Lost and found hopes in hell: testimonies from an Iraqi hospital

View of the Medecins Sans Frontieres (MSF) field trauma clinic with an emergency room, operating theater, intensive care unit and in patient department. The facility was opened on the 16th February in a village south of Mosul. For more than one month it has been the closest surgical facility to West Mosul. Picture taken on 02 April, 2017 by MSF/Alice Martins. Used with permission.Not long ago, I was dispatched
by the medical humanitarian organization Médecins
Sans Frontières (MSF) to an MSF-run field trauma hospital in Hammam
al-Alil, which, for a brief while, was the closest surgical facility
to West Mosul.

The trauma hospital is an exceptional
project. About two months into its opening, 2067 patients have been
received at the hospital; 55 percent of them were women and
children and 82 percent had war wounds. To date, more than 160 major
surgeries were performed by Iraqi and international staff at the
facility. These facts alone should remind us that the massive cost of
war – particularly in counter-terrorism conflicts where both sides
tend towards a ‘total war’ approach – is often paid by people,
young or old, caught in the crossfire, mortars, and airstrikes.

I was sent to gather stories of Iraqi
patients and the Iraqi medical and non-medical staff in the trauma
hospital. Reflecting on what I heard (too many to count) and wrote
down (a sliver of what I heard), and rereading the outcome before
you, I am compelled to write a few additional words here as a
quasi-foreword:

There is something astonishing about human
beings, especially those who have suffered for so long due to a
variety of reasons. They continue to exist, to persevere, to work and live, often defiantly so in the face of humanity’s greatest
acts of brutality. They – like other communities in West Asia and
beyond – deserve the absolute best yet have received nothing of
that sort. That must change, don’t you think?

Yaser* – Driver

I am in my mid-twenties and I work as a driver for
MSF at the trauma center.

Emotionally we are affected by the situation
because our community and our people are facing injustices. Many
groups have played around with us and this has destroyed us.

I have not seen one moment’s respite in this country. Not
even once.

Currently, outside of work there is no safety or
security. There are no guarantees. You sleep at home and you don’t
know who will come for you. The country isn’t functioning. You
don’t know when or where something bad will happen. Your mind is
exhausted from constantly thinking. Now, there is no stability. All
we have now is aid for food and gas. Other than that, there aren’t
a lot of services for people.

I do not have hope for the future. Not one bit.
You don’t have this personal security to wake up in the morning and
really think far about the future. Since I was born in the early
1990s, I have not seen one moment’s respite in this country. Not
even once. I can’t even think of a future within Iraq. There
doesn’t seem to be a future for my generation. You can’t continue
your education, you can’t find suitable work. So there is a lack of
many things that can make you comfortable with your life.

*Name has been changed

Umm Saqr – Caretaker

At almost 37 years old, I am not young anymore,
life has made me age so much. Today, my son and my husband are
injured. I have six children – three sons and three daughters. This
child [being treated], is Mahmoud. He’s eleven years old.

I was sitting at home. All of a sudden I heard an
explosion. It was the largest blast I’ve ever heard. I ran out of
the house to see my children who were outside. Three of my children
ran towards me. I saw the injured on the ground, and blood. I don’t
know how to deal with this. I saw my husband injured. I ran to my
daughter’s house and cousin’s house to get help. I told them what
happened and we ran back. One of my relatives went to the Iraqi army
to get help too, while other relatives of ours had come running from
the Nablus district. Iraqi soldiers came and took my husband to get
treated in some other hospital. At the moment I don’t know his
situation – one moment they tell me he’s dead, another that he is
alive.

When I returned home in the evening I found out my
child [Mahmoud] was also hurt, his nose was ripped apart. I hadn’t
known at all. There was blood everywhere. I left my one year old at
home and he is being taken care of by his uncle and other members of
my family at the moment. I hope he’s okay and they are feeding him
milk and biscuits.

I have three children in refugee camps. Maybe it
was better to have just stayed in the camps. I don’t know. They are
calling me, crying and asking about how their father and brother are.
There is supposed to be a second surgery for my husband. I don’t
know what is next really.

Life was becoming normal. Then
came this mortar.

Before this tragedy, my husband was unemployed.
There was no work. He was also sick. He has high blood pressure and
I’m always worried about him. He was born in 1958. Hopefully he’ll
be okay and come back home. Hopefully we can all be back home
together.

Our neighborhood was supposed to be safe after
being freed from ISIS. We’ve been freed for over a month and had
hoped to restart our lives. I don’t know where this mortar came
from. The frontline is far away. But what is written is written.

