by Jean Sasson
“That’s not all. Sajida’s gluttony for possessions is so insatiable that she gave orders for all the jewels stolen from Kuwaitis during the Gulf War to be delivered to her palace. Trucks packed with jewels were transported directly to her hands. All those Kuwaiti royals can find their precious jewels in Sajida’s palace.
“There was one funny story I’ll never forget. Palace servants reported that Sajida had even gotten into an argument with her second son, Qusay, over those Kuwaiti treasures. Qusay admired one diamond set in particular, and when he told his mother he was going to present the jewels to his wife, Sajida ordered him to get out of her home. Sajida wanted everything for herself.”
Mayada smiled widely. “Some of her servants later claimed that the sight of Sajida scurrying through the palace with bowls spilling over with jewels was one of the most ridiculous sights they had ever seen. That greedy woman hid set after set of expensive jewelry throughout the palace, and she warned the servants that she would have their tongues cut out if they dared share her hiding places with any of her children.”
Iman made a grunting sound deep in her throat. “I am disgusted! We Iraqis were starving and there she was, dripping diamonds and pearls!” Iman dipped into a deep curtsy and began to pantomime a fine lady fanning herself. No longer would Iman be a blind supporter of Saddam’s wife, Sajida.
Low laughter erupted in the cell.
So many reminiscences etched in Mayada’s memory now came forward. “I could take her thieving easier than her cruelty,” Mayada confided. “She is unbelievably spiteful to her servants.”
The religious Roula turned her gaze to Mayada. “That’s not a surprise. Greed seems to attach itself to cruelty.”
Mayada agreed. “I am haunted by one particular story. About a poor Christian girl named Rosa. She was related to Hala’s nanny.” Mayada explained, “Hala, as you know, is Sajida and Saddam’s youngest child, a daughter. Hala is the only one of Saddam and Sajida’s children who was born without a black heart. She is known to slip behind her mother’s back and try to assist those poor unfortunate souls who draw her mother’s angry attention. Hala truly cares about Iraqis, unlike the rest of the family. She’s been known to take money from her parents and distribute it to the poor. Anyhow, Rosa’s relative thought she would be a good companion for Hala, who she said often seemed lonely in the palace. While Hala was at school, Rosa was assigned a few housekeeping duties in the palace. One day she was told to go into Sajida’s bedroom suite and vacuum the floor. In the middle of her chore, she heard something metal clink inside the vacuum tube, so she turned the machine off and looked inside the bag. To her surprise, she found a magnificent diamond ring among the dust.
“Rosa took the ring to the head housekeeper and turned it in. The housekeeper took it to Sajida, who said she was so happy that she was going to give Rosa the ring as a reward. It would be a useful lesson to the rest of the household, which she claimed was filled with thieves.
“Rosa was overjoyed at her good luck. She rushed home after work and gave the ring to her parents. Her parents went to the goldsmith shop and sold it. The family took the money and went to the food market and selected special foodstuffs, then paid some overdue bills and even purchased some decent clothes and a few pieces of cheap furniture for the house. With the rest of the money from the sale of the ring, they also paid for repairs to their house, which was in poor condition.
“Well, a few weeks later Sajida summoned Rosa and asked her about that ring. Sajida said she had thought that it was a glass ring, and that was why she had given it to Rosa. But she had since discovered that it was a rare, white-blue diamond, and she angrily ordered Rosa to return the ring at once.
“Rosa almost fainted. She stammered and told her mistress that no one in her family had need of such a ring and that they had sold the ring that very first day.
“Sajida began to scream and curse, threatening to have Rosa’s home torn to the ground if the ring wasn’t returned the following day.
“Rosa ran home and told her parents about the awful turn of events. They went to the goldsmith to try and get the ring back. That man told him a lady had bought the ring the same day. She paid cash and left no name or address.
“Poor Rosa faced Sajida the following day and confessed that the ring was gone for good. And her family, she insisted, had no way of replacing it with a ring of similar value.
