The Arab Sword

THE ARAB SWORD

The Story of one Gulf War Orphan

Edward Pangloss

Copyright © 2013 by Edward Pangloss

Smashwords Edition

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This novel is dedicated to my wife Amina Akinyi. Without your patience and encouragement this book would not have happened. I love you Kinyi!

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the following people for their encouragements and valuable contribution towards this project:

Simon Ndungu Kimani, Hannah Ochola, Jaja Yogo, Ken Mathenge, Ken Ogwang, Robert Kijedi, Maurice Kibisu, Njeri Kinyajui, Joseph Niva, Ben Kisaka, Dr. Dave Ochola, Jane Mukongolo, O.J. Majuek, Harun Musyoki, Philip Abuto, Susan Omondi, Joseph Akumu Ja Ngeta, Alfred Ouma, Sue Nyauholo, Lucille Ochola, Naftali Mbaya, Dr. Charles Otieno, Mwenda Marete, George Odette, Josiah Odongo, Prof. Jack Odote, Caroline Ochola, among others.

Without you good people, this project would not have taken off. Thank you guys!

I also want to pay a special tribute to one of the best writers who ever walked on this earth, Professor Ngugi wa Thiongo, who gave me a few writing tips at the UC, Irvine when I visited with him in December, 2011. Professor Ngugi, you are not only a gift to the people of Kenya but an asset to the literary world. We love you; we’ll always love you!

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

CHAPTER 1

It was about 9:30am, Saturday, September 16th, 1990 somewhere in southern Iraq when Abdul Omar and his friend, Ahmed, were beginning to settle down to their game of a ‘taxi ride’. One of them entered and aligned himself inside an old truck tire and the other guy pushed this ‘taxi’ as fast as possible, frequently applying emergency brakes which made the taxi come to abrupt stops with screeching sounds. The passenger had nothing to worry about if he was not prone to dizziness or if he was not claustrophobic. As he maneuvered the twists and turns, potholes, valleys and hills, the driver mimicked the sound of a rally car in full flight. A change in the driver’s voice or tone signified a shift of the gear. They went up and down the virtually empty parking lot many times changing responsibilities frequently. When they were tired, they sat and chatted about nearly everything.

They discussed the origins of the earth, how babies were made, war between Iraq and the United States. The US was particularly intriguing to these young boys. Ahmed opined that he had heard that the USA was a powerful country somewhere in the outer space headed by a person masquerading as God called the Pope.

Where did you hear this from? You are wrong, the president of USA is a white man called George Bush; haven’t you seen him on television? Abdul disputed his friends account.

Yap, I have also seen that man on TV but I heard my uncle and our neighbor discussing this very issue. I heard them say that this man called Bush (by the way did you know that bush means a forest?) is nothing but a figurehead, a cohort….just like the Iraqi governors are to Saddam Hussein said Ahmed.

Something doesn’t add up in your story. Are your uncle and the people he was talking to educated? If this powerful country called USA is somewhere in the outer space – how can a nation exist in the air? They would have fallen to earth a long time ago. Besides, when they use the toilet, where does all that shit go to? We would have heard many people complaining of flying unidentified shit, don’t you think so? Even Saddam’s minister of environment and natural resources would have lodged a complaint with the UN said Abdul.

There you go again. I have heard that this organization you are referring to is located in the outer space, in one of the US cities. How do you expect it to be partial? If our minister for environment and natural resources went to present the case against environmental pollution by the US citizens on Iraqis and the rest of the world, he would be arrested by the Pope’s security agents. Besides there is no plane on earth allowed to land on the US soil. See what I mean? The idea is for the US to conquer the whole world, convert everybody to Christianity by force and install the Pope as the supreme leader of the whole world. That’s the plan said Ahmed.

Ahmed, I have to run that story by my dad. Is that why they are after our country? asked Abdul.

Not only that, Abdul, Iraq and other Arab countries have something they really need said Ahmed.

Excuse me Ahmed, what do these people want from us? Why can’t they just pray to their god and leave us alone to do whatever we want to do with our lives? Other than a few bad things here and there, we are doing great. Unless of course if we have asked them to dump that Pope of theirs. Have we asked them to change their religion and what is it we have that they really need? asked Abdul.

Yes and no. Saddam and Tariq Aziz have unwittingly poked fun at the Americans telling them that a human being like the Pope cannot be God. On several occasions they have said publicly that there is only one God, Allah, and Mohammed is his Prophet. This has pissed off the Americans real bad said Ahmed.

What is it we have that these really need from us? You have been dancing around that question all day long Abdul asked.

