Memories of an invasion – The Hindu

At the peak of summer, August is extremely hot in the desert kingdom of Kuwait. August 2, 1990 fell on a weekend. I, all of 16 years old, was sleeping soundly. A loud explosion had me bolting up from bed, but I dropped back to sleep thinking it was all a dream.

In the other room, my dad, hearing the sound, jumped up from bed, parted the curtains, and looked at the refinery complex in the horizon where he works. In the past there had been several explosions at the refinery, both by accident and by acts of terror. This sounded scarily like one of them. The 10th floor of the apartment where we stayed was a residential complex of apartments and villas. It had a direct and unobstructed view of the refinery. The chimneys and structures of the oil refinery towered over the horizon. He watched for a few minutes, but did not notice anything suspicious. Just as he was about to draw back the curtains, he spotted a tiny dark flying object coming in fast from the east. It fired a projectile which hit a tower. He waited and concluded that it might be a military exercise. Later, on our way back from my extra classes, we stopped at a petrol station. “Something is wrong,” he said. “There are lots of people queuing, especially on a weekend morning.”

When we reached home, the local TV channel was broadcasting visuals of war. Shortly after, one of my uncles called us, saying that there were military personnel in the city and they looked more like the Iraqis.Saddam Hussain had invaded Kuwait. A week later he declared Kuwait the 18th province of Iraq, annexing the country and its huge wealth. Overnight, we became residents of Iraq. One of our apartment windows faced east towards the Arabian Gulf. We could see the oil loading pier from our apartment. It was a beautiful view. I used to spend long hours looking out at the beach and the tug boats manoeuvring the steady stream of oil tankers.

We shifted to our uncle’s house. Occasionally, we came back to check on our home. We had to go through several checkpoints. On one occasion, a soldier, while checking our identity cards, unintentionally pointed his gun barrel at me. I was excited enough to stare down the barrel of the loaded gun. When we got home, we heard several gunshots being fired. It was from an apartment in front of ours. There were several military trenches and bunks set up in the desert facing the beach.

A band of heroic resistance fighters had fired a few rounds at the Iraqis. In a matter of minutes, several truck loads of soldiers descended on the apartments. The combing operations began, starting with the one immediately facing the beach. It took about seven to 10 minutes to sanitise each building. I was at the window when the shots were first fired. I immediately ducked and my parents, who were in the other room, quickly took me away.

A few minutes later when all was quiet, my parents made hasty preparation to leave. The soldiers would come knocking any minute. At the distance, I watched the soldiers entering an apartment while some exited from another.

As I watched, I found myself staring into the barrel of a rocket propelled grenade (RPG). A lone soldier was scanning our apartment through his visor. Our apartment windows were tinted and I was sure that the soldier carrying the RPG could not see me, but he had his finger to the trigger, aiming right at me. By now my parents called me to leave. We quickly took the elevator, got into our car and left. As we drove past the boom barriers and took the turn, two truck loads of soldiers drove into our group of apartments. Moving on, I also caught sight of that soldier with the RPG, his aim still at our apartment, his fingers still at the trigger.

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