A Conversation with Violet

I was just in getting a bottle of water when I was sidetracked by a box of microwaveable mac and cheese. Who can pass that up? As my noodles were cooking, in walked Violet, one of our interpreters.

She asked if I was leaving soon to which I smiled and said, “Yes.”

She then started to tell me about how she grew up in Baghdad. “My father was born and raised in Baghdad, and so was I. Before my father, my family has a history of over two thousand years living in what is today the Babil province.”

I asked if she was Shia or Sunni.

She paused then said, “No, Christian. My people converted to Christianity a year before the crucifixion of Christ.”

“So you must be Caldonean.”

Again she smiled, paused with a look, and said, “No, Assyrian.”

Violet told me she spent most of her adult life living in California, first in San Francisco and later in Monterrey, teaching at the Defense Language School.

“Oh, Monterrey, what a beautiful city.”

She again gave me a smile and said, “Oh, how boring it is. People tell me, ‘Go to the beach,’ to which I say, ‘how many days can you watch boats go by: one, two, three.' I decided I must leave to preserve my sanity. You know, I have two sisters and a brother living here in Baghdad.”

“Violet, you must go see them while you are here.”

Again the look, “No, I may be fired from my job or I may be killed for having abandoned my country. I did call them each once. They know I am here, but I cannot go to see them and they are afraid to come to see me. My father ruined my life. He moved me away from this beautiful city when I was just a young woman in the 1980s. He was an older man who was very demanding – many parents do not consider the happiness of their children – my father did not consider mine. I was told to move with him to America and to take care of him.

Soon after I graduated from university, my father, he had a stroke. He had done me wrong and had ruined my life, but he was my father and there was no amount of money anyone could have given me to put him in a home. I cared for him for many more years before he died. Now, even though I can be in my city and live in the beautiful palace of Saddam [that] I used to drive past as a child – we never went in, we had no business there – I cannot live in my city or see my family. It makes me very sad. "

I suggested she should arrange a meeting in which she and her family meet in the center of the July 14 Bridge, the bridge between the Red and Green Zones. They could embrace, talk, and enjoy each other’s company for a few minutes.

She just gave me the smile one more time.

I hope Violet gets to see her family. It must be terrible to be so close, literally just across the Tigris, yet not able to see them.