“Sajida jumped to her feet and hit and kicked and cursed the girl. Sajida has forgotten the destitution of her youth and has no concept of the poverty of her Iraqi servants, so she didn’t believe that the family had sold the ring to buy food or clothes. She accused Rosa of keeping the ring for herself. So she summoned her guards. Sajida was still pacing and cursing. Then she pulled on Rosa’s long black hair, her loveliest feature, and ordered her guards to shave Rosa’s head. The poor girl grew hysterical.
“Then, because Rosa protested and fought the guards who were shearing her hair, Sajida ordered the guards to beat Rosa with a whip. The guards did what they were told and whipped Rosa’s back until blisters opened. Sajida had by this time worked herself into a full-blown fit, and commanded one of her maids to bring a domestic iron. They plugged the iron into an electrical outlet, and Sajida had guards hold Rosa’s hands down on the floor. Sajida ordered one of the guards to iron Rosa’s hands. Rosa’s screams angered Sajida even further, so she told the guards to press the iron harder onto Rosa’s hands and fingers. The poor girl’s hands were horribly burned. Sajida laughed and told Rosa that she might as well bring the ring back now: Her hands and fingers were so badly disfigured she surely would be ashamed to wear a beautiful cocktail ring.
“Rosa was then thrown out of the palace. She wandered the streets with burnt hands and a shaved head and a blistered back, until a kind-hearted taxi driver delivered her to her home.”
Mayada’s eyes grew misty and she looked at the shadow women, one by one. “And, that, my dear cellmates, explains the true heart of the woman who wants to be called ‘The Lady.’ ”
Never had their cell been so quiet. While many Iraqi men embraced the cruel tactics now plaguing the country, rarely did the cellmates hear of a woman so pitiless that she could cause physical harm.
Everyone looked at Dr. Sabah when she coughed and cleared her throat. Her feelings showed first in her dark eyes and then on her thin lips.
Dr. Sabah pulled her cloak over her shoulders and tied it in a big knot in the front. She said, “I want to tell you about my life. I grew up poor. But unlike Sajida, I’ve never forgotten it. My father was a simple worker in a cigarette factory on the outskirts of Baghdad. My mother was an illiterate housewife. I watched them labor until they grew old early. I wanted to avoid the backbreaking work that crippled my parents, so instead of working hard with my body, I worked hard with my brain. Every year I was at the head of my class, and I chose a career in engineering. Like many Iraqis, I was harassed until I joined the Baath Party, but my heart was not in their teachings. I mouthed the words I knew I needed to say to avert their suspicions and concentrated on my work.
“I worked harder than any man at the Ministry of Construction and Works. I was told by my supervisor that even Saddam had heard of my determination and skill. In 1979, Saddam sent orders that I was going to be appointed the next Director General of the General Establishment of Constructional Projects. I thought my future was made. I had moved to the top levels of a field usually reserved for men, and in only a few short years.
“But not long after my advancement to Director General, everything crumbled. I was ordered to attend a meeting in the party headquarters. One of our comrades was pointed out as a plotter against Saddam. I knew him well. He was a former college classmate and now a colleague. I also knew his wife, and had held his babies in my arms. I knew that he was not a plotter. But I was told that as the Director General, I had to take part in executing my friend.
“Well, I couldn’t move a muscle.” With a half smile, Dr. Sabah looked around the room. “I refu
sed to take into my hand the gun I was offered. What did I do? I vomited. Everywhere. I vomited on my shoes and on the shoes of the party official telling me I had to execute my friend. He would say, ‘Kill him!’ And I would vomit. He would scream, ‘Take this gun!’ And I would vomit. Finally I fled the building and ran all the way home, more than thirty streets away. I called in sick the next day and the day after that. On the third day, I had a visit from two men wearing dark sunglasses. They were polite. They shook hands with me and then told me they were from the Mukhabarat. They said they understood I had disobeyed orders. They understood I had vomited rather than execute a criminal who threatened the very stability of Iraq. I stood there like a frightened rabbit. I was unable to speak. I couldn’t move. But I did notice one funny thing. Both those tough men stood well away. I suppose they thought I might vomit on their shiny black shoes. They grew tired of waiting for me to speak. Finally one of them said that my vomiting had been reported to Saddam. Our esteemed leader said to tell me that he fully understood why I had vomited. I had vomited because I was a woman. They told me that vacation time was over, and I had to go with them back to work. I imagined they would take me to prison, but the two men insisted Saddam had told them not to arrest me, and instead to give me one more chance.