Life before being freed from ISIS was hard.
Everything was controlled. We didn’t have soup or bread. It was a
difficult life. But life was slowly returning after. Very slowly.
Food and aid were coming in. My children are used to eating little,
so even when we finally got food in, like bread or biscuits, my
children would only eat half of it. Life was becoming normal. Then
came this mortar.

God protect us. I hope my children start eating
more. I have barely any hope. God is kind. We have survived a lot of
evils. God saved us from injustice.

My son is sad. He says his nose is gone, I told
him it is okay there is nothing to be done. We will try to live and
continue. God is kind.

Mohammed – MSF Assistant Surgeon

My name is Mohammed Khalid Taha. I am 38 years old
and I work as an assistant surgeon in the operation room here in the
trauma center. The work here is really beautiful. I describe it as
beautiful because the people I work with are intelligent,
respectable, and treat me as an equal.

While I work here, I also work in another
government hospital in Al-Salmaniyeh. When I’m off from work, I
come straight here to assist in surgeries.

We do see horrible
things, but what helps is that when you save patients it eases your
soul. There is hope in that.

A lot of the patients that we treat have different
types of wounds. It ranges from amputations to complicated forms of
surgeries. Those we can help come to our operating theater, while
others are referred to other hospitals. There was a period in which
we had to do a lot of surgeries. You have to save people as quickly
as you can in order to move to the next case. You cannot hesitate or
be slow because the life of the patient could be at risk. The most
important thing is to save them.

Overall, a lot of the cases are very depressing,
they’re miserable cases. At my day job [in the government
hospital], we mainly treat injuries related to accidents and after a
number of years working in such an environment, you get used to the
work.

But here, you see different types of injuries in different age
groups. The youngest patient I worked on was a seven year old, while
the eldest was around 60. It’ll affect you. You will hold yourself
together, yet inside you will still be affected. Many of the cases I
have dealt with are related to suspected sniper fire or IEDs on the road.

So thankfully the team here is exceptional and
cooperative. We are learning a lot from the modes of work. And I do
think the various humanitarian groups working in Iraq are helping,
including MSF, and they are doing it right. We do see horrible
things, but what helps is that when you save patients it eases your
soul. There is hope in that.

Bilal* – Emergency Room Cleaner

I am 28 years old but the situation we’re
facing makes me feel like I am 100. I started working in
the trauma center when it opened. I am a cleaner for the emergency
room. I clean before the injured come in, and especially when they
are taken away. The work is good. You see hard situations but I am
used to this because I worked as a cleaner in other hospitals before.
So blood or no blood, I have seen it all.

Yet, I still get up in the morning and
I still come to work.

I have lived in this area my whole life. I never
went anywhere. Before ISIS, it was a good and decent life. When ISIS
came, and the siege was placed, we had no work. We had no money to
buy clothes and had to rely on our savings and whatever we had at
home. Then we were liberated and ISIS was gone, and now I work with
MSF, so life is better.

Till now I wouldn’t say I’ve been through many
difficulties in my work but yes, we are still bothered by the fact
that our community, our families are hurt. Truthfully, the country
isn’t secure and the future seems unstable. So internally we aren’t
in comfort.

I don’t have much hope for the future. If these
organizations leave, and our work is over, we don’t have much left.
There is barely anything left. Yet, I still get up in the morning and
I still come to work.

*Name has been changed

Ridwan– MSF Surgeon

My name is Ridwan Jalal Mohammed and I am almost
50 years old. I am a doctor and a surgeon in this trauma center. I
started working with MSF about a month ago. Before here, I was a
surgeon in Mosul living in the neighborhood of Al-Sadiq. Life over
there continues; not with ease, but it does go on.

Working with MSF at the trauma center seems easier
than what I did because of the types of treatment I can offer to the
patients. The quality of care here is really good. Most of the cases
I’ve dealt with relate to mortars. A mortar is an explosive device
that releases shrapnel that then hits different parts of the body, in
goes into the muscles and bones. Here our patients widely differ in
age; mothers, fathers, the elderly and children. They are all
different.

Life over
there continues; not with ease, but it does go on.

The hardest thing to witness is family members
losing loved ones. Yesterday, for example, we had a father who lost
his daughter. It was very hard to see this. It is hard for a father
to lose his child. This trauma center is an archive of pain.

