Memories of the Kuwait War~Chapter 12~ To Amman camp at last!

Picture Courtesy: Google

From what I remember, we didn’t stay in No Man’s Land for very long. Within a day or two, we got the chance to go to the Amman camp. “Are all deserts like this? Burning hot in the day and freezing cold in the night?”, my brother asked. “I don’t know, but I sure hope not”, I replied. Being in two seasons in one day was new, strange and hard for us. 

By around mid morning the second day, we were boarding our buses to leave No Man’s Land. “Amman camp is the one that’s going to be much longer. Don’t know how many days we might have to be there before our turn comes, to take the flight”, I heard Acha tell Amma. It had just been 2 days into our desert life and I was already having enough of it. I couldn’t imagine spending infinite number of days in another camp. “How different is it going to be, anyway!”, I wondered sitting in our bus. 

Not much long after, we reached the Jordan border. A policeman came in and checked all our passports and did the headcount. Though it was a routine checking and something completely harmless, we, my brother and I were scared. Police were tough and scary, according to our imagination, and definitely not the friendly type. After this they asked for the passports to be taken for stamping. Not everybody got down, it was mostly the men who went with the passports of their family members and came back with ‘exit’ stamped. I think they gave some people the exception, especially women and children, from standing out in the long queue under the mid day sun. I could see lots of men and some buses completely empty, with all passengers down to get the stamping done. “Well, that was kind of them to let the women and children stay inside”, I thought, “Policemen are kind too!”

As we stepped into the Jordan territory, I heard a story making it’s way from the back of the bus, slowly forward, until it reached our ears. I am still not sure how true the tale was, but it could very well be. Like I said, we were a convoy of 5 to 6 buses, enroute the camp. There was apparently a family in one of the other buses where the daughter was sick. She had high fever or something. They should have ideally stayed back and travelled at a later date, but like everybody else they were also aching to leave at once before things got worse. So, they put the girl on Paracetamol and set out. Sadly, midway through the trip, she got worse and Paracetamol didn’t help. I thought there were some medical volunteers at the No Man’s camp, maybe there wasn’t, because she didn’t show signs of getting better in the last couple of days. It could have been the extreme weather and also the lack of proper food, the poor girl passed away. She passed away of high fever, while lying across her father’s chest, in the bus. 

The bus moved on quite a bit with the father clinging on to his dear child, crying, and at the same time, consoling his heartbroken wife. I can’t imagine what was going through his mind. Then, he asked for the bus to be stopped. I heard that he got down, with his little girl in his arms. “I am not going to be able to take her home like this. I don’t know when we will be permitted to fly. I can’t let my poor baby rot”, and saying these words, he took her to a random spot in the desert, and along with the driver and some other people from the same bus, dug a grave with his hands and laid his little angel to rest. Though (it was said that) he did lay a stone above her tomb, as a marker, he was sure that he would never be able to come back to the same spot in his entire lifetime. “How in the world is he going to find her grave again! What was the landmark to go by?! Good Lord, this is so terrible!!”, I felt so sad as I heard the aunty from behind our row narrate the story to my mom.

With this tragedy in the desert, taking a major place in my thoughts, I hardly noticed the time go by, or see that the sun was getting a bit less harsh on us as we finally neared the most awaited Amman Camp. This camp was bigger, more equipped and seemed more organized. As soon as our bus reached the area, we were greeted by members of the Red Cross Society (I think, it was the American one), checking details and sending us to our tents. They also gave us directions to the medical station so my sister could get her chin dressed. It wasn’t attended to for the past 2 days, hadn’t healed and the stitches needed to be eventually removed as well. “Well, this is our home now, for the next few days! I just hope it’s short!”, I couldn’t help wishing. So much had happened already that I wanted to just reach India and see my Ammachi.

~priya~