Playing Atari with Saddam Hussein

Based on a True Story

Jennifer Roy

• Publisher: Rock the Boat
• Year: 2018
• eBook ISBN: 9781786074676

Video game villains and real-life dictators dominate daily life for eleven-year-old Ali

Ali Fadhil has very simple likes and dislikes. It is 1991 in Iraq and all Ali wants to do is read his comics and play football and video games. But President Saddam Hussein has other plans. After he invades neighbouring Kuwait, the U.S. and their allies launch Operation Desert Storm to force him out. Over the next forty-three days, Ali and his family would survive bombings, food shortages and constant fear.

Cinematic and timely, this is the story of how war changed one boy’s destiny forever and would one day bring him face to face with Saddam himself at the UN trial.

TWENTY-ONE

That night, while my family sleeps around me in the safe room, my mind races in all different directions.

Hate Saddam. Wish the Americans would kill him and get this all over with.

Baba has disappeared into smoke-choked air.

Those girls helped me a couple of days ago. There are good people out there.

Bang! Bang! Eight men dead.

A different life. Iraq wasn’t always like this…

I have had a glimpse of a different life. It was just a few weeks ago, though it feels longer.

It was New Year’s Eve. To celebrate the start of 1991, the governor of Iraq held a ball. A glamourous, extravagant party at the Governor’s Mansion.

My family was there.

Baba is the governor’s dentist. The governor, one of Saddam’s top men, likes my father because he is smart and professional, and because he takes great care of the governor’s teeth.

We were all invited to the ball.

I close my eyes and remember…

“Come on!” I urged Ahmed, who was still sitting in the back seat of the limousine.

Everyone else had gone through the gates already. I grabbed Ahmed’s hand and pulled him out.

“I don’t want to go!” my little brother moaned. “I hate this tie.”

“We all hate wearing ties,” I said. “But that’s the price you pay for being a cool dude,” I told him, making him smile.

Ahmed and I caught up with Shirzad and our parents. My father was carrying Shireen so she wouldn’t dirty her ruffled white dress or white buckled shoes. My father was wearing a tuxedo, and Mama had on a sunset-coloured ball gown.

We walked up the stone path that led to the front door. Two men in tuxedos, with assault rifles slung over their shoulders, greeted Mama and Baba and checked their names against the guest list.

“Welcome to the Governor’s New Year’s Ball,” the man with the list said to each of us – even Shireen.

“Happy New Year!” my father replied, and we all passed through the arched doorway.

The room we entered was huge, with white marble floors and gold-patterned walls and a chandelier the size of a car hanging from the soaring high ceiling. While I was looking up at it, I stumbled into Shireen.

“Ow!” she said.

“Shh…” hissed Mama.

“Don’t worry.” A woman appeared and beckoned us to follow her.

“The ballroom is down this hallway to the right. But first…this is Miss Saeid. She’ll take the children upstairs for their own party games.”

“Up those stairs?” Shireen pointed to the white, shining marble staircase with a gold railing.

“Yes!” Miss Saeid exclaimed. “Come with me!” The name Saeid means happy in Arabic, and boy was this woman happy.

Baba put Shireen down, and she skipped over to the smiling woman.

“Go on.” I nudged Ahmed, who rolled his eyes. But he joined Shireen.

“Did you see that Lamborghini behind us?” I said to Shirzad.

“Yes. I wonder who—” My brother was interrupted.

“Boys, you come too!” trilled Miss Happy.

“Go ahead, Ali, Shirzad,” said Mama.

“We’re not little kids,” Shirzad protested.

“Are you under fourteen?” Miss Happy chirped.

Shirzad and I nodded.

“Then come with me!”

I took one last longing look at my parents. Then I walked with my brothers and sister up the fancy staircase.

We were taken to a room that could hold an entire football pitch. It was filled with kids – shrieking, running around, playing tag, making crafts, playing with toys. Ahmed and Shireen eagerly ran in and got lost amid the chaos. Miss Happy went in too.

Shirzad and I hung back in the hallway.

“Walk?” he said.

“Definitely,” I responded. We explored the second floor. There were bedrooms – each one decorated differently. And almost as many bathrooms. Then we opened a door—

“—and it’s an eight of spades! You’re out, Hassan.”

The boy dealing the deck of cards looked at us.

“Shirzad! Ali! How did they let you two in?”

It was Omar.

“Yeah, go get us some food,” Umar said, chuckling. He stood against a wall with two other boys, all smoking handrolled cigarettes.

“We’re guests,” I said. “Just like you.”

“Well, if you’ve got money, come join the game,” said Omar.

“No, thank you,” said Shirzad. “See you around.”

My brother turned back into the hallway. I did too. We walked a little ways before I said, “No, thank you? Now you have to be all Mr Manners with the twins?”

“Ali, their father is high up in the Ba’athist Party,” Shirzad said. “Pretty much everyone here is, except for us and the servants. We need to be polite to everybody.”

“I know. You’re right.” I saw a double door at the end of the corridor. We walked over to it and I pulled it open with two hands.

Sweet! It was a teenage boy’s room. And a boy was in it. He had his hair cut military style and was wearing a suit and tie.

“Hi. You can call me Z,” the boy said. “Want to play?”

Z? What kind of name is that?

He was playing on the latest game console.

“Yes!” Shirzad and I both said. We introduced ourselves.

Shirzad flopped down on the second gamer chair. As Z switched over to two-player, I said, “Is this your room?”

“Yes,” he said. “My father travels a lot and brings me books.”

Then I saw it. A whole shelf of comics. Marvel, DC, Looney Tunes, and more. All organized, all in order.

“Great collection,” I told Z. “Can I look at them?”

“Sure,” he said.

I walked over and rifled through them. “You’re missing number 17 and number 18 in Superman.”

“Ali’s obsessed with Superman,” Shirzad said, playing video football.

“I was in New York City when those two comics came out,” Z said. “I’ve been looking for them ever since.”

“I’ve got them,” I said, absently skimming the DC comics.

“You do?” Z paused the game.

“Yes. I have the full set.”

“I’ll pay you good money for those,” said Z, looking straight at me.

“No way,” I responded. “Those are my prized possessions.”

“I respect that,” Z said. “But the offer still stands.”

He and Shirzad resumed their game play.

I watched as Z’s team wiped out my brother’s.

It was my turn to play, but before I got to, one of the twins showed up in the doorway.

“Z! Your father wants you downstairs…” Omar’s voice trailed off when he saw us.

“I’ll be right down,” Z said.

“He said right now,” Omar said. “Z, you know these guys?”

“Just met them. Their father cleans my teeth. Go on, O, I’ll be right here.”

Omar left. Z stood up slowly,...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Contents
• One
• Two
• Three
• Four
• Five
• Six
• Seven
• Eight
• Nine
• Ten
• Eleven
• Twelve
• Thirteen
• Fourteen
• Fifteen
• Sixteen
• Seventeen
• Eighteen
• Nineteen
• Twenty
• Twenty-One
• Twenty-Two
• Twenty-Three
• Twenty-Four
• Twenty-Five
• Twenty-Six
• Twenty-Seven
• Twenty-Eight
• Twenty-Nine
• Thirty
• Thirty-One
• Thirty-Two
• Epilogue
• Acknowledgments
• Copyright