by A. American
Last night, it was well below freezing. Tall Kayf and the rest of northern Iraq can stay below freezing for many days in the winter. More importantly, with ISIS patrols scouring the northern half of the city, speed as well as silence were required. With Sister Nami too old, and Sister Elishiva too unstable, the journey would fall again onto Sister Sanaa. She was their only option.
“I will go,” Sister Sanaa finally said. They all knew it was a death sentence, but they saw no other choice.
“Sister Sanaa, I can help” came a quiet voice. The two nuns turned to see one of the orphans standing in the doorway. Sister Sanaa stood up from her chair where she had been rummaging through her sack, looking for clothing for the expected journey.
Sara was the oldest of the orphans, having led three other parentless children north to Mosul from Bayji, a 114-mile journey. At 14, she was tall for her age, taller than any of the nuns, with dark brown hair and even darker eyes. They were eyes that had seen too much in her short time on this earth. She stood in the doorway, holding a coat and small sack folded over her arms.
Not yet a woman, and past being a child, Sara escaped from Bayji in June when ISIS overwhelmed the town. The terrorists attacked the town’s government buildings, killing most of the people working there, including her mother. She never found out what happened to her father, other than being told by another refugee on the road to Mosul that he perished trying to get to her mother. No other details, just the information that he had been killed. She liked to think that he died valiantly, and that he was able to extract some revenge on the attackers. But this was probably only wishful thinking. Her father had not been a warrior. He had never held or fired a weapon as long as she could remember. He had been a merchant, owning a store that specialized in western imports.
His job had brought him into contact with many foreign individuals, including the American soldiers that had been in their town years before. With the expectation that the Americans would be with them for a while, he had even taught her English, at least enough to converse on a basic level.
When the Americans began to pull out of the area, it was a shock to him. No conqueror had voluntarily left Iraq that he could remember. History didn’t work that way. First Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king in the twelfth century BC to Alexander the Great in 331 BC, followed by the Muslims in the 7th century and the Ottoman Persians in the 16th century, Iraq was a land of the conquered. It only changed hands when it was conquered again.
When America abandoned the country, it didn’t make sense to her father. It eventually led to his death when the American withdrawal left a power vacuum in the area. Like any vacuum, it was quickly filled. Unfortunately, it was filled by evil, nothing more than the pure, unadulterated evil called ISIS.
“No my child,” says Sister Nami. “This is not your journey. We can handle this. Go back to the others and we will be out shortly. And tell Sister Elishiva that we want to speak with her.”
“But Sister Nami, I have done this before. I can do it again.” she replied. There was no pleading or fear in her voice, just a simple statement of fact. “I can be there in less than a day. I promise I can do it,” she states.
“No Sara, I cannot take that chance” Sister Nami replies bluntly.
“Sister Nami, I can travel more quickly than anyone here. I know this town and how to escape it. I have been with you to find food. You know I am quiet and can avoid being caught. Please let me do this. You have done so much for us. It is time I did something for you and the others” she flatly explains.
“Sister Nami” Sister Sanaa whispers. “We should talk about this.”
“Absolutely not!” Sister Nami whispers forcefully back. “This is not up for discussion.”
“Sister Nami and I must discuss this Sara. Go tell Sister Elishiva to come in here so we can tell her the plan we’re considering,” Sister Sanaa tells the young orphan. Sara returned to the hidden room where the orphans and Sister Elishiva were staying.
After Sara disappeared, Sister Nami was about to say something when she was cut off by Sister Sanaa.
“Sister Nami,” she says quickly. “She is right. She has the best chance to save the other children. This is not about us and our lives. It is about the orphans.”
“We can NOT put her in that kind of danger,” Sister Nami says.
“We must do what has the best chance of survival for these children!” Sanaa replies. “On our journey up here from Mosul, I had difficulty keeping up with the children. That trip damaged me. Now, I don’t know if I can even make it to Bakufa. Perhaps, if I could rest on the way, or if there were not a time constraint, I could do it. But with the need for stealth, I doubt I can make it past the patrols.”
“And,” she continued, “we do not have the luxury to hope I can get past the guards blocking the northern end of town and then make the 8-mile walk. Our food is nearly gone; or at least there is not enough to prevent these children from starving in the next week or two. And who knows how long it will take for help to arrive.”
The elder nun didn’t like where this was going. The anger she felt at the situation was almost unbearable. She wasn’t blaming God, but couldn’t understand why this was happening. This horror she was living in. This nightmare was a test of her will and patience, and she was about to run out of both.
“I just can’t imagine sending Sara,” Sister Nami stated. “It goes against every belief I have. Everything I am tells me not to send her.”
“If you believe in saving these children,” Sister Sanaa replied, “then you must ... WE must do what has the best chance for success.”
Both nuns went silent and contemplated their situation. On a logical level, Sister Nami knew that sending Sara was their best chance of rescue. She couldn’t get past the desire to protect them all. She, and she alone was responsible for their safety.
Just then, Sister Elishiva came in with a questioning look on her face.
“Sara sent me in, what is it?” she asks.
“We are at the end of our food,” Sister Sanaa states. “It is too dangerous to venture out again and forage for more. Last week we were almost caught, and all the abandoned homes around us have been searched.”
“In fact,” the nun continued, “I am worried that we may have been seen by one of the town people. I don’t know if they knew who we were; but when we passed by the church, there was someone in the cemetery that looked our way as we passed up the street. If they told the terrorists, there will be no stopping them from finding us in the next few days.”
“That would explain why we saw the men patrolling this area of town yesterday. I wondered why they were here,” Elishiva said. “I hadn’t seen them for over a week.”
“Then time is critical,” Sanaa said. “Someone has to go now.”
“I will go,” Sister Elishiva suddenly says. “I am the youngest, and I have the best chance to get there.”
After she finished, she put a thin smile on her face and turned abruptly to leave the room.
“Just a moment, Sister,” Sister Nami said. “Please stay so we can talk.”
Sister Elishiva stood silently, facing away from the other two nuns. She slowly started to turn back towards them. Within seconds, the poor nun started to gently shake. She tried to look at her two friends, but could only keep her eyes cast down on the floor in front of them. She tried to speak, to reassure them that she would be alright, but the words didn’t come. They were stuck in her throat like some vise was tightening around her chest, keeping her breath from coming out. She finally looked up, and the terror and panic of the situation showed starkly on her face. She was in the early stages of a panic attack, and was praying and fighting to keep it at bay. It wasn’t working.
“Sister Elishiva, my dear and sweet Elishiva....” was all that Sister Nami could say. She went forward and embraced the trembl
ing nun, whispering into her ear and soothing her.
“This is not your battle, my friend,” she said. “This is not your cross to bear. We need you here with the little ones. They need you. They trust you more that the two of us!”
Sister Elishiva looked up into Nami’s eyes, questioning and afraid.
“Then who is to go? Who is to bring us help? Who is going to save us,” she blurted. They were both silent for a moment or two, then Sister Nami looked at her and smiled.
“Sara,” Nami replied. “Sara will save us.”