A doctor sees a lot of things in his life, but he
must continue to do his work because mercy is powerful. To treat a
patient is a blessing and we do what we can as human beings but the
rest is in God’s hands. The best thing is to have patients fully
treated; to receive the patient, to treat them, and then to see them
and their family happy to be alive.

There is no doubt I have hope for the future. I
always hope that life will be better. A human being must do their
part for those around them.

Ayman – Caretaker

My wife’s name is Widad and we’ve been married
for seven years. We have only one child who is six months old. Her name
is Hadeel. It’s a beautiful name, don’t you think?

We lived in the IS controlled district of Yarmouk
in Mosul where life was indescribable. There was hunger, fear and
terror. ISIS would kidnap people and whatever form of torture you can
think of, they did. There were airstrikes on our area and there was
shelling. It was death all around. If we didn’t leave we would have
died at home.

Her name
is Hadeel. It’s a beautiful name don’t you think?

My lovely wife, during all the fighting and
strikes, would sew things for our child. She would make gloves,
scarves, pajamas. Seven years and this is our first child. It was
tough for us to conceive a child but we were granted Hadeel.

We decided to leave last night (March 30) at one
in the morning with a bunch of people. We were a huge family leaving
by foot. They [ISIS] saw us – they were stationed on one of the
roof tops – and then I think they triggered an improvised explosive
device. My wife lost her leg. Four children were taken to Erbil for
treatment; I think one of them has died. I don’t know. I don’t
know about the others who were with us.

We were brought to a medical point where they
stopped my wife from bleeding to death. Then they referred us here
[MSF Trauma center]. They welcomed us. It was a good reception. Yes
they are foreigners, and they came from far away, but they are better
than any other humans I’ve known. All I’ve seen was slaughter and
death. But here [in the MSF trauma center], there is a sense of
safety. They take care of the sick and injured.

They took care of my wife. They treated her but
she has no leg. She has no leg and I think this will hurt us in the
future. I know this is God’s will, but I don’t understand why
this happened. This shouldn’t have happened. I do have hope for the
future. I do have hope. Life will return to normal. We will forget
this horror. As long as we have hope we can live, without hope, life
is over.

I just hope tomorrow my wife can be better, that
she can get up, walk, and play with her daughter. I have hope. God
takes things and gives things. I will be by her side and help her, inshallah (God willing).

Saleh – MSF Watchmen

My name is Saleh Mahmoud Mohammed. I am 31 years
old. I am a watchman for this trauma center and started working just
as the trauma centre opened.

Before working here I didn’t have any work. The
situation in my area, in Mosul, was very challenging; you had to beg
for any work. After liberation, which was a happy moment, it was
still hard because work was scarce. When MSF came, they really
invigorated the area. We actually thought they would be like other
organizations, as in they wouldn’t really benefit us or give us
good quality care. MSF immediately provided jobs for the people who
were unemployed; it has really transformed the area and the lives of
many families.

When we cry, they cry.

I am the first person who sees the cases from
Mosul when they arrive and I’ve seen absolutely miserable cases of
all types, and in turn the doctors have tackled these cases with many
treatments. As human beings, we are facing circumstances that are
extraordinary, and this causes a sense of mercy. When you see a
child, or a woman, or a man who are hurt, it causes you pain. But
when you see the doctors here – Iraqi or foreign – doing all they
can, you do so too. When we cry, they cry. The country is going
through a difficult time. It is miserable.

One story that is happy is the time when there was
a patient – a woman – who we all thought was dead. We were around
her to say goodbye, and then, even with all the science against her,
she lived! It shocks you in a good way. At the same time there was a
case who had only minimal wounds but died because of a heart attack.
It was apparently in the same day. What is written is written.

I have huge hope for Iraq. The most important
thing is that Iraq remains united, that after this war, we return as
one people.

Hassan – Caretaker

My name is Hassan
Mahmoud Ahmad and I was born in 1968. My daughter’s name is Ilham
and she is ten years old. I have eight daughters in total. I’m
always worried about them. Every one of them.

My daughter was injured on the first day we
arrived to a “safe” area.

We were displaced from an area of Taktak and
arrived to a house in a new area. Before we were displaced, it was a
dire situation. It was just abuse and death for people.

My daughter was injured on the first day we
arrived to a “safe” area. It happened as my relatives went to
clean a house. It seems there was a booby trap or some unexploded
mine or something. All I know is that she crumpled to the ground and
started bleeding.

God save us all. There isn’t much more to say
about the circumstances. All we’ve seen is displacement and
refugees. What more can one say. All I want is peace of mind.