“Every morning I pray and pray to Allah to accept my work so I can be in Jannah with my 10-year-old son Anas. When the USA invaded Iraq, my oldest child, Anas, was nine years old. When the B 52’s began bombing, just the sound made the children throw up. We slept away from the windows because they would shatter and we never knew if we would live to see the next day.
You may know Ahlam Mahmood as a staffer at ICNA Relief Chicago’s food pantry. What many may not know is that her passion to serve the less fortunate stems from her own experiences as a refugee. She knows only too well how hard it has been to learn a new language, to raise her children, to put food on the table, to find work that can continue to shelter her family. Even as she fights for her health, her commitment to ICNA Relief Chicago and its clients never falters. This is her story...
“The most difficult day was when we ran out of drinking water and I left the house for the first time in days to get some. I saw dead bodies of men, women and children on both sides of the streets. It was really starting to smell and I knew the dogs would start to eat them. So I called my cousins and we buried 40 bodies deep enough for the dogs not to get to them. From this moment I believed that I have to help my fellow human beings.
Before the war we had no Iraqi humanitarian organizations. So I reached out to western agencies such as International Relief, Red Crescent, Women for Women, Christian PeaceMaker Team. The militia’s thought I was working for the American military. They kidnapped me. For eight days, I was handcuffed, blind-folded and kicked, slapped, and hit on my head with the back of a pistol. They shot a bullet beside my right ear and I lost my hearing in that ear.
When I was released, we fled for Jordan, then Egypt and Syria. I explained what was happening to my 9 year old Anas and he explained it to my Ruqaya and Abdullah. The little ones listened to him so well. Anas became my best friend. But on the morning of the 3rd of May 2006, Anas said he had a pain in his right shoulder. As refugees we were not able to afford a private clinic, so I took him to one of the hospitals for Iraqi refugees. They gave Anas an injection, but they gave him an overdose. It caused inside bleeding and they took him for an emergency surgery. The last time I saw him he was looking at me as they took him into the elevator. The last words I heard from him was “you are my friend.” My nine-year-old son died 15 minutes later. The men in my family never allowed me to see him, nor go to the cemetery. I was not even told where his grave was.
My husband took six months to recover from the shock of losing his son. To stay patient, I began working with agencies like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch to help Iraqi refugees like myself. The Syrian government imprisoned me for refusing to gather intelligence for them. With pressure from Amnesty, I was released, and put on a plane with my kids. I did not even know where I was going. The first time I saw the sun in five months was from the plane. I arrived in Chicago, and Amnesty International sent Beth Ann Tuopin to check and see if I needed something. Three months later, she and I co-founded a non profit, Iraqi Mutual Aid Society. We have collaborated with foundations and organizations including the Illinois State Department, Refugee Assistance Programs and ICNA Relief.
Today, with income that sometimes nearly covers my rent, Ruaqa, Abdullah and I survive. As I said, I am doing all this to be with my son, Anas, in Jannah. I am also doing it because I never want to see another mother or her children go through what we have gone through. As citizens of the world, we must never allow our governments to use war to rob any other mother of her child, ever again. Let us never forget to use our voices to make sure our government does what is just and what is right. Let us never forget that our neighbors may need our help, even if they don’t ask for it.”
