Babylon to Brooklyn: A Life Journey

By Dr. Shakir Al-Janabi

This book tells the unique story of a self-made man--a man who grew up in the depths of poverty, a man who was able to overcome it and later on became a physician for President Saddam Hussein and his family.

He practiced medicine in Iraq, England, and the United States and returned to Iraq after a long absence driven by his love for his homeland and its people, especially the poor and destitute. His reward, after some time, was detaining centers and prisons. He witnessed the parades of torture and heard the prisoners' outcries in the hallways where human lives had no value. He specialized in pulmonary diseases in England, worked there before traveling to the United States for postgraduate studies, and worked in various New York hospitals where he was valued and appreciated.

Once again, his heart longed for his homeland. He went against the advice of his family and friends and was determined to return to Iraq again--determined to quench his thirst with the water of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers and to inhale the fragrance of the palm trees. He returned and worked in the Baghdad hospitals and his private practice until he was suddenly taken away again to a remote, unknown detainment center where he was accused of participating in a plot to overthrow the government of Saddam Hussein in 1991. After many excruciating events, a miracle occurred, and he was released after the security forces subjected him to his fair share of torture. After all this, he left his homeland in Iraq and returned to living in exile where the highly educated are revered as they should be.

Dr. Shakir Al-Janabi addresses in this book many events that took place in Iraq since the 1940s and until the first decade of the twenty-first century. He discusses the country's political and military issues by virtue of his employment for years as an army doctor and his many high-level acquaintances in the fields of the military, politics, and science. He addresses his predicaments with these issues with honesty and literary boldness.

The whole book impresses the reader and deserves to be read more than once. It is enjoyable to read and has an interesting storytelling style. It is rich with events and pitfalls that draw the reader from the first pages of the book until the end.

The book is qualified to become a movie with international fame.

--Yousif Mansoor Alkatib

University Professor

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798886548129

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Babylon to Brooklyn

A Life Journey

Dr. Shakir Al-Janabi

Copyright © 2024 Dr. Shakir Al-Janabi

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2024

ISBN 979-8-88654-811-2 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-812-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Introduction

My Childhood

How I Entered School

School Life

After Graduating from Elementary School

Odd Jobs

When My Father Went to Prison

Middle School in Musayyib

To Baghdad

The Crash on Rasheed Street

The Elementary Teachers Institute

Nowhere to Flee

The Story of Al-Masloob Mosque

High School

Engaging in Political Activity

Finishing High School

How I Was Accepted into Medical School

Medical School Memories

Studying in Medical School

Living and Housing Situation

General Political Atmosphere at That Time and Its Implications

Down with the Capitalist Sayeed Hameed

Martial Law, Noisy Demonstrations, and Other Events

School Trip to Sulaymaniyah

First It Rains, Then It Pours

The Big Disaster

The Order to Suspend Two Hundred College Students

Meeting with Mr. Bahgat Al-Attiyah

Hikmet Suleiman and the Expelled Students

Meeting the Minister of Health Mohamed Hassan Salman

The Meeting of Sheikh Abdul Monaem Alrasheed with the Minister of Health

Suicidal Thoughts

Travel Attempts

Return of the Expelled Students

The Obedient Student

Yaseen Café

The Carpet Incident

When Will You Become a Doctor?