Sorry I forgot that one. Abdul, there are serious rumors that these people have run out of petroleum in their country, wherever it is. They have built mindboggling cars, machines, aircrafts and military equipment which run on gas. But they have run out of gas. You know they are smart; it is not an easy task to build such a strong empire in the space and keep it suspended there for hundreds of years. But now, they have run out of gas and their civilization is threatened. They will do anything to get access to gas and only we, Arabs……plus a few other countries, have gas. Abdul, all these things are revolving around petroleum said Ahmed.

Oh my God, so this thing is all about petrol? asked Abdul, now with a dropped jaw.

That’s the point. And you know what? They want to be perceived as peaceful, civilized, religious people; they can’t just come around and say, ‘Your oil or you are dead’. Their strategy is to make us look bad; to make it look as if we are the blood-thirsty thugs as they try to fool the rest of the world that they are the only people of God and we are the heathens. Arabs and Muslims have refused to be fooled by this simplistic lie and that’s why they are fighting this outer space regime. The whole world will soon be a vast US colony if we don’t resist. This is what I heard my uncle discuss with his friends, not once, but many times. They also talked about a Saudi Arabian called Osama bin Laden whom our neighbor described as so bad that when Americans hear his name mentioned on television, everybody wee-wees in their pants. You remember the heavy rains in the desert last month? asked Ahmed.

Yes, I remember the rains; they came from nowhere answered Abdul as his jaw dropped.

Osama was on TV, not once, twice or three but four times in the US!

Boom! the two little boys were shaken out their wits by the unmistakable sound of a bomb. They were sent scampering for shelter behind Anas Al-Janadi’s house where they found themselves in a small dog house built many years back by Al-Janadi for a dog which he had wanted to buy for one of his daughters but shelved the idea when he realized that his neighbors were dead set against dogs around here.

Mr. Al-Janadi was also the headmaster of King Fahd primary school where the two boys were pupils. On a Thursday, two weeks earlier, the headmaster had urgently summoned the whole school to the assembly, also known as the parade. On that day he had an unusually very serious look on his face. He also appeared nervous – you know, the kind of look typical of a guy who has covered lots of ground walking in shoes which are too small for his feet. He blew the whistle one more time. His whistle had a unique kind of sound easily distinguishable from all other whistles within the school compound.

When everybody had settled down, Mr. Al-Janadi started by clearing his voice and began to say, Atteeeeeeeentiooooo….. in Arabic, but he never finished the sentence. He was never given a chance to finish what he was about to say for at that very moment, a formation of seven American Air force fighter jets, flying at supersonic speed, zoomed in low over the tiny, southern border town of Umm Qasr.

The sound they made was both deafening and terrifying. Anas Al-Janadi was shaken right up to his bone marrow. Whatever it was that was bothering him before the jets happened on the scene must have evaporated from his mind. Now he had to deal with this immediate, real threat which had come from nowhere.

Nobody had ever heard or seen anything like this in these parts of the world. Even during the Iran-Iraq war, they never saw or heard machines so menacing, so threatening; to these mortals, it looked as if these military aircrafts were packed with death itself and dispatched by Satan to cause maximum mayhem on earth.

At the school parade that Thursday, when Mr. Al-Janadi saw these planes (he saw the planes a few seconds before he heard the sounds), he acted on his basic instincts like any other human being would do under similar circumstances. He ran as fast as his feet could carry him. But since his office was too far, he took shelter under a desk right in front of the staff room, which by the way was barely ten yards from his office. The balding Anas Al-Janadi was a tall, heavily bearded gentleman with browning teeth – he looked more like a khat-chewing sheikh. The sight of a tall, bald-headed headmaster hiding from American planes under a simple desk while students and teachers were running helter-skelter could have made anybody lough to death. But these circumstances were grave so probably nobody noticed the humor. But Abdul did.

In the dog house where he was hiding with his friend, Abdul and Ahmed could see through a crack between the wooden walls. Since there was only one crack through which to view the drama happening outside, the two boys had to take turns to watch, sometimes quarreling and shoving each other over the hole. It was like one binocular being shared by a group of soldiers to observe enemy troops from a far.

They could also hear but not see what was going on behind the closed doors and windows of the headmaster’s house.

As they watched the bomb scene from their vintage point, Ahmed and Abdul could not believe what they saw. These were 10 year-old kids, who had never watched this kind of raw violence before, even on television screens. Yes, they had watched pirated American action movies like Rambo, but this drama happening right before their eyes was X-rated and they were watching it without the benefit of their parents or guardians being around.

