How Saddam Hussein almost killed me.

1990, Kuwait: I was living a picturesque life (almost like a Norman Rockwell painting). I was young, in love, gainfully employed; I had my family with me (Papa, Mom, beautiful Wife, my adventurous Brother, my spirited Sister, and my two lovely daughters) not to mention Dei Gratia, my health. Have you had a time in your life you (now) wish you could go back to? Well it wasn’t really THAT period in my life, but nonetheless my life was good… let me rephrase that my life was remarkable. I was living in Kuwait, a good place to be in at the time (or so I thought). So early 1990 I had this dream, I was walking the streets of Kuwait and I see a variety of guns and ammo strewn all around. In the dream, I pick one of the guns up and I start admiring the beautiful killing machine, how well-built it is. I think it was an Avtomat Kalashnikova. In the dream itself I was a bit dumbfounded about how this could happen, weapons on the street of Kuwait, where possession of a firearm is a violation of the law, and illegal weapon owners are punished severely! But that was it, after seeing that intense dream; it was as though I was under a spell of constant dread.

But why, why this foreboding sense of evil, of impending doom? There was nothing wrong with me, one way or the other. I saw a dream, a very vivid and revealing dream but it was a dream nonetheless! I counted my blessings – good job at the bank, a good car, a wonderful apartment and all the little things that make life great (like Ferragamo shoes, and Hermès ties).

My wife, Susy, though expecting, was in good health. So was Sarah, five and a half years old, and Ruth, two years old. We were not in some war-torn country like Africa or Cambodia. We were in Kuwait where the strong, benevolent rule of the Amir, his Highness Sheikh Jaber Al Ahmed Al Sabah, ensured order and prosperity to both the natives and expatriates! Life was pleasant and smooth here, and everyone expected it to continue. What, after all, could happen to make beautiful Kuwait look like what I’d seen in my dream?!
Despite the melancholic mood, I made the best of it, I tried to at least, and I was invited for dinner along with my brother to our parents’ home. So after work, I joined them to dine, and once we were done with dinner I went out to the terrace, to admire the wonderful view they had of the Kuwait Towers.

The towers are sort of the embodiment of Kuwait’s grandeur and opulence, tall and majestic rising from the Gulf waters. Since it was late, the noise of the traffic had died down, and I was alone with the silence.  I fell into a trance, musing about the luxury and stability the state offered to its people, trying hard to dispel the morbid dream that was swirling around in my head. I was so immersed in thought, and almost in a daze, when all of a sudden, from around base of the Towers I heard the deafening noise of bombs exploding, machine guns firing and tanks rolling. I didn’t realize that I had actually started shouting, “The war has begun! The war has begun!” My brother came running, thumped me on the back as though he was trying to wake me up and teased me, telling me that I’d been watching too much news. So I went back in, and joined the family for dessert like a normal person.

Little did I know how my life was going to change. Very soon dodging bullets, hiding money (from Iraqi soldiers), navigating around road mines, negotiating my way out of forced abductions and instant executions would become part of my daily repertoire. And eventually finding Kalashnikov’s (the machine gun I saw in the dream) strewn all over the street wouldn’t even give me pause.

Late July 1990: The Kuwait Times proclaimed in bold letters: “Only a passing cloud, a minor dispute between two sister states.” It was a direct quote from the Crown Prince, second in line to the throne, assuring the masses there was no cause to worry about the small dispute between Kuwait and Iraq. But on August 1st, 1990, at about 12:30 pm, while I was working in the Banks main office, Reuters flashed the news about thirty thousand Iraqi soldiers with tanks and ammunition moving towards the Kuwaiti border. I said to my friend, Mr. Walid, that even if Iraq were to attack Kuwait, we were too tiny a state to retaliate. So it was best to face the situation calmly and let the world conscience speak for us. Though I said so, I couldn’t envisage what would befall this tiny state and its people. That day, August 1st had been a busy one, because of the ‘closing of accounts’ process that comes around every 1st of the month. I reached home late and spent a quiet evening with Susy, and the kids.

War has begun!

