Freedom from a dictator is expensive, Kurds find: A mason toils as a clerk while a doctor
works at Kmart.

Friday, January 5, 2001

SCOTT DAVIS
THE SAGINAW NEWS
 

In the mountain passes of northern Iraq, nearly a half-million men, women and children walked slowly
through the stinging rain and cold, forming a line as far as the eye could see.

Somewhere in this vast panorama was Muayad Tayib, his wife, Bahar, and their two young children.

Uprooted by the Persian Gulf War in 1991, these Kurds were fleeing the iron grip of a hated leader, Saddam
Hussein, in hopes of finding safety in a refugee camp near the Iraqi-Turkish border.

Long persecuted by Hussein, the Kurds feared the defeated dictator would descend mercilessly on them,
pounding them into submission, perhaps once again using chemical weapons.

As Tayib walked north with his family and brethren for 14 exhausting days, he wondered why the United States
let such a man stay in power.

"We were hoping the United States would take care of Saddam Hussein, or take him out of Iraq,"

says Tayib, 37, through an interpreter. "They killed Iraqi people, but not Saddam Hussein."

Because of that unfinished business, Tayib now finds himself in the United States a decade later, trying to build
a new life for himself and his family, learning the customs and language of a melting-pot society.

As with many immigrant families, his five young children quickly learned the language and speak it as fluently as
they do Kurdish, while both parents still struggle with English.

Ironically, the oldest child, Khalid, 12, has taken a liking to Bruce Lee and Jean-Claude Van Damme movies,
even though he is surprised by the high amount of crime in this country. Tayib's other children are Khawla, 10;
Waled, 9; Zeen, 5; and Lena, 10 months.

"It's bad here because of the violence, the killing," Khalid says. "But here it's good because they have a good
president (Clinton)."

Life in tyranny

Before the war broke out, Muayad Tayib was a mason in the Kurdish city of Dohuk in Iraq, eking out a living
for his family. The Kurds were a minority in northern Iraq who had fought - and failed - to win autonomy from
the Iraqi government.

A friend and interpreter, Zeabir Bihideen - an Iraqi Kurd who also immigrated and lives in Lansing - says life was
oppressive under Hussein's rule, with secret police monitoring citizens for any sign of dissent.

Accidentally step on a picture of Hussein lying on the ground, Bihideen says, and one could face arrest and
execution.

Nevertheless, Tayib and many other Kurds could earn a decent living in northern Iraq - at least until the war.
Then, their lives turned upside down.

When United States-led forces launched their attack, Hussein announced a military draft to assemble what
forces he could. Tayib was among thousands of Kurds in his city who fled daily to the mountains to avoid
soldiers who might press them into military service.

"It was not in my interests," he says of military service. "I'd kill myself over nothing. It was a crazy war."

As quickly as it began, the war ended with Hussein still in power. Fifteen days after the cease-fire, Hussein's
tanks rolled into Dohuk to re-establish control of the city. Fearing mass executions, Tayib, his family and a
half-million Kurdish countrymen fled the area and began the 14-day trek to the Turkish border.

With little food, the northward march was grueling for
everyone.- Tayib says thousands of children died on the
trek, including his 3-month-old niece.

Finally, the Kurds arrived at a refugee camp on the Iraqi side of the Turkish-Iraqi border, where they spent the
next month subsisting on aid provided by relief organizations. When Hussein issued a decree promising
not to harm the fleeing Kurds, Tayib's family and many others returned to Dohuk, which remained under United
Nations monitoring.

Nevertheless, Tayib's hopes of living peacefully in Dohuk eventually were dashed. Both Tayib and
Bihideen, a clothing merchant in the city, became involved in a U.N. project to distribute food relief in the
city, and an enraged Hussein promised death to any Kurds who assisted.

That left Tayib and Bihideen with no choice. Nearly four years ago, Tayib decided to take advantage of a U.S.
offer to allow oppressed Kurds to enter the country.

Making the transition

Friends in Saginaw and a growing Kurdish community in Michigan brought Tayib here. Although there is a very
large Arabic community near Detroit, Bihideen says, Kurds have not flocked to that area because of
centuries-old tension between Kurdish and Arabic peoples.

Bihideen says many Kurds have not made the transition easily. He faults the Immigration and Naturalization
Service for not providing job placement services or sufficient instruction on language and American culture
for new Kurdish arrivals.

As a result, these Kurds must rely mostly on a support network of fellow Kurds to find housing, jobs or help in
buying a car. Tayib relies heavily on Bihideen; just days before, Bihideen escorted him to a Saginaw dentist to
help translate.

When United States-led forces launched their attack, Hussein announced a military draft to assemble what
forces he could. Tayib was among thousands of Kurds in his city who fled daily to the mountains to avoid
soldiers who might press them into military service.

In most cases, a support network cannot help Iraqi Kurds find the same work they knew in Iraq. Because of
different certification standards, Tayib cannot find a job as a mason in this country; he works a low-paying
part-time job as a party store clerk in Saginaw.

"I had a friend. She is a doctor. She is working at Kmart," Bihideen says. "Her husband is an engineer.
He's working at a plant (as a line worker)."

Life in a new city

For now, Tayib and his family live in a clean but cramped two-bedroom apartment on North Webster
Street. It's all he can afford with his part-time job and his $700 monthly support payment, which the federal
government provides because of his political refugee status.

Still, they seem happy.

As is Kurdish custom, they eat a large supper around 4 p.m., shortly after the children arrive home from school.
They gather in the front room around a small coffee table, and Bahar Tayib, a smiling woman dressed in a
Muslim head shawl, serves a large plate of iprhak, a Kurdish dish of chicken, onion and rice.

Sometimes, they place the dishes on a rug on the living room floor.

Bahar Tayib stands to the side while other families members sit or stand holding their plates. Under their
tradition, the mother waits until the family has finished eating before she begins. Her task during the meal is to
serve the family's needs.

Soon, the family will head out for the evening to do some quick shopping. On the way, Muayad Tayib will give his
wife a few driving lessons, so that one day she can take over the wheel.

After all, the family has adopted this country as their new home. Tayib is not optimistic that the man who drove
him from his homeland - Saddam Hussein - will fall from power any time soon.

"It all depends on the United States," Tayib says.

Scott Davis is a staff writer for The News. You may reach him at 776-9665.
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The Kurdistan Observer
www.kurdistanobserver.com