From the pages of my mother's diary

Translated from Kurdish: An anonymous telephone call from an Arab man warned Azad against a death warrant released by Saddam Hussein. His boss insisted that he stay, but he knew he was seconds away from meeting death. He walked out of his job and came home to tell me we had to leave our home, again. He walked into the house yelling, “Get the kids ready and let’s leave.” I was cooking and turned off the stove to get my kids. I left the house, unchanged and looking disheveled. It was May of 1987, when Azad, the children and I, along with a few thousand Kurds who had Pêşmêrge family members and/or didn’t want their sons and husbands fighting under Saddam’s regime, fled to Iran. My husband’s brothers, Pêşmêrges, Hiwa and Kamaran, who was later martyred, took my daughters and walked at a faster pace. Azad and I hadn’t realized we had strayed from the path we were supposed to be heading. We kept walking until a man in Kurdish clothes holding a cane with a sack* at the end of it, yelled, “Mall kawline, where are you going?!” Azad asked, “Why?” The man told us we had stepped into a mine field. I stopped dead in my tracks and felt my legs shaking, I thought I would fall on my face. My face turned pale and my eyes widened. When Azad noticed this, he took our son from my arms while reassuring me and reminding me it was best not to panic. Seconds later, the most heroic words escaped my husband’s mouth, “Please don’t be scared and don’t panic. I will lay my foot down, pick it up, and you put yours there.” I could not believe what I was experiencing and as I think back to that day, I realize Azad’s facial expression had not changed a bit. We walked 150 feet with my heart beating at an unimaginable rate. The 15 minutes seemed like 15 lifetimes.

* When my mother described the Kurdish man carrying the cane and sack, my imagination fled to a media-portrayed image of a hobo. He was no less than an angel though.