On Monday, 2nd August, 1990, at about 5:30 am, I was up early enjoying my bath before starting for the office when Susy banged on the door and shouted that the war had begun! She said that she had heard explosions. I rushed into the bedroom and opened the window. The explosions were coming from very far – probably from around the Kuwait International Airport. My dear cousin, Ancy, who lived in Farwaniya (a place near the International Airport) phoned and confirmed our suspicions, she frantically told us that the war had begun! She strongly advised us to stay home, and not to venture out.

Like I’d listen.

It was a busy week at the Bank, and I really wanted to see what a war zone looked like. My curiosity coupled with my sense of duty (to the Bank) got the best of me and I got ready and waited for my Egyptian colleague (and friend), Mr. Hanni, who’d always drive to work with me. Hanni had not heard the explosions and being a hilarious Egyptian, he made a big joke of the whole thing. And so, we got into my car. We had no idea what we were getting into, in hindsight I shouldn’t have gone out.

The wrong road can get you killed.

Why, we don’t know but instead of taking the beach road aka the Gulf street road (the easy route to the bank), we ended up taking the Embassy (or Istiqlal) road to the bank. Later we found out that a terrible massacre had occurred on the beach road (Gulf Street), motorists and pedestrians were ruthlessly butchered by the Iraqi Army. They’d ask you to come out of your car at a check point and shoot you in the head (execution style). Had we taken it, I doubt if I’d still be alive. I am inclined to believe that some higher power was protecting us.

While we were driving through Embassy Street, we felt that it was unusually deserted but for a few vehicles passing by. Usually the traffic was rather dense come morn. The Burgan Bank Main Office in Sharq, Kuwait City stood eighteen storeys high opposite to the Amiri Palace and the Kuwait Towers which are in its vicinity, rising up from the beach sand. From the Bank we have a clear view over most of Kuwait. I parked my car in the Burgan Bank parking lot. We got out and started walking toward the shiny building, as we were approaching the main entrance we saw the Bank security guards looking toward the Amiri Palace, and then at us, they looked almost as though they were in shock!

Bullets don’t whiz…

Contrary to popular belief when you get shot at (especially by soldiers with automatic weapons) the sound you hear is not a “whiz” but more or less a “whsst”, the “st” really makes a difference. You’ll notice this if you have a chance to live after getting shot at. Walking toward the main entrance, we felt something flying past us with a “whsst, whsst” sound! The Bank security guards hysterically gestured to us to get into the Bank as quickly as possible. We sprinted the last meter toward the shiny building that now seemed like the only safe place and in we went. When inside the guards, still in shock, asked us why we’d come in (turns out most people stay home when a war breaks out). The “whsst” sounds where in fact shots fired at us by Iraqi snipers positioned at the roundabout (before the Amiri Palace). I went up to the fourth floor and looked out through the window. Down below, in the roundabout before the Amiri Palace, were soldiers in olive-green uniforms with backpacks and automatic rifles, hiding behind date palms, three of them were stealthily moving from one palm tree to another, towards the Amiri Palace. Another three were covering these soldiers; they were facing the bank building. They were firing intermittently at the Kuwait Police Intelligence Office next to the Burgan Bank. From the police Intelligence Office, one or two Kuwait nationals in dishdashas (Kuwaiti men’s national dress) were ineffectively retaliating with their side arms (water pistols compared to the machine guns the Iraqis were using).

Cars don’t just stop, do they?

Then I saw a white Ford car speeding towards the Amiri Palace entrance. But it stopped suddenly at the Palace gates. I didn’t understand why. Two days later, when I walked past the Amiri Palace entrance, I saw the car still there with the driver’s door opened. There were blood stains all over the driver’s seat with shreds of his clothes. The driver had been Sheikh Fahd, the Amir’s half-brother and Sports Minister, who had been machine-gunned at the gates of the Palace! He had died a brave man, one of the popular members of the Royal Family. Well at least, now I know how the speeding car stopped, mystery solved!

This is the first in a series about my experiences in Gulf War excerpted from my book “The fire will not burn thee: How to live and love in the time of War”, if you liked it be sure to keep your eyes on the blog for more.