“On the way back to my offices, one of the men looked at me with a smirk and asked, ‘How is your younger brother, Ahmed? Is he in good health?’ The man said he hoped that a good future was waiting for Ahmed.
“I knew right then that my entire family was in danger. How I wanted to go back to my simple life, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to do to change things, so I went back to work. But never again did I enjoy one minute of one day. I kept waiting for another order to kill this person or that person. Happily, everything went smoothly for a long time. I married a lovely man. I had two wonderful sons and one beautiful daughter. I was not asked to kill anyone else. Then everything fell to pieces again, in 1992. I had a different problem this time. With all of Iraq suffering under the sanctions, Saddam called a big meeting about the money shortages. He was building one palace after another, but he told us that as directors, we must devise ways to raise money to pay all the expenses of our construction ministry. Saddam said that as of that day, all funds were cut. No more money would be made available from the government to pay employee salaries, operating expenses or for the building projects. We, the directors, had to come up with a plan to make money to support the government.
“After the meeting, several of us were allowed to thank Saddam for the opportunity to help the country. When I walked up to him he laughed for the first time that day. He asked if I had suffered any recent vomiting attacks. Everyone around laughed with him, even me. I told him no, and I thanked him for asking.”
Dr. Sabah then looked positively fierce. “I thought to myself: Let them laugh! I was the only one there without blood on my hands. Well, I left that meeting in a fog of worry. I knew if I didn’t find a way to meet expenses, I had a lot more to lose than my job. I had a husband and children I loved. I had brothers and sisters I loved. Those siblings had children. For several days I walked around in a trance, wondering how I was going to find enough money to finance an entire department.
“One day on a job site I had an idea. I looked around and saw a great deal of wood and cement and screws and nails. I went back to the office and called in Abu Kanaan, my subordinate, and laid out my plan.
“This was my plan. The agency I ran was created solely for construction projects. We gave out contracts to various companies. These contractors were independent and from the private sector. One company would provide the equipment, another would provide the wood, another the cement and so on. I decided that I would start a new policy. Each contractor that worked on the project would be required to leave behind all unused items. One by one, each contractor would not suffer so terribly. But altogether their forfeited items would be valuable. Because of the sanctions, there were shortages all over Iraq, so I knew I could get the maximum price for everything. We would auction everything off. Then we would take the proceeds of those auctions to pay salaries and other expenses.
“The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced the brilliant idea would save us.
“We presented our recommendations directly to Saddam. He studied our projected figures and appeared to be impressed. He said we could go ahead with the plan. Our agency carried on with that plan for several years and we succeeded in covering our department expenses.
“Five months ago, I was paid another visit by two men in dark sunglasses. They came to my office. I was terrified that they were going to order me to shoot somebody. I asked to call my husband and children. They forbade it. They said they needed me for only an hour or two. There were a few questions I needed to clear up. They brought me directly to this place. They blindfolded me when I got out of the automobile. Then they led me up some steps. I couldn’t see, but I knew I was in for a terrible time when an intense odor of urine overwhelmed me. They removed the blindfold and I found I was standing opposite a man who immediately slapped my face and barked, ‘Welcome, thief!’
“When I was interrogated, I was told I was arrested for using my position to ‘steal’ goods and equipment from the private sector. My ‘crime’ was called a conspiracy to undermine the state’s economy. This, despite the fact I never kept a single dinar for myself. Every dinar from every auction was put back into the Ministry coffers.”
