Day of Blood (Experiencing a Suicide Bombing)

Day of Blood

The first blast shattered the window of our hotel room, depositing a pile
of glass where Sheila’s head would have been earlier, and waking us all
from the first minutes of a mid-morning rest. I jumped straight up,
swearing, and grabbed our video camera. I was in the hallway during the
second explosion, putting on my shoes, then the third explosion came as I
hit the top of the stairs. I began filming right away.

The dust was just beginning to clear and people were coming to and
beginning to flee the shrine. One man lay naked across the gateway, his
clothes burned off or blown off by the bomb. Above him, the wall of the
shrine was covered in a three-story spray of blood. I was not aware of
the flesh that accompanied it until later, when they began scraping it off
the walls. Another man came running out, his shirt gone and his pants
also, except for long shreds trailing from his waistline. He was covered
in blood. A third man, who seemed to be missing a leg and also bleeding
heavily, rocked back and forth from his sitting position, screaming in
agony. His clothes were gone also. I did not notice the bodies lying on
the ground until others came by and began scooping them up, throwing them
over their shoulders, and running for the medical tent.

It was a triple bombing, inside a shrine packed with tens of thousands of
pilgrims. I have been inside the Kadhum complex before, and its courtyard
is massive.

‘Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar!’—God is greater—came as a
wail over the muezzin loudspeaker system. Watching the devastation below,
I understood the cry.

--

Late after the bombings and the evacuation of most of the wounded, an
unwelcome visitor approached. It was a large U.S. military convoy from
the base a kilometer away, on the perimeter of the neighborhood. They
pulled to a halt on the street in front of the shrine, blocking the way.
They did not seem to know what they were doing, and looked around for
someone to consult with. It almost turned out to be a deadly mistake.

I could not believe that the soldiers were not leaving. They had entered
the area without an exit path, and though they turned their vehicles
around, they did not retreat to the base. I think there is truth to what
Sheila said—they probably thought they were trying to help, even though
they entered without consultation and without a plan or knowledge of the
situation they faced. Such is life here in Occupied Iraq.

Shi’a have never attacked the soldiers before, I am told. This may well
be a turning point in the Occupation, with results more deadly for U.S.
troops than ever. I later learned the soldiers had promised the shrine
officials they had advanced equipment which would detect all explosives
and weapons, and so there was no need to worry or prepare their own
security systems.

They brought a fire truck to wash the blood from the walls. For the past
hour or so, workers had been trying to clean it without success. The
force of the blast coupled with the hot sun had made it indelible.

--

I feel like I barely made it into our apartment. Shaking and unsteady on
my feet, I went directly to my room, fell on my bed, stuffed my face into
my pillow, and began to howl for what seemed like an eternity. I shocked
myself—I knew that I’d had one scream simmering inside me for most of the
day, waiting to be let out, but I did not expect the rest. The images of
the dead continued to play inside my mind. Later, I thought I had
composed myself and I went out to rejoin my teammates. I dissolved into
sobs though when the first teammate offered me a shoulder, and continued
on through the next hug. I found it hard to stand, and later found myself
being rocked on the couch by yet another teammate when I could no longer
cry or even respond to the other people in the room. Everything I had
inside me at that point was completely spent, and all I could see and feel
was death.

In Hebron, when I was there, we had a team culture of ‘sucking it up’ when
the horrible things happened. It was ultimately destructive to many of
us. Here on team in Iraq, I have found that not to be the case. Perhaps
it was the armed robbery of our apartment while I was away, or perhaps it
was the origin of the project and the utter devastation of the bombing
which began a year ago next week. We each here are strong enough on a
daily basis, that we do not need to pretend to be stronger than we are.

Sattar, our translator, told us of his friend who was sent to the front
lines during the Iran-Iraq war. To be on the front lines meant almost
certain death. When his friend reached their trench, he looked at the
wall and found the following quote: “Children kill frogs for fun, but
frogs die seriously.”

And it is as such here in this land of death and these days of blood. So
many groups are killing the Iraqi people without thought for the
consequences, yet it is the Iraqis who die seriously—in their shrines, at
the checkpoints, in their homes.

May God be with them all.