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I went on with my work until around 2:00 am on Thursday morning, when I heard a brief statement on BBC that “some Iraqi units crossed the borders of Kuwait and gained a foothold in the country.” Oh my God! I do not remember how I finished the translation, but I could not go to sleep. Then at 7:00 am, I had to take my wife to work from Fintas to the social security building, which is not far from Dasman Palace. Driving along highway 30, we could hear bombardment, loud and scary.
I saw soldiers who were shooting in the air, but curiosity and stubbornness took me all the way to the social security building, where many of my wife’s colleagues were at the gate crying and screaming, because of what they were hearing and not knowing what was going, and could not call their husbands who brought them to work. I took some of the women with us to take them to their homes, but I decided to pass by the information ministry to submit my work, despite what was being said on the radio by my dear colleague Ali Hassan.
But once I reached the intersection of Soor Street with Riyadh Street, the scene sent chills down my spine, with abandoned vehicles, paperwork, documents and even passports. It made me very sad — is this what a brother does to his brother? I went back to my apartment in Fintas to discover that the telephone exchange there was knocked out, so I decided to go to my parents’ house, which is in close proximity to Mubarak Hospital, because my wife was due with our second child at any moment.
At around noon, I went to the fruit and vegetable market in Shuwaikh, only to find it totally empty, with strange armed people being with their weapons at the ready, so it was wise to turn around and go home. Believe me this was not easy, as what I experienced can only happen in nightmares. Many incidents took place between August 2 and September 19, the day I had to leave Kuwait despite my wishes to remain, and maybe there will an opportunity to write about that.
Forgive — maybe; forget — never.
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