Memories of War
Recently, I was invited to my daughter's Kindergarten class to talk about my childhood school life. As I prepared my slides, memories of my elementary education in my hometown in Kurdistan, Iraq in the early 1990s flooded my mind. I thought about the simple classroom with wooden desks and a few windows that let in sunlight. I remembered the empty field attached to the school where we had just 20 minutes of recess. As the kids in my daughter's class compared the differences between their school and the education provided in a conflict-ridden zone, I couldn't help but recall that those were the good times of my childhood.
Despite the challenging circumstances, I was a happy child, playing games like penchokane (similar to Jacks), hide and seek, and picking wild flowers to make into flower crowns. I am acutely aware of how childhood experiences shape an individual's life, and at the tender age of 5, I had already experienced the brutality of war during the Iraqi Gulf War. I said goodbye to my father without knowing if we would see each other again, and we embarked on a journey through the rugged mountains of Northern Iraq and Turkey in the middle of winter with only the clothes on our backs. The sight of muddy fields and covered bodies with traditional decorative blankets has left a permanent mark in my memories.
Survival and Hope
After days of walking with little food (my mom had even sold her wedding jewelry for a handful of walnuts), we heard news that the US military had started intervention and dropped crates of MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) in the area where starving Kurds were trapped in the mountains. My older brother, who was always physically active, bravely climbed the mountain and carried a load of MREs. I can still vividly picture him in the distance with a package on his shoulder. That meal, with its powdered grape juice mix and the mysterious mini tabasco bottle, is something I will never forget, even after many years have passed. It was a symbol of hope and sustenance during a dark time.
Returning Home
We received news that the Iraqi military had vacated our town and, most importantly, that my father was alive. With renewed hope, we headed back home.
Post-War Childhood
In the years that followed the end of the war, life was filled with happiness for a child like me. I returned to school and played with my friends, always mindful of the scarcity of clean water and high-quality food due to the sanctions imposed on our country. However, one day my parents told us that we might have to leave our country permanently. We quickly packed our essentials and boarded a bus to the Turkish border. My father, who had worked as a translator for an American News Agency, had received threats from Saddam Hussein's regime, and the United States government had guaranteed our safety. We made our way to the island of Guam, where we started the process of assimilating into American culture.
Resilience and Gratitude
Starting elementary school as a 10-year-old with little knowledge of the English language was challenging, but the gratitude for the safety and opportunities we had in the United States never left me. I learned to navigate a new culture and language, and I cherished the chance to receive a quality education and pursue my dreams. Looking back on my childhood, I am filled with appreciation for the simple joys and resilience that helped me overcome adversity. It has shaped me into the person I am today, and I am grateful for the lessons learned and the positive memories that have carried me through life's challenges.