A couple of weeks ago a US missile (or bomb) fell on uncle Shaker's house in Baghdad. Uncle Shaker is my mom's paternal uncle. He passed away some decades ago.
A shrapnel from the explosion sent his wife to join him.
My mom was in NYC at that time, she cried as usual. She cried the same way she cries every time we hear that someone died, whether we knew them or not.
Faiza, my mother, is such a great mother. She's a great Iraqi as well. She stood in the Congress last week like a lioness giving her testimony about what happened in Iraq. I felt so proud of her, and I'm sure all of the war victims are feeling proud of her as well.
Today was yet another sad day with sad news from Iraq. Professor Ghada, my teacher in the University of Baghdad, emailed me an updated list of the assassinated Iraqi educators. A long bloody list full of University professors and school teachers names, all of them were assasinated after the fall of Baghdad three years ago.
Slah Al-Bandar was the principle of my school. Al-Kendi High School in the heart of Baghdad, one of the best high schools in Iraq. A great man with a big heart. We never call our teachers with their first names in the Middle East, every teacher is called "Ostath" then his name, as in Teacher. Ostath Slah used to be a very strict eastern teacher that everyone feared, but everyone loved as well. He used to work as a taxi driver in his beaten VW car after finishing his work in our school, and on weekends too.
Slah Al-Bandar was a great father who didn't want to accept bribes or get corrupt. He didn’t want to feed his children with tainted money, so he worked all the days and nights.
Every Thursday, he stood there in the middle of the big football field while the 1400 students gathering in a U shape around him never dared to whisper. He stood there and asked us all to watch the Iraqi flag going up while singing the national anthem.
وطنٌ مدَّ على الأفقِ جناحــا وارتدى مجد الحضارات وشاحا
بوركَت أرض الفراتين وطن عبقري المجد عزماً وســماحا
Then, he'll get the old microphone and repeat the exact same introduction for his weekly speech:
"My dear sons and students. My dear colleagues and educators. Good morning...
In this blessed day, I want to talk to you about....."
He repeated this for years, until he was assassinated some days ago.
Ostath Slah Al-Bandar's big heart will never beat again.