A few seconds earlier, the boys had seen a convoy of American soldiers driving at a low speed, as if in search of Iraqi soldiers along Ali Baba Highway. The two boys did not pay much attention to this particular convoy of US vehicles as they had seen many of them in the preceding few days or weeks. They assumed, and they were right, that these American soldiers were in hot pursuit of the retreating Saddam Hussein army.

Humiliated at the battlefield in Kuwait, and realizing that they stood no chance against the superior allied forces, the Iraqi’s were now employing guerrilla tactics and a scotched earth policy – destroying everything as they retreated back into Iraq. Americans continued to pursue and harass them all the way into Al Basra, where Umm Qasr is located. This small town was right at the border between Kuwait and Iraq. Before the war, Iraqis and Kuwaitis living in this town moved freely between these two Arab countries’ borders; they traded, intermarried and had relatives on both sides of the border. They also shared grazing fields for their goats, camels and sheep. Iraqis and Kuwaitis share a common language, culture and history.

Watching from their hiding place the two boys wondered how a bomb found its way into this peaceful neighborhood. Bombs don’t walk, someone must have planted it here last night Abdul told Ahmed in Arabic.

Agreed; but Abdul if it was planted, and I am assuming here that they are planted the same way crops are planted, in that case someone must dug a hole last night, put in the bomb and then covered it. What do you think? asked Ahmed.

Yap, and I don’t remember hearing anybody digging around here last night, did you? asked Abdul.

Of course we could not hear them digging last night! What do you think these people are, fools? No, they must be smart. If they had to do something like this then would have to do it late at night when these villagers are deep asleep. Alternatively, maybe you don’t need to dig a hole to plant a bomb. Maybe you just place the bomb next to the road and cover it with stuff….you know, cover it with plant leaves, newspapers, and so on. I have heard my father call it camouflage said Ahmed.

You must be cheating, there is no word in Arabic called camouflage protested Abdul.

What’s wrong with you? It is and English word. It means to hide or disguise the appearance of something said Ahmed.

Wait a minute, your father is illiterate; how would he know such a deep English word? See, you are cheating already! said Abdul.

He is not totally illiterate; he knows a few English words here and there. He used to be in the army, remember? That you have not heard him speak in English doesn’t mean he does not know the language; it’s just that there is no one to speak it with. said Ahmed.

The boys guessed right. On Friday night, a group of retreating Iraqi soldiers had planted a roadside bomb here targeting foreign soldiers who were pursuing them deep into Iraqi territory. The soldiers had been so discreet; nobody in this sleepy village noticed their presence as they planted the IED. Two soldiers dressed in fake police uniforms were then put on the lookout three miles apart on both ends of the road to divert Iraqi drivers from that section of the Ali Baba highway. The roadblocks were quickly dismantled as soon as it was confirmed that a large contingent of American army was approaching. The chickens were coming home to roost, an Iraqi soldier said at that time as he smoked a cigarette.

The scene on the road immediately after the bombing was chaotic. The effect of the bomb was devastating. The two boys suspected that two bombs must have been detonated simultaneously because there were two huge craters created by the effect of the bombs; they could not trust their ears any more.

Three vehicles were completely destroyed. There was blood all over the place. Human limbs were strewn everywhere. On both sides of the road, glass was still raining down from the windows of nearby buildings. Injured soldiers could still be heard moaning and writhing in pain. Ahmed and Abdul saw soldiers trying to help their injured colleagues while some soldiers were already taking positions in readiness for the enemy whom they were expecting to show up. But there was no enemy in sight; it was like waiting for a phantom. There was disappointment and fear written all over their faces. These young men and women looked pathetic; they had been trained to fight a conventional army - they had no experience in fighting an invisible enemy.

Abdul, it is my turn to watch. Please tell me, what that man is saying? asked Ahmed. He could hear the words of the Americans but did not know English; he could only read and speak in Arabic. Abdul on the other hand had been taking English as a second language at his primary school. He didn’t know a lot but he understood a few words and sentences.

He is calling somebody ‘son of a female dog’. He is also talking of cow dung specifically excreted by a bull. I think he is referring to the Iraqis replied Abdul.

Thank you for confusing me even more: is he calling Iraqis bulls or cow dung? You know there is a hell of difference said Ahmed.

Am not sure, Ahmed replied Abdul.

Abdul, did you see heads and arms of people lying on the road?

Yap, I saw them said Abdul adding that he was going to puke. He actually tried puking but nothing came out.

Abdul, did you hear that, there is a head talking? said Ahmed as he moved away to let his friend witness this mystery as well. But the head never spoke again, prompting Abdul to ask: Ahmed, what had it said?

How do I know, I don’t understand that language? Wait a minute, it said something ‘damn it!’ what does that mean? Ahmed said.

