May all Iraqis rest in peace

When I came back from work to the neighborhood last Wednesday after the attack, my eyes caught a chain of black banners announcing the death of the martyrs that fell victims in the explosion. They were all lined next to each other on a fence of a small farm just across the bridge that links the neighborhood with the high way.

Verses from the Holy Quran and a big Cross were put next to each other as if they were hand in hand declaring the victims were Muslims and Christians and all died together in one crime.

“People of the neighborhood denounce the criminal act happened on Tuesday,” read one big banner in the center accompanied by other black ones with names and ages of the martyrs. What broke my heart was my friend’s mother banner. Coming closer to the banner which says “The Martyr Um Bashar…” made me feel so miserable. She was there few days ago when I saw her, joking and advising us to be careful as “it’s dangerous outside.”

The funeral of a female victim [Um Bashar] takes place Wednesday, after a bomb planted in a motorcycle parked in the courtyard of a Shiite mosque Tuesday exploded in northern Baghdad, Iraq Wednesday. (AP Photo/Hadi Mizban)

It was four p.m. by the time I arrived. I wanted to be with my grieving friends in this hard time. So I left work early at that day. The streets were blocked off by palm trees stems, metal bars and barbed wires by the people of the neighborhood who no longer trust anyone, starting from the security forces who were absent for months leaving the neighborhood lawless and unprotected. Residents volunteered to control it from any other possible attack that may target the funerals of the martyrs. They took up arms and set up checkpoints searching every single car entering the neighborhood.

The explosion occurred last Tuesday when a hateful criminal left a booby-trapped motorcycle near a falafel stand in a rush hour when dozens of people were standing in lines to get some hot falafel from the poor Abu Asaad whom he and his two teenage sons also died in the blast. Abu Asaad’s stand was near a Shiite mosque built after the U.S.-led occupation to Iraq in 2003. By the time the explosion happened, the street was full of people who were there for shopping. Men’s and women’s wear Shops, ice cream shop, and a bakery where all lined up on the other side of the street. I was always worried that this area would be attacked. A similar nearby commercial area was attacked by twice by car bombs and killed dozens as well the last month.

On the same day of the attack, I returned back from work tired. I decided not to go out and hang out with my friends like what I do every day having no other place to go to in Baghdad. It was 8 p.m. when S called me to see why I did not show up. I told him I my reason. So he and the other friends decided to return back to their houses. Shortly after that, the explosion happened. It was powerful enough to shake the house but not to break the windows like the previous one. We left one of the windows open to absorb the pressure of the blast.

My mother came running from the kitchen with pale face and shock to see if my father and I were ok. We thought about the whereabouts for few minutes until my cell phone rang. It was A, my friend. “Um Bashar is missing in the explosion,” he said shaking with sounds of people screaming around him. “What? What happened?,” I asked hysterically. “She was near the Husseiniya [the Shiite mosque] and Bashar is looking for her,” he said. My other friend also called and said, people saw a woman lying dead there. “Oh my God!” I held my breath for a second. “I hope she is not the one.”

At that time, we started calling each other to check if we are ok and none of us was hurt by the explosion. We then found out that Bashar is still looking for his mother. Weeping and shouting “Mother, Mother” among the dead bodies, he did not found her. He found nothing but blood and smell of barbequed bodies of women, men, elderly and children. A man rescuing wounded people told him that someone took her to the hospital. The man did not want to tell him that he saw her dead.

Bashar took another friend and sped to Kindi hospital where she was supposed to be. Time was 10 p.m. when he finally found her after a long trip in the dark, scary, lawless streets of Baghdad. She was there but covered with blood from head to toe. Shrapnel shattered her abdomen area and her lungs were filled with blood. Unable to control himself, Bashar lost conscience and fell on the floor.

Her body was brought the next day to the neighborhood for her family to bid her farewell and take a last look at her before being buried. She left a husband, a 20 year-old daughter and Bashar my friend, a great and lovely family I have ever known. As a Shiite married to a Sunni, she never taught her son and daughter that there is a difference between the two sects. She raised them very well as being Iraqi and only Iraqi.

Fawzi Yacob, right, grieves at the funeral of his wife Linda Matti [Um Omar, the Christian woman] Wednesday, after she died when a bomb planted in a motorcycle parked in the courtyard of a Shiite mosque Tuesday exploded in northern Baghdad, Iraq. (AP Photo/Hadi Mizban)

In Iraq, funerals take three days. Today was the third and the last. People of different sects and religions attended the funeral which was held in a tent in front of the house. Thirteen other funerals were held in the neighborhood, including the one that killed Um Omar, a Christian woman who was shopping with her 25-year-old daughter. Susan, the daughter, was a bride who got married few weeks ago. She did not die but she lost her two legs in the blast and has become crippled.

Local newspapers showed the pictures of the funeral procession of the fourteen martyrs. Women were seen weeping and crying for Um Bashar, Um Omar and the other victims, including the two boys who were in their father’s car waiting for an ice cream to enjoy. They enjoyed death instead. The car was parked in front of the falafel stand. They both died as shrapnel tore their little heads into pieces inside the car.

As I walked from my house to the funeral in all three days, I noticed how this explosion was successful enough to turn it so gloomy, dusty, and sad. All shops were closed, people went out to offer condolences not to shop, and fourteen funeral tents welcomed the mourning people who were marching to each martyr’s funeral even if they did not know them personally. We considered all the dead our mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters and we all shared the unforgettable pain and grief…

May she and all the Iraqi martyrs rest in peace.