SABAH (22)

Memoirs of Sabah Vatankhah

Interviewed and Compiled by Fatemeh Doustkami
Translated by Natalie Haghverdian

2020-8-12

SABAH (22)

Memoirs of Sabah Vatankhah

Interviewed and Compiled by Fatemeh Doustkami

Translated by Natalie Haghverdian

Published by Soore Mehr Publishing Co.

Persian Version 2019

Mosadegh hospital was at the end of Chehel Metri Avenue and near the river. Prior to the Revolution, it was called Khombeh hospital. The hospital was a one-story building with brick façade. It had a big iron door that opened to a green area. On the right hand was the morgue and the emergency was facing the main entrance of the building.

I never thought I would see such an image in the hospital. There was a big crowd in the yard and at the entrance of the hospital. Women and children were crying and moaning. The Arab women were scratching their faces and calling the names of their beloved ones. Some others were sitting and pouring soil on their heads. A few others had torn their collars and had wounded their faces. As if, it was resurrection day. The family members of martyrs and the injured from Taleghani district attack, were all over the hospital. We wanted to take the old man inside by the security forces of the hospital did not allow us in due to the crowd. They took the old man in. They told us: “go to help others in other places. We do not need helping hands here.”

When we found out that we cannot help in the hospital, we decided to go to auntie Maryam’s place. We wanted to know their whereabouts. Her place was located in Ferdowsi avenue and Keyhan street in downtown and was far from Customs compared to our house. Her house was in a district where rich people lived. When we got there, my mom and children, except for my father, were there. My mom was saying that Abbas and other children were terrified and they have decided to go there to be away from Customs because there is a big possibility that they would through mortar bomb in the Customs. My auntie Maryam said that she would not let us return home. At that time, most of our neighbors, except for three or four families, had left our district. Most of those families who had left the district were Arab Public. My auntie was right. Staying in a district with no residents was not right considering the situation. Mom asked about Ali and Saleheh. We told her that Saleheh is in the stadium, but we have no news about Ali. The security guard told us that they have all gone to Shalamcheh.

Nahid, who was the oldest daughter of auntie Maryam, had married her cousin, Hassan Agha. They had gone to the United States so that her husband can continue his studies. She had travelled to Iran with her two-year-old daughter, Pouneh, to see her family. Unfortunately, the war had broken. Auntie Maryam had six children. Ahmad and Mahmoud, her older sons, had gone to UK in 1973 and Nahid was in the US. The younger ones were Elaheh and Mozhgan and Reza. I was very close to Elaheh.

I was tired, so I lay down to rest but fell asleep. I slept about one hour. When I woke up, my mom and Shahnaz were not home. Auntie said: “your father had come to see how you are doing. Shahnaz and your mom returned home with him to bring clothes for everybody. Amoo Hejab has said that he will not let you return home considering the situation.”

Auntie continued: “your father had gone to Stadium to see Saleheh.” So I asked: “Really? What did he say? Was Saleheh Ok? Auntie said: “Yes, thanks God. Your father was so worried about Saleheh and Ali. He has seen Saleheh and is happy; hopefully he will receive news about Ali.” I asked: “Did my father say what Saleheh and her friends are doing there?” she responded: “Yes. He said that they are in charge of handing over and training on weapons to the public[1]. Your father had also got a M1 weapon.” I said: “Well done dad!”

The Corps, assuming a border battle which had happened before, was handing over weapons to the people while issuing cards and permission. Amoo Hajeb was home too. His family name was Hejab and we called him Amoo Hejab. Amoo Hejab was working in the Customs in clearance unit. Amoo Hejab started narrating. He said that he has witnessed many conflicts in the border before and this is not the first time that these conflicts are happening. Although at the end the conflict between Iran and Iraq were resolved by signing a treaty, but in his opinion, it was different this time. Unlike us that didn’t manage to get into the hospital to help, he had gone inside. He said: “you should have seen how people were torn apart. People were angry. They kept asking why nobody is resisting Iraqis.” He said: “I don’t know if it’s true but people say that the invaders have withdrawn from Shalamcheh.”

We were busy talking that my mom and Shahnaz arrived without my father. They said: “We couldn’t persuade him to go. The whole district was in blackout and we couldn’t see anything. We insisted that it is not safe to stay but he didn’t agree to go with us.”

He had brought my mom and Shahnaz half the way and had returned home. He had told my mom:” Don’t worry about me. I have a weapon and can handle myself!” my mom said that he has been making trenches in the yard to fight Iraqis in case they enter the city. I was so proud of my father. For one minute, I missed him for a lifetime.

We had a light dinner. Aunties made the bed for us under their big dining table. Reza, Abbas, Mohsen and Mona slept under the table. It was like a small refuge for them and if God forbid there was a blast, at least they would not fall under the rubbles. Nobody could sleep that night since there were constant explosions and everybody was busy in his/her thoughts. We had a tough night.

On the second day of autumn, I said my morning prayers and did not go to sleep after that. Elaheh, Nahid and I prepared breakfast. The children woke up and asked for breakfast. Around eight o’clock everybody was up and had eaten breakfast. We were washing the dishes that there was a knock on the door. It was the beginning of the day and we were not expecting anybody. Reza and Abbas ran to the door. The polite greeting of the children caught our attention. My aunt went to the door. We went too. It was Haj Agha Sa’adat, the clergy and liturgist of Fatemeh Alzahra mosque. It was the mosque of my auntie Maryam’s district. He said:” we need your help in the mosque.” Auntie asked: “What kind of help?” He said:” the Corps members have brought a lot of soda bottles and want to make Cocktail Molotov to defend the city. We need help to grind the soap and fill the bottles.” My aunt said: “We will get ready and come quickly.”

We all walked to the mosque eagerly. There were ten of us. The soda bottles were in boxes in the yard of the mosque. We started grinding the soaps and filling the bottles quickly. The city was filled with explosions and roars of the airplanes and the sirens of the emergency vehicles that were transferring the injured. There was also constant horning of some of the vehicles that wanted to avoid the terrified passersby. Each minute there was an explosion in one corner of the city and there was smog and dust going up in the air.

To be continued…