc... Finally, we were told that if we were to 'hear explosions its completely normal, just pretend they're fireworks, we find out how bad they are in the morning'. This is no way for people to live, whether it was for a week or for years, its enough to make a person go mad. I still can't be around fireworks without getting a mini-heart attack, and I was only there for 4 days. Imagine the trauma someone who has been there for longer has gone through or is still going through." - Female, 18