Captain Shakir Mahmoud Al-Janabi

Commander of a Military Clinic

Commander of the Military Clinic in Abu Ghraib

Private Clinic of Dr. Shakir Al-Janabi

Family Moving to Baghdad

The July 14 Revolution

Communism Surge in Abu Ghraib Camp

Shawaf Movement

Torture of the Detainees

Abu Ghraib Camp

Marriage Plan

A Coup Plan

At Jalawla Camp

Commander of Baquba Military Hospital

February 8 Revolution (14 Ramadan) 1963

In the Prison of the National Guard in Baquba

Arrival in London

To the United States

Yousef Haya's Incident

A Visit to Iraq

Back to My Homeland

Dance Teacher

The Incident with a Leading Member of the Ba'ath Party

Medical Mission to Beirut

Good News

Predicament of Treating the Family of Saddam Hussein

The Horrible Form

Visiting the Wand River

Dr. Abdulkarim Al-Sheikhly

The Treatment of Mr. Abdulrahman Arif

Political Relations and Activities

Eman's Project to Travel to Study outside of Iraq

Memories with Sheikh Abdel Moneim Al-Rashid

Attack and Occupation of Kuwait

Kuwait Liberation War

Intelligence Prison Mukhabarat

I Arrived Home Alive

The Second Migration

In Amman, Jordan

Arriving in New York

The Death of My Friend Professor Dr. Wertheimer

A Visit from the FBI

A Visit to Iraq before the War

Saddam the ‘Martyr' Incident

Invitation to Participate in the Government

The War to Liberate Iraq!

Return of the FBI

Resignation from the Hospital

First Trip to Iraq Post Liberation

A Special Visit to Dr. Ghassan Al-Attiyah

President Bush Incident

Back to America

About My Siblings

Meeting with President Talibani

Meeting with Dr. Abdul Ameer Al-Anbari

Meeting with Dr. Mohammad Al-Duri

Meeting with Mr. Nizar Hamdoon

Baghdad Conference of Experts

My Opinion of What Happened in Iraq

What Role Neighboring Countries Played in Iraq

I dedicate these memories to the following:

My beloved wife, Amal, and children, Eman, Hanan, and Mohamed, as well as both their spouses and families.

My grandchildren: Ameen, Yaseen, Laith, Laila, and Lena.

My siblings, their families, and all the good people of my family in Alexandria and Baghdad who are still alive.

My loyal friends who have emotionally supported me throughout my life's bumpy journey.

All the Iraqis who maintained their integrity and stayed faithful to the unity of the people and our dear homeland.

Recognition and Appreciation

I would like to thank all my friends who helped me complete this book and specifically mention

Mr. Yousif Mansoor Al-Katib, university professor.

Mr. Razzaq Khleef Mansoor Al-Seedi, diplomat (permanent mission of Iraq-New York).

Mr. Ala Aldeen Alaraji, Arab writer and thinker.

Introduction

I've often thought, from time to time, about writing the treasured memories of my mind—the memories of the important events of my life that deserve to be preserved and retold. My aim has been neither to gain renown nor to defame anyone but rather to put in writing both the significant events and painful circumstances I lived through so they may, one day, benefit those who understand the lessons embedded in these memories. I would also like my family and friends to be more familiar with the facts while also learning from the mistakes I made so they can be fair in their judgment whether these events were bitter or sweet.

My life has been full of difficulties and tragedies. However, through both strong willpower and the help of loyal friends who stood by me during those hardships, as well as the numerous subsequent ones, I was able to overcome many obstacles.

Indeed, my life was quite unique and bizarre. I am sure only a few human beings were able to overcome their difficulties the same way I did. My conscience is clear that I was able to stand tall and challenge my predestination without straying from the path of righteousness or fear the oppressors.

I grew up in Alexandria township in the Babylon Governorate of Iraq, part of a poor farming family. Despite this, I was the first student from this village to enter middle school, the first student to finish high school, the first student to become a doctor, and the first student to travel outside the country, even though traveling outside the country was by force and not by choice.

Each stage of my life has many stories and events; I will tell them with the utmost honesty in this autobiography, in accordance with what I have left in my memory.

I wanted to write honestly and state the events as they happened without any embellishments or fear from anyone. I did not write this to show loyalty to any government official nor to ask forgiveness from anyone.

I wrote everything as it happened. I mentioned the correct names, as I wanted to write in my biography the events as they had unfolded. I would like to apologize to all the people I mentioned without their prior approval. I never intended to hurt anyone; however, I needed to mention the facts and the people who participated in these events, whether they were the oppressors or the oppressed.

I know that these events happened many years ago and the general thinking has changed, but what took place is a part of history that we cannot wipe out with an eraser.

As fate had it, I was forced to flee my country, Iraq, twice.