Am not so sure about that one but I know dams are used for storing large amounts of water. Yes, I know it! He must have meant the bomb made a huge crater like a dam said Abdul.

For how long have you been studying English? asked Ahmed.

Two years, why? replied Abdul.

That explanation doesn’t sound right; I think you are taking me for a ride said Ahmed.

In the meantime, the Americans were regaining their composure after they had been shaken so badly by the two powerful bombs which had killed and wounded so many of their comrades. A few of them shot into the air, probably warning the unseen enemy that they were still alive and ready to engage him in battle. But there was still no enemy in sight.

On hearing the sound of the bombs, all villagers had disappeared behind their closed doors. The neighborhood was as quiet as a cemetery; even animals had shut up, as if they had received a command from above to keep quiet and lie low. There was not a single soul walking outside. But Ahmed and Abdul suspected that most of their neighbors were stealthily watching the drama unfolding on the Ali Baba highway through their windows.

All this time, the boys had not heard a sound from Al-Janadi’s house where the headmaster and his family were huddled up. But now they heard a constrained voice of their headmaster whispering something to his elder son, Mohammed.

Mohammed, can you please go to the window and see what is going on outside there? the revered Umm Qasr teacher asked his son.

No Papa, you go! Did you hear that those Americans carry guns loaded with Arab-specific bullets? I have heard from reliable sources that when those guns are fired randomly in a crowd of mixed races, only Arabs will get hit. Have you heard of those guns, Papa? the young man asked his father.

Is that true? Do you know for a fact that these American soldiers outside our house are armed with such weapons? the teacher asked his son.

Yes, Papa, I was told by friends that the guns were produced en masse specifically for the so-called Kuwaiti liberation. By the way, have you heard that the Americans want to sterilize all Iraqi’s…….just in case some Arab women have bad intensions of producing another Osama bin Laden or Saddam Hussein? asked Mohammed.

Mohammed, where did you hear such an outrageous thing from? How would they sterilize the whole population? They would have to inject everybody to achieve that goal. That’s an evil plan….only Satan would have such dreams. I hear Satan sometimes dreams in color. But He will be defeated. I will not allow any member of my family to be injected by an American or his Iraqi agents. God is great! said the teacher.

Papa, said Mohammed in a whisper. Did you study Dentistry in a school, at a Madrasa or at a university in Jordan? Americans are going to ‘treat’ the piped water which we drink. They don’t need to inoculate or inject anybody with anything. It will not even be announced on radio or TV; Iraqis will just wake up one of these days and find they are all sterile. That’s it…..no children….no new Arabs….fewer problems for Americans! Probably it has happened already. Did anybody here drink tap water in the last two or three days? No response! Gosh! We are finished! concluded Mohammed.

Something must be wrong with you: how can you hear such a thing and keep quiet about it? We are all finished! Let us pray the teacher told his son and daughters.

Boom! another bomb or set of bombs went off again with a similar ferocity.

Abdul, am dead, please remember to tell my mother and father that I loved them so much said Ahmed, who was beginning to feign death.

You are not dead, you fool get up! Abdul reprimanded his friend. Are you a girl or a boy?

That doesn’t matter now, does it? Dead people don’t have gender: they are dead, remember? said Ahmed.

What’s wrong with you? You are not dead. And you are breathing so hard, you will make the Americans know we are here. And do you know what they will do to us? Abdul asked his friend who was so busy ‘dying’ that he didn’t even hear the question. Besides, the sound of the bombs had also affected their hearing, so they had to speak louder to hear each other.

If the first bomb was bad, the second one was a total disaster. It wiped out nearly all American soldiers. All their vehicles and military equipment were destroyed. This must have been the work of a professional or a group of professionals. As far as Ahmed and Abdul knew, nobody in their village was capable of carrying out an operation of this magnitude. Nobody in this neighborhood had the motive, drive or technical ability to do this kind of thing.

Well, not all Americans were killed. One Harry Jones, a soldier from Oregon, miraculously escaped death. Private Jones was a lucky man. After the first bomb, Harry crawled to the nearest building and somehow sneaked into an alley connecting the Ali Baba Highway to a smaller estate road. There was nobody in sight so his movement was smooth but he could not take any chances and that’s why when Abdul and Ahmed saw him, he was crawling on his knees and elbows, as he held his gun in two hands. He kept pointing the gun at different directions as if he expected the enemy to sneak up on him any time, from any direction. Every sound, however small, elicited a swift response from Harry.

Harry was now not too far from their hiding place. They could now see his face. The soldier was sweating heavily, he was cagey and he looked scared to death. When they realized the soldier was headed directly in their direction, the boys panicked. Had he seen them? Had he heard them? What was he going to do to them? Is he friendly? What could they do to help this poor man?

