I do not like the sight of blood, and I certainly never wanted my career to have any relation with blood. As tempting as the salary of a doctor or a nurse might be, the thought of seeing blood itself was enough to upset me and even overwhelm me (unfortunately they make a ton of money, damn it!) I still remember when my parents decided to circumcise my little brother. It is a tradition for the family to be present during the circumcision; it is a religious event to be celebrated. I was there, only 12 years old, to help calm down my brother when the doctor started cutting his penis. I saw the blood and fainted. I knew anything with dealing with blood was not for me. However, we never know with certainty our life plans and at the age of 12, only dreams of playing soccer filled my thoughts.
Eleven years later I had my first job as an interpreter with US forces in Iraq. I have been assigned to work in Ramadi in 2006. The Marines called Ramadi “the hot spot” and considered it one of the most violent cities in the world. There are two entrance check points to the city: Entrance North Check Point (ENP) and Entrance South Check Point (ESP). I worked 5 days a week at SEP and two days each week at NEP. Work was for a minimum of12 hours a day. I learned quickly that weekends would be just a memory when working with the Marines. I also learned the U.S. marines did not want to bother learning how to pronounce Arabic sounds, especially names. Just as weekends faded away as a memory, my name disappeared and I was told my name would be Jeff.
We would check everyone wanting to enter this “hot spot,” thoroughly examine their identification(ID) in the U.S. Army’s database to make sure his/her ID was not fake, forged, or altered. Most importantly, I would check to see if the person, my fellow countryman, was on some wanted list. The ESP opened at 6 am and closed at 6 pm. The strictly enforced curfew was 6 pm. After 6 pm, a person seen outside a home, walking or driving, may get shot and killed. That person’s family may never know exactly what happened, only that their loved one would no longer eat, laugh, rejoice, or cry at home.
One day at 6 pm, I was so glad the day was over, and wearily started getting ready to go back to the main camp two minutes away by Humvee. I would finally relax, as best as one could, and find comfort in some food and sleep. Then, an Iraqi U.S. Army Major came to me with signs of panic all over his face. “Jeff, they need you outside in the vehicles search lane.” So, without hesitation, I uttered something and got my vest and helmet to rush outside.
I asked Bill, one of the marines, what was going on. He indicated he was not sure, but a Pick-up truck was quickly coming to the ESP after 6 pm with Emergency signs on it and with White flags waving. Our hearts pounded more quickly as the car approached the search lane. People in the car started talking about seven family members who were injured. We started to get them out of the vehicle and provide first aid. There it was before me – all the blood!
At first I felt faint and used the wall behind me to prop up myself. Another marine was yelling “Jeff come on.” I gathered myself together, we called our medic. A little baby boy had a bullet that went through his quad muscle. A young girl got shot in her head part so that part of her forehead bone was gone; she was not breathing. Washington, our medic, tried his best to revive her with CPR.
She started coughing! My heart just jumped out of my chest from excitement, and I began saying to myself, as a plea, as a prayer: “Fight girl! PLEASE stay alive.” We got them all ready to be moved to the Ramadi general hospital. But, the hospital was under the control of Al-Qaida. We could not transport them there without being killed ourselves in our desperate attempt to save some lives. Our U.S. Lieutenant and the Iraqi Major quickly devised another plan to move them. There was a women’s hospital only 5 kilometers in the city. But it also was dangerous because of the improvised explosive devices (IEDs) all over the roads.
We were able to get them there safely and then head back to the ESP for the briefing. At this briefing, there was our unit Commander, the Sargent major, and primarily the chaplain spoke. After he finished, he asked if there were any questions. I brazenly raised my hand and asked who did this? Would they be punished? I felt the need for some hope of justice to experience some closure.
Apparently some “bad guys” had been in a vehicle shooting at the army post. As they drove away, the army returned fire, which hit the house of the family whom got injured. My thoughts raced. I was very disturbed. I felt troubled and conflicted. I was confused and angry.
War is horrible! It is incomprehensible as you see your people dying. I felt good I helped those people, but the mixed feelings remained. A CNN reporter showed up next day to cover the story. He interviewed some marines and our medic. He even spoke with me. A week later the report was aired. The report said the army was shooting and the families were innocent victims, and then we helped them. This did not make sense. Victims? This was a family, a young baby boy, a young girl who were doing their best to survive against the poverty, and to survive together. There was so little emphasis on the “bad guys” who started this tragedy, and certainly no mention of seeking justice. I guess the media at that time, shifted to be against the war.
Later that week, one of the family members passed through the ESP. I asked him about the little girl. He said Dunya survived. That was the best news I heard in my life. I, Jeff (Mohammed), will never forget that name, Dunya.