We visited the cancer ward at Al Mansur Children's
Hospital in Baghdad, where we were told by the director, Dr.
Luay Kasha, "The incidence of cancers has skyrocketed since
1991. We see five times higher congenital deformities than
before 1991, [and] many miscarriages and ectopic pregnancies.
More than a half million children have died of treatable diseases" like
hepatitis A, hepatitis B, malaria, cholera, dysentery, typhoid
fever, typhus, and gastroenteritis.
One eight-year-old boy we met, Adhra, had entered
the hospital a week before and had been diagnosed with leukemia.
His mother, like the mothers of every other child in the hospital,
stayed with him night and day. She was filled with hope because
he was in the hospital. "The doctors are taking care of him," she
said to me through an interpreter. "He will get better now."
When I asked the doctor later about Adhra's chances,
he shook his head grimly. "He will not last a month," the doctor
said.
"Why do you give his mother false hope, then?" I
asked.
"How can I tell her?" he replied. "How can I
tell any of them? Anyplace else, their children would live.
But here . . . " his voice trailed off. As I write this, I
look at the calendar: it was one month ago today that I saw
Adhra.
Thirty percent of girls and 17 percent of boys
no longer attend school, for various reasons. We were told
that there are no toilets or running water in most schools;
there are few books, tablets, or even desks and chairs. We
visited with university students and professors, who told us
how difficult it is for them to learn and teach without recent
books and journals, and with little access to outside information.
At almost every place we left some of the gifts
sent by Ithacans. Medicine and vitamins were most popular with
the adults, but the children loved the little stickers and
balloons and miniature toys sent by our fellow Americans.
More than anything, though, adults and children
were touched by the letters, cards, and family photos from
Ithaca. They were surprised and pleased that Americans took
the time to write them letters of hope and concern and peace.
|
Children at an orphanage in Baghdad seemed very well cared for.
They, too, loved the gifts and toys sent by people in Ithaca.
 We
visited the site of the Amariyah Bomb Shelter in Baghdad. Here,
at 4:30
a.m. on February 13, 1991, 408 Iraqi people, mostly women and
children, were incinerated as they slept, when two U.S. "smart
bombs" hit the shelter. The blast blew the bodies into the
concrete walls and floors of the bunker.In the photo at left
is what remains of a woman who was breast-feeding her baby at
the
time
of the
concussions, a permanent reminder of the horrors of war. In the
display above are some photos, provided by their families, of
those who were
killed.
We spoke little Arabic, and they little English, but the sign
of hope is universal |
Looking
these lovely people in the eyes, accepting their hospitality and
gratitude, and knowing what could happen
to them very soon caused me and my fellow travelers an almost
unendurable pain. Despite the fact that we knew little Arabic and
many of them
knew little English, every one of us understood fully why
we were all simultaneously crying and smiling as we said farewell. 