Keep quiet, Ahmed, he’s heading directly towards us said Abdul.

Should we run? asked Ahmed as he elbowed his friend to let him peep through the hole.

We can’t run. Didn’t you hear what Mohammed said a moment ago? Those guns can smoke an Arab from 10 miles away. I hear the bullets can go round a corner, evade hills and mountains, bypass a white man here and there, leap over Africans, Chinese and Indians…..but bang, hit an Arab in the ass! whispered an animated Abdul as he reluctantly changed positions with Ahmed.

You are lying! You mean these bullets will avoid even animals but hit Arabs? Where did you get that one from? asked Ahmed.

From the Cartoon Network, just before lights went off last night said Abdul.

Abdul, look, he is examining the teacher’s motor bike. He has mounted it. Do you think he is going to steal it? said Ahmed.

Harry saw the bike and an idea struck him like a bolt. Previously, he had not even known what he was looking for….he had just wanted to get away from the scene of violence. He was trying to save his life the best way he could under the prevailing circumstances. But when he saw a clean Honda motorcycle parked next to Anas Al-Janadi’s house, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was like finding an oasis of clean, fresh water in the middle a vast, mean desert after three days without water or food. The bike was therefore a perfect opportunity for Harry to get away from this mayhem.

Harry looked left, right, and then left again, and then slowly mounted the motorbike, checked the gas level after opening the lid, then dismounted, disappointed that the key was not in the ignition. He figured out that the owner must be the guy who lived in the house in front of which the bike was parked. He was right; this was the teacher’s bike. Everybody in Umm Qasr knew that this was Mr. Al-Janadi’s bike. He was the only one with this type of a bike in this area. Indeed, not many people had motor bikes in this town, not because bikes were out of fashion here but because they were not affordable. Well, now it looked as if the ownership was just about to change…..illegally, of course.

The American soldier quietly approached the teacher’s house. On reaching the door, he suddenly turned the knob and pushed it in with his shoulder giving nobody who could have had any other ideas no chance to react. It was a miracle, the door was not locked. Can you believe it? He asked himself. It was eerily quiet in the sitting room making Harry to think that there was nobody at home. But he was wrong, there were people here, but they were hiding under a bed in the bedroom.

Is anybody home? Harry asked nervously in American English, forgetting for a moment that he was not in Oregon, USA, his home State. Hello, is anybody home? he asked again in a low, calculated tone. No response. There was total silence, until a cat, twice the size of a huge Chihuahua, jumped across his path then turned around to look him straight in the eye as if contemplating a jihad attack on the soldier. Harry loved cats, as a matter of fact he owned a beautiful cat back at home, but under these circumstances, this cat gave him the creeps – he nearly shot it. That would have been a terrible blunder.

Then Abdul and Ahmed heard their teacher gather courage and emerge from underneath his bed. Yes, sir the teacher said in Arabic, Can I help you with something?

What’s that? the American soldier asked.

Mohammed, come over here! the teacher called out for his son who spoke some rudimentary English.

Yes, Papa, is that man armed? Mohammed asked in Arabic as he emerged from his hiding place.

Yes, he is, come over here quickly. He looks like a reasonable young man said his father. What did he just ask me?

Yes sir, my father wants to know what you want. He also wants to know if Americans have poisoned our water said Mohammed.

What? Are you crazy or something? I just want to know if that bike parked out there is yours? said Harry. Mohammed quickly interpreted what the American had just said.

Papa, he says that he doesn’t know about the sterility program but I think he is lying. He also wants to know if that bike is yours said Mohammed.

Yes, yes, tell him it is my bike said Anas Al-Janadi. What does he want with the bike?

My father says that’s his bike but why are you asking about it? Mohammed asked the soldier.

Still keeping his voice low, Harry said, Can I please borrow the bike?

Papa, this man is asking whether he can borrow your bike Mohammed told his father.

Borrow my what? Is this man completely crazy? Does he even have a driver’s license? Without a license he will be arrested as soon as he hits the road said the teacher, getting agitated at the prospect of parting with his beloved Honda bike.

My father is asking whether you have a driving license, because if you don’t, you will be arrested said Mohammed.

I don’t have the fucking license; I am an American Marine and this is an emergency, where is the damn key? Harry said nervously.

Papa he says he wants the keys for the bike otherwise we are all going to meet with our maker right now said Mohammed.

Here, take the keys said the teacher as he threw the keys to the soldier. Where do you want to go with the bike and when can I get it back? asked the teacher.

"My father wants to know