The rich fled the country, leaving their belongings in unguarded mansions. I was right there with the looters who broke in and took whatever we could carry. It wasn’t just us non-Kuwaitis. Poorer Kuwaitis did the same. Iraqi soldiers were also stealing. Um Buraq took me with her to pick through a mansion belonging to one of the al-Ghanim families. I already knew how they lived, but it was still shocking to see such ostentatious wealth. Um Buraq and I opened a bathroom closet with cosmetics worth at least ten thousand dinars. There were even bags of unopened makeup from London. One bag with twenty Chanel lipstick tubes still had the receipt in it. One thousand two hundred British pounds spent on lipstick in one day. These people deserved to be robbed. One house had gold faucets in the master bathroom. It looked as if someone had tried to pull them out. We gave it a try but couldn’t shift them. The toilet seat had been removed, and we figured it too must have been gold. Why else would someone steal a toilet seat? The vulgarity of excess was on full display. We thought Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait was God’s punishment on them, and we were all too happy to be agents of the Lord.

The real valuables—diamonds, cash, gold bars—were long gone, but we managed to get decent spoils. Um Buraq even hauled away a lush set of sofas and other furniture. Those were good times. Six months of feeling powerful and safe. As long as Iraqi soldiers roamed the streets, I felt in control of my fate. That’s what Saddam gave me, and I loved him for it. I don’t care what anyone says about him. Saddam was my hero, and many years later, when the Americans saw him hanged, I wept wretched, bitter tears.

Unlike Jehad, I hadn’t been one for watching the news. When powerless, following world events only highlights your impotence. But during those six months when Kuwait was again a province of Iraq, I thought I could affect the course of our lives; that my opinions could be relevant. I consumed political news and analyses for the first time in my life, and Jehad and I spoke about current events over the phone several times a week.

Allegiances at the Arab League summit were split between those aligned with Saddam Hussein and those supporting Saudi Arabia’s move to allow United States troops to amass on its border.

Jehad said, “It’s not that Libya, Yemen, Morocco, and others are siding with Saddam. They just don’t want American military bases all over the Arab world.”

“Exactly,” I said. “And