Al Dujahl
Just west of our compound at Ballad, Iraq, there was the Shia city of Al Dujahl. Al Dujahl had a storied past. Following one of Saddam’s visits to the city in 1982, someone attempted to assassinate Saddam. In response to this act, Saddam had 148 citizens of Al Dujahl executed. Rumor had it that Saddam bulldozed their orchards (incredibly precious resources in a desert land) and left them with nothing but the scorched earth.
The people of this city were proud and resentful, the Iraqis said. Al Dujahl became a dangerous city to visit. Like so many places in Iraq, it was meant to be hidden from the Americans. So many places, things, and thoughts were proclaimed to be off limits to the Americans. For sure, the city’s long broad streets that led to the grand mosque were not meant for foreigners to tread. Only a wartime mission would make this trespass necessary.
The day in question had been one of the longest of my life. We were missing two Soldiers. We were desperately looking for clues to their whereabouts. We desperately wanted to find any evidence that they were still alive.
In the wee hours of the morning, we were numb from fatigue and the day’s events. Only the hollow feeling of dread remained.
As we idled down the main street of the city, the dark shadows of the marketplace were surreal. The silhouette of the giant mosque at the end of the street stood in stark contrast to the night sky. I was surprised to see so many men reposing along the sides of the street – smoking and visiting in the shadows.
They seemed to feel our desperation. Maybe they had heard of our loss. There was no fight in them. They prepared to flee, waiting anxiously to see what we would do next.
They were not our concern.
AL DUJAHL
It is after midnight
in this ancient Shia City
Walled in
it sits, a monument to isolation, in the middle of the Sunni Triangle
We are not supposed to be here
thousands of years
of fear and hatred forbid it
Lost in time
misplaced in space
we seem to be in another dimension
Emboldened by sacrifice
Strengthened by commitment
We enter its dark streets
Our vehicles idol along its broad corridor
as if walking on tip toes
with their horsemen sitting rigid in their saddles
In the distance
the tower of the masque casts a foreboding silhouette against the pristine night sky
Its erstwhile servants, lay by the roadside on carpets
Smoking and visiting in the cool of the darkness
They are very concerned to see us
They know of the violence
They have heard of our pain
Why would we come here
from across the world
to this private place
at the portal of heaven and hell
Is it judgment day
they seem to entreat the night
as they prepare to flee
Mr. Haleem says this is far enough
We are numb from the suffering
We can go further or stop here
It is really up to him
The rotund old man says a quick goodbye
and hurries into the shadows
We are left alone
without a guide
on the dark side of the world