My first migration was in the year 1963, after the Ba'ath revolution (also known as the Ba'ath Movement) took place on February 8. As a result of this revolution, the prisons and National Guard detention centers were full, and I was one of those prisoners after I was stripped of my military rank and received my fair share of torture. After that, I escaped to Britain, and from there to the United States. This journey to foreign lands lasted twelve years. Later I returned to my homeland in 1975 and took part in its development until my second migration in 1991, after I was detained in Saddam Hussein's intelligence department and accused of being part of a coup d'état—an attempt to overthrow the government. The story of my detainment is a long one; it is still painful when I remember what occurred because of the brutality and cruelty I witnessed and experienced. Once I decided to start writing, I was determined to tell this story honestly, even though some people might not like this. However, I decided to tell this story so that the Iraqi people will understand the reasons I had to leave my homeland for the second time in 1991. My circumstances are best captured by the words of the great Iraqi poet Aljawahiri in his final farewell to Iraq: "Farewell, even though I never wanted to leave, I had high hopes that were lost."

I had another reason for writing this memoir, one that was inspired by a book titled The Night of Growls in the Nihaya (Termination) Palace¹ by Ahmed Alhabubi. After first encountering this work, I went back and read it repeatedly. It was a true and accurate description of what took place in the prison and halls of the new intelligence agency, It described exactly what I witnessed in person. Mr. Alhabubi spent only twenty-four hours in the intelligence prison and came out with this great book. So I thought to myself, why not begin writing about what I went through there with the other wronged people as I had to endure weeks there in that terrifying prison as opposed to only one day. I realize now that not everything I did at that time was right, especially some of the actions in my youth. I may have made mistakes and misjudgments then, but every generation has its philosophy and mistakes. Now, after many years passed, and as I get older, I look back, and some things seem clearer. I regret the mistakes I made. However, this is life—a laboratory of experiments from which we learn. I hope others, particularly my family and friends, learn from the tragedies and terrible events I lived through.

I have a special request for my children and grandchildren. I would like them to study this memoir, which is my gift to them, judge it fairly, and learn from it according to what suits them now. I hope they find in it a ray of light that brightens their paths. My hope for you, my dears, is to be kind, to love everyone, and always to do as much good as possible.

Dr. Shakir Al-Janabi, MD, New York

January 2010

My Childhood

I was born in Alexandria township, part of Musayyib District, Al-Hila Governorate in Babylon, Iraq. My father, Mahmoud Nasar Hassan Al-Janabi, was from Alexandria, and my mother, Bahriya Habeeb Mohamed Al-Janabi, was from Musayyib. I have three departed brothers: Dr. Hameed, Salman, and Muhsin. I also have a sister, Zuhoor Al-Janabi, who now lives with me in New York. I was the eldest son in the family. As for my birthday, no one knows it. My dear mother, who passed away, once told me that I was born the day the Euphrates River flooded. It is a well-known fact that the Euphrates River flooded numerous times many years ago; however, if memory serves me, I recall that when I graduated from elementary school and received my Iraqi identification certificate to apply to the Rural Teachers Institute in Mahaweel, it stated that I was born in 1928. In regards to the day I was born, it was decided later on as July 1, according to a decision made by the Iraqi government during a census which took place in 1957. It was decided that July 1 would be the birthday of every Iraqi who could not accurately prove their day of birth. Thus, the first of July became one of the most famous days in the birth registrar's books. People who do not know this fact are amazed at how so many people in Iraq have the same birthday.

How I Entered School

My brother Salman and I greatly supported our father in his farming. Our life was always difficult; we left home before dawn and returned at sunset. I was tasked with grazing the cows and sheep. I distinctly remember one time when I briefly lost one of the cows, causing my father to become very upset with me. My cousin Sabri (Abdul Jabar) came to me and told me that my father was unhappy with the way I took care of the cows and sheep, especially after that milking cow went missing, so he decided to punish me by sending me to school. A new (and the only) elementary school had recently opened in Alexandria. I told my cousin Sabri that I actually preferred to go to school, and he encouraged me to do so too. My father approved that I go to school on condition that I continued to help him with farming and grazing the sheep. However, he excused me from grazing the cows because he knew I may lose another one.