Her forehead creased into a frown. “My torturers are hinting that I will be given a prison sentence of twenty-five years. I don’t think my husband and children know where I am, although I was told that they were informed that I am a thief.”
Dr. Sabah sighed and looked at the wall.
Mayada stared at Dr. Sabah, at a loss for words. She felt tears returning to her eyes. Twenty-five years! Dr. Sabah would never survive a twenty-five-year sentence. She was fifty years old.
Mayada pulled the folded blanket from under her and held it to her face, getting tufts of the thick blanket in her mouth. She choked back a cough. She stifled a sneeze. She pushed the crumpled blanket back under her legs.
She longed to reassure Dr. Sabah in some kindly way, but didn’t know what to say. She started speaking without really knowing what she might say. “We will have our revenge, though we might not know it,” Mayada mused aloud. “Saddam is frantically swimming in ideas to further his lasting reputation. His only pastime now is to puff up and polish his accomplishments. Because he adores himself, he believes he is adored by others. He wants only one thing, which is to live forever in Arab lore as a great hero. But that will never happen.
“I remember something Jido Sati told me once. He said that history never sleeps. When future historians write about Saddam Hussein, pages and pages will be written about his failures. But historians will scour the records in vain to find one good thing to say about his achievements. What can they write? Only that Saddam Hussein built a lot of palaces. An empty legacy of stones.”
Mayada looked around. The shadow women seemed to be listening, but she couldn’t tell for sure. She sighed, got up, rolled the blanket and stood in a corner of the room. She stood there quietly as, one by one, she studied the faces of the shadow women. Their tiny cell was a world of worry unto itself, with every woman frantic for her family, mothers despairing at the emotional blow of not seeing their growing children.
The sweet-faced Muna was weeping quietly.
Dr. Sabah’s lips were turned down. Her entire countenance appeared pulled downward by the weight of her sorrows.
Aliya’s face was so red that it looked aglow.
While Mayada scanned one expressive face after the other, it was clear to her that deep sorrow was lodged in every shadow woman’s heart. This was prison life, Mayada decided: tears and fears and sorrow.
She turned her gaze back to Samara. The lovely Shiite woman was silent, but held a desolate look that spoke volumes. Did Samara believe that good fortune had abandoned her forever
? Would she, Mayada, be an unwilling witness to a terrible tragedy? Would the beautiful Samara be tortured to death? Would Samara, like the author of the anonymous poem, go to the grave before her time?
Mayada’s thoughts reached out to probe the people responsible for this mindless torture and pain. Although Saddam Hussein was the man who fashioned modern Iraq into a hell on earth, there was yet a second man responsible for many Iraqi tears. A man she would never forget.
Mayada stared at the ceiling, remembering one of the most physically exquisite men she had met. An image of his handsome face floated before her eyes. She recalled how a playful smile often dimpled his mouth. He was so handsome, it was rumored that many women fell in love with him at first sight. At the time Mayada first met him, her husband Salam had already destroyed any chance of love in their marriage. Mayada’s heart was empty and she was vulnerable. But thankfully, the handsome man’s true character was soon revealed, so she never entertained a thought of seeking his romantic affection. She had quickly discovered that his beautiful face concealed a rotten soul.
In time, Mayada discovered this man, Ali Hassan al-Majid, known as Chemical Ali, was one of the most brutal men in Iraq.
6
Chemical Ali and the Veil
Mayada first met Ali Hassan al-Majid, first cousin to Saddam Hussein, in April 1984. Little was known at that time of the man who had recently been placed atop the nation’s secret police, after Dr. Fadil was elevated to the head of intelligence.
That April bloomed soft and lovely. The dazzling splendor of spring in Iraq had peaked. Bushes and trees nodded heavily with multicolored blossoms, and the air was saturated with their heady scents. The springtime days were warm and sunny; the nights were cool and comfortable. Baghdadis knew that once the long summer season descended upon their city, polite society would withdraw indoors to escape the wilting heat. So in spring, Iraqi society crammed its social calendars with garden parties.
