The bombs, the bombs...

The idea of this blog really came about when I told the story casually of having experience being bombed to some friends of mine in Canada. Truth is I don't consider it that big of a deal. Firstly by no means do I think that I have experienced what people in war torn areas around the world have experienced. And secondly, my brush with danger was sorted of isolated, and I never really gave it much thought because, well, everyone around me went thru the same things and it was just a part of living in Iran during the war years. Years later, telling the story to my friends, I could see how surreal this all sounded to them.

The war when is started devastated the lives of those living near the Iran/Iraq border. My birth city of Abadan pretty much was leveled to the ground. This was a city largely designed and modeled after european cities. It was home to the British when they had control of Iran oil fields.

The images of the dead and injured, the shelled out homes, the fear and horror, was something that filled the pages of the newspapers and was broadcast non stop on TV.

But to those of us living in Tehran, kilometers away from the border, the war was something far far away. The only tangible sense that anything was going on was, was the rationing of food, the coupons and food stamps the long lines, which really had nothing to do with the war and more with sanctions anyways.

That all changed my senior year in highschool. As we were getting ready to write our final exams, the night skies of Tehran suddenly changed and our ears were greeted by the sounds of sirens. The bombs had arrived...

Apparently the Iraqi planes had managed without re-fueling to reach Tehran, drop their cargo of bombs and return home. It was certainly a surprise. I can't even remember if this was something we were even prepared for, and by we, I mean the army. There were anti aircraft missile launchers, but they really were of no use , since the planes flew too high. But the sound of the missile, along with the drone of the sirens sent shivers down my spine.

The first time it happened I was literally paralyzed with fear. In all my life I had never ever experience fear like this. I am not sure why, I doubt that I was afraid of dying. I think it had more to do with becoming an orphan, of being the one that didn't die...

I clung to my parents like a little child shaking like a leaf, eyes closed just hoping for it all to end and when I hear the sirens again, signaling that it was safe I euphoric with happiness. We had survived.

Obviously the next day was spent, bomb proofing the house. All the windows had tape across to prevent the shattered glass. Dark curtains covered every window to prevent any visible light. The basement was rigged as a makeshift bomb shelter.

Word was that the planes would only attack at night, using the darkness for cover and flying high to evade the radars and missiles. So our days were spent as usual but the nights were something completely different.

The next time the attacks came, I heard the sirens and woke up. I ran to my parents room to wake them up and gather everyone to go the basement. I was frantic, and so scared. My Dad, ever the pragmatic, simply stated that the chance of the bomb hitting our house was a million to one and really not worth the effort to get out of bed, so why don't I just go back to sleep. WHAT?!!!! Go back to bed? We could be dead any minute and he wants me to go back to my room, alone? I think I started to cry... because I couldn't see how staying in bed was going to keep anyone safe. We HAD to go to the basement. So I pleaded and pleaded until I got everyone downstairs. The following nights, it became harder and harder to convince the sleepy heads that the threat was real. Pictures of the bombing had shown that the poor Iraqi pilots were so frightened of being shot down that they simply would drop their bombs at the first sign of approaching the city. In the outskirts, and sadly in areas of town were the most poor folks lived. But no where near my side of town with the cover of the mountains protecting us.

The fact is my Dad was right. There was hardly any chance of danger to us, but the fear for me was so real. The sounds of the sirens and missile so horrifying that I would wake up over and over again thru the night thinking I had heard sirens go off. And when they would sound for real, I would simply crawl into my parents bedroom, curl up in a ball at the foot of their bed until it was over.

Yep I was traumatized alright and with exams coming my parents decided that the best thing was to remove me from the city. School was over and I only had to show up to write my exams so we retreated along with my uncle and his family to our cabin the mountains a few hours outside of Tehran.

My Dad and uncle would drive me into the city on the days I had an exam. Wait for me to finish and then drive me back out. The nightmare was over...

Until this one day... I was due to write an exam and I came into town with my uncle Bijan. The plan was for me to go to school write my exam and then come home and wait for him to pick me up. That weekend was supposed to be a big day for the Islamic Republic, and Iraqi radios had announced that Saddam had big plans for that day. That he planned to deliver a might blow. The was panic and mayhem in the city with everyone trying to flee the impending doom.

So I wrote my exam and headed home. While I waited my cousin Azita stopped by. My cousin Azita is like my big sister. She and her brother grew up with me, lived in my home up until a year before when they moved out to place of their own. I had assumed somehow that they, like so many others in the city were leaving town at nights. I was so wrapped up in my own fear that I didn't know what was going on with her. I soon found out. For whatever reason her father refuse to leave town. So every night that I had been resting peacefully in bed, she was waking up to sirens. So she came by to see me. That when everything changed for me. See, my cousin wasn't just visiting to see how I was doing. She was there to say goodbye. So certain she was that she would not live to see me again. And certain that with the horror planned for that weekend and my stubborn uncle refusing to budge, that she would surely die. And the fear of what awaited her had her sobbing uncontrollably in amy arms. Suddenly I was no longer afraid. I mean it. Just like that something in me snapped. Something that said, Marjan, you need to keep it together because Azita is falling apart here and she needs you. She needs you to be strong and help. And I knew what I had to do. Quickly I wrote a hand written note to my parents. I told Azita not to worry because I would not leave her alone. I'd stay with her. And when my Amou Bijan came to pick me up I gave him the letter and said please understand and try and explain to my parents but I have to do this. Her tried to convince us to go with him, but Azita was not going anywhere without her Dad and I was not leaving without Azita. So Amou Bijan reluctantly left, because the road would be closing down and his own family was awaiting him. He made me promise that I was going to be careful...

By now Azita had calmed down somewhat, knowing that I was really going to be there with her. But now I was in full planning mode. There was no way we were going to spend the night in town. We called Azita's Dad and explained what had happened. I told him you may want to risk your own life but I doubt you want to risk mine, so figure out something and get us out fo town. If something happens to me you'll have to answer to my parents. It worked. The guilt trip...

We got a call that he had a car to come and pick us up. By the time we got on the road the skies were darkening. The roads leading out of town were so packed with cars it was like a parking lot. We were headed to Karaj which is only an hour or so away but it took us hours to get there. The fact was we were no more safe on the road than we were if we stayed home. But at least it felt like we were heading to safety. I remember it was almost midnight when we got to our destination. Hungry but relieved. Grateful that there were no bombing while we were on the road. Glad that we had made. Next morning listening to the news it became apparent that the whole thing was a hoax on Saddam's part. There was no shock and awe attack. It was just a scare tactic.

I heard later that when Bijan arrive at my parents cabin and delivered the news, my Mom collapsed into tears. She was inconsolable all night. I am sorry I put her thru that, but truthfully I would have done it again, because like I said, it was the right thing to do. I re-united with my parents the next day. We ended up staying in the city after that. Azita sleeping over in my room. And although I would still wake up to the sound of the siren, and funny enough I have never again been a heavy sleeper, but now I would stay in bed, wide awake, until the green siren adn then roll over and go back to sleep. Somehow that night of separation from my parents taught me that what is meant to happen will happen and you just have to faith that everything will be ok...