School Life

I was a good student at school not because I loved to study but because of the fear that failing would mean a return to farming and cow grazing. I would study during the day at school, help my father in the evening, and do my homework at night under the light of an oil lamp. My teachers encouraged me a lot, especially Mr. Naji Abdulrazzaq, the school principal Mr. Fadil Mohamed, and Mr. Mahmoud Majeed. I was so grateful for everything they did for me, and I continued to be in contact with them even after I graduated from medical school. I used to visit them and treat them so that I could return in part the kindness they showed me while I was in school.

When I reached the sixth grade, we were only two students in class: my classmate Abdul Sattar Ibrahim and I. My friend Abdul Sattar failed in the preliminary test before the final standardized exam, and I was then the only student to take the final exam. I passed the exam, and my school, Alexandria Elementary School, registered 100 percent graduation rate.

After Graduating from Elementary School

I graduated from elementary school with high scores but was unsure where to go after that. I applied to the Rural Teachers School at Alrustumiya (Baghdad) as well as the Rural Teachers School in Mahaweel so that I could graduate and become an elementary school teacher. One of the requirements of the application was to submit the applicant's Iraqi birth certificate, which I was able to obtain through a lot of hard work and much government paperwork. It took both a long time and fees to obtain this identification certificate, which upset my father because of the added financial burden. At the end, I was not accepted into either school even though my grades were high and I did well in the interviews. I was not accepted into these two schools because of the weakness in my vision due to being diagnosed with chronic trachoma since childhood, which caused me to fail the eye test.

Odd Jobs

After graduating from elementary school and failing to be accepted into the Rural Teachers School, my father was happy because I was forced to help him with farming and making a living for the family. Our life was rough as we lived in a hutlike house made of mud, which consisted of one room within which all the family lived. In addition to our one room, there was another room for the animals. I went back to helping my father farm and tend to the animals, while at the same time, I began to look for additional work in order to make some extra money to help my family.

I worked for a while as a day laborer and then as a construction worker, building and paving the roads in Alexandria and Musayyib. I vividly remember that I used to earn 120 fils, equivalent to thirty-six cents, for a day of work on the road construction. I would walk a few kilometers each way, back and forth, in the blazing heat of the Iraqi summer and quench my thirst with the salty ground water from the side road. The project was completed in a few months. After working construction, I sold petroleum; I would go from time to time to Musayyib and bring back two barrels on a donkey and then sell them in Alexandria for ten fils per bottle. I would spend the whole day in the scorching heat or the freezing cold just to sell a few bottles. When I counted how much I made, it was never more than forty to fifty fils a day. Finally, I worked in my cousin's café, serving tea to customers, for eighty fils a day. I would also make a little extra money by carrying water from the Alexandria river to the café. I would carry it in two metal containers; each time I got paid four fils. I also earned some tips, about two fils here or four fils there.

I also had another job in a radio cafe which had the only radio in Alexandria. During that time, the revolution of Rasheed Aali Algaylani was occurring, and the popular radio host, Younis Bahri, announced the news from Berlin (Alarab voice). However, listening to this radio station was against the law, so my job was to be a lookout and watch for police officers outside the café, just in case any showed up unexpectedly. For this additional work, I made ten extra fils.

I gave whatever I earned to my father so that he could spend it on our family needs. My father was both very happy and very proud that I was helping him support our family, often leading him to say to me, You see, my son, I told you that school would not help you make a living, but these jobs make money. God willing, we will all be able now to eat rice and meat at least once a month! While we did plant and harvest the crops, after we deducted the shares of the landowner, as well as all the expenses, not much was left to feed the family. This was the reality of the harsh feudalist system that existed in Iraq at that time.

I will never forget when my father took me with him to sell his harvested watermelons. My father was growing watermelons in the Um Alhayaya area in the entrance of Alexandria close to Alkhider area, Abu Ashoush, on the Euphrates River. We spent three days harvesting the watermelons and loading them onto the back of a large truck. After all that hard labor, I went with my father in this large truck at night to Touwareej (Alhindiya) to sell it there. We were optimistic that we would make a good amount of money. I sat on top of the truck to ensure that no one stole any watermelons. Finally, when we reached the wholesale farmers market in Touwareej, we met with the head of the market who welcomed us warmly, as he offered us a meal of pacha (which is a dish of boiled cow or sheep's feet and/or head); I still remember how tasty it was. In the morning, the market broker came and called an auction on the truck of watermelons. The auction was over in minutes, and he called to the buyer, Good luck with your purchase,

Finally, I went with my father to the accounting office of the market with high hopes of returning to the family with a good amount of money after buying some basic necessities from Touwareej.

