The Terror Of Hiding

By ROBERT AJEMIAN BOSTON Robert Morris

Q. How did you avoid being discovered by the Iraqis?

A. We lived in secrecy. It was exhausting, but we kept strict rules. Windows were always covered with heavy blankets so that people outside saw no body motion inside. At night all lights stayed off. We used only the glow from a TV set fixed on mute. We had to beware of everything we did. In an empty building, something as simple as dropped silverware makes a racket. To cut noise I took showers at 3 o'clock in the morning. Even our cooking smells in outside hallways became a danger signal.

Q. How many were in your group?

A. We were nine: six British, an Irishman, an Australian and me. We all lived in adjacent apartments.

Q. You could stay in touch with one another?

A. Our phones kept working. We worked out systems for calling one another, three rings, hang up, then three more rings. The person called never spoke first. To take our telephones into more soundproof rooms, we extended phone lines with lamp wire. At safer hours we slipped up and down corridors to meet together in different apartments. On the hall floor outside my apartment, I positioned a piece of broken mirror against the wall so that the entire length of the corridor was visible from my partly open door. It was a group rule that everyone checked the mirror before stepping into the hall. When we made visits, knocks on the door required still another code.

Q. You identified different sounds fast?

A. In that silence our hearing became acute. Footsteps of group members were unlike those of strangers. We discovered that bare feet on concrete floors made more sound than soft soles. As an early warning, we wedged an empty Coke can against the fire door outside my apartment. Whenever strangers entered, the Coke can cracked like a gun. Immediately we'd warn the group that strangers were on the floors.

Q. Did many Iraqis come to the door?

A. Looters constantly prowled the building. Most of the 450 apartments had been vacated in a hurry and were still full of household goods. It was like a big store. To hear a sudden pounding on the front door was terrifying. We had towels stuffed along the door bottoms to help muffle inside sounds. And we laid small rugs in front of the doors to let us tiptoe close and look out through glass peepholes. We taped over the peepholes. In each tape we made a tiny opening with a pin, like a camera, so we could see out but remain unseen.

One day there was a banging on the door. I crept up and looked through the pinhole. Two heavyset men in dirty Arab dress stood there. One of the faces seemed to stare right at me. They were studying the nameplate on the door. I had posted the name of an Egyptian friend, Amr-Al-Arabi. They muttered something to each other and left. I was elated.

Q. The Iraqis offered a cash reward for every foreigner uncovered?

A. That unnerved us. Also we kept hearing awful stories about doctors shot at hospitals, about incubators confiscated and babies left to die. We heard that Kuwaitis who hid Westerners were strung up and castrated in front of their own families. Some Arabs offered refuge to foreigners for long periods and then suddenly turned them in to the police. The stories made us more tense.

Q. Some Arabs helped you?

A. Downstairs in our building was a Syrian, Imad, who saved us. For four months he brought us food and water. He warned us when soldiers came. He installed double-bolt locks on our doors. He mailed our letters. Years ago, Imad went to engineering school at George Washington University. He's very pro-American. If he were caught hiding us, he faced execution. But he never wavered. Imad is a saint.

Q. Did you ever wonder if he might turn you in?

A. I'm ashamed to say I did, several times. Imad had no money. I remembered the Anne Frank story. Her family was hidden for years and then betrayed. In Kuwait we heard so many stories of betrayal. Group members who ran off with cars or stole money or panicked.

Q. Your building remained a good target?

A. To discourage Iraqi visitors, we got the idea of immobilizing the building's elevators. Imad agreed to knock out six of the seven lifts. He removed some parts, and the elevators stopped running. It was wonderful. Upstairs we took doorknobs off fire doors so looters couldn't move around so easily. We carried the knobs around in our pockets.

Q. What about food and water?

A. At first we believed the crisis would end fast. As the months dragged on and the U.S. forces sat and waited, we began to worry about starving. We decided to store all the food we could get our hands on. Together our group had several thousand dollars in cash. So Imad began to buy up more supplies. He delivered food between midnight and 2 o'clock. On my computer we began to keep track of our provisions. Now we could tell how many cans of tuna we had, how many kilos of dry beans. We even factored in how much protein we had, how many calories. That computer gave us great comfort. By October we figured we had enough for nine months.

We filled our bathtubs with drinking water. Every bottle we owned was filled with water -- 75 grape-juice bottles, garbage cans, plastic clothes baskets.

Q. Did your group stay on good terms?

A. Not always. We had some bad arguments. Often we turned on those who created noise. Two of our group, the Australian and the Irishman, took way too many risks. After a few months they acquired a hero complex. They wanted to make trips out of the building. The rest of us protested that it would draw too much attention. Imad was very much opposed. After several weeks, the two of them insisted. So we made them sign a paper saying they could not return. They left and somehow got to other houses.

Q. What about keeping spirits up?

A. We had dramatic mood swings. Little things crushed us. When we heard about Jesse Jackson's taking out a number of people, all of us were filled with hate and anger. Who picked the lucky ones? we asked ourselves. Why them and not others? News that George Bush would not permit the presence of hostages to influence his foreign policy saddened us. I was a combat veteran who had served in Vietnam. I wanted to count for something. Even the news that the President would spend Thanksgiving with the troops, such a short distance away, depressed me. You begin to feel abandoned. Your mind turns soggy.

Q. How did you deal with endless time?

A. The process of survival itself chews up enormous time. It's so absolutely fatiguing. You spend so much time and energy trying to avoid mistakes. One of us rephrased an old saying that we put at the top of our written rules: "Yesterday's gone. Tomorrow will come if we survive today."

Q. You kept up with the news?

A. We had a radio and listened to the BBC every hour, also Voice of America, which broadcast messages from home. I heard a dozen messages from my own family. News of the military buildup lifted us too. We thought Bush was really going to invade. We even sealed off a safe room with tape in case of poison gas. All of us wanted Bush to hit the Iraqis. When nothing happened, we began to feel Saddam Hussein would outlast us.

Q. And now that the hostages are out?

A. It's great, of course. Now the Kuwaitis are the ones in danger. I know them well. I'd been there three years teaching dentistry. The Kuwaitis are imperious. They exploit people. They're spoiled with wealth. One is certainly entitled to ask why soldiers should fight and die for them. But no people deserve this kind of horror. Last week we heard that Kuwaiti doctors, some of them friends of mine, were systematically being shipped to Iraq. I don't think they'll ever be seen again.

Q. Is your mind still back in that apartment?

A. I still can't relax. I developed such rigid habits in that place. But this afternoon I'm really happy. One of our group just telephoned and said Imad was granted a humanitarian visa by the U.S. We all told our embassies about him. He risked his life for us. And now he's free himself. What a marvelous piece of justice.