After long calculations, the accountant said, Abu Shakir…the truck was sold for six dinars, and after doing the necessary calculations and deducting the payment for the broker, the truck, taxes and fees, it seems you owe us one dinar. I will pay this dinar on your behalf as a way of helping you. God willing, the situation will be better next time! My father and I were profoundly hurt as we agonized over our bad luck. Our hopes were lost, and we returned to the family feeling like complete failures.

This was the life of a farmer at that time. We had eggs, milk, and chickens, but not for the family consumption. We would live off the money we sold them for. Most of our meals consisted of lentils, oats, barley bread, millets, and sometimes wheat. We very rarely ate rice and meat; we only ate those luxuries at large occasions such as weddings and funerals.

When My Father Went to Prison

I was about ten years old in elementary school when the police raided our house in Alexandria. Officers entered our home and searched everywhere, finding four car tires my father had hidden a few days before. I later learned that my uncle Mansour (from my mother's side) stole them from the Hinedi camp (a British camp located in Jurf Al-Sakhar; after defeating ISIS, it was called Jurf Al-Nasser). He brought them to our house and hid them in a safe place; however, it did not take the police more than a few minutes to find them.

Of course, my father was taken to the police station and then to court in Musayyib. He did not admit that my uncle was the one who stole those tires. On the one hand, he did not want my uncle to be sent to prison; on the other hand, society viewed prison as a place for masculine men, and my father was not a coward. So he was sentenced to six months in prison and spent them in the Hilla prison.

During that time, I visited my father once a month. Those visits opened my eyes to the world of prisons while I was still a young child. Not only that, they made me, because I was the oldest child, the head of family who was responsible for all its needs. I still remember this as one of the first most difficult and most bitter stages of my life. At the time, however, I did not know that what life had in store for me in the future was much more ominous.

Middle School in Musayyib

I believe the year was 1943. A whole year had passed by since I had given up on continuing my education because I was not accepted into the Rural Teachers School. During this time, I had some more odd jobs here and there. I tried once again the next year to apply to the Rural Teachers School; however, the result was the same—failing the eye exam. I accepted my reality and decided to let my fate and future be decided by God's will. To my good luck, a middle school opened in Musayyib that year. The generous people of the town established it and asked whoever wanted to attend to submit their applications. Some good people in Alexandria started to work on convincing my father to sign me up to attend this school. I missed going to school, but how could I convince my father? Our living situation was extremely poor, and I was needed.

When I spoke to my father about this, he expressed no objection but said, Where will we get the money for the school expenses? You know our situation. This may affect our daily living!

I told my father that I would be responsible for all my school expenses, and if he felt that my education would affect the family, then I would leave school immediately.

My father was convinced only after my mother encouraged him by saying, I will talk with my brother Kareem in Musayyib. He may help Shakir by letting him live with them. Once my father approved, I went to Musayyib and applied to the school. I was accepted, although the school year had already started two months before. This was the first year that there was a middle school open in Musayyib. There were about twenty students, and the teaching staff consisted of the principal, Hassan Hadi Alanbari, and only one teacher named Mahdi Kamuna.

In the beginning, I would leave at dawn from Alexandria to get to Musayyib by train, a trip which took about thirty minutes. However, that cost a lot of money, and I could not continue to afford it. Instead, most of the time, I would use the freight train or the passenger train; if I had to take the passenger train, I would hide between two compartments or disappear into the toilet until we arrived to the following station because I was afraid the ticket collector would want money that I did not have. Once I reached my station, I had found a way to get off without being detected and get safely away without paying the train ticket. Although I started late in the school year and my academic level was poor compared to that of the other students, I was able to improve with the constant help and encouragement of the principal, Hadi Alanbari. This helped me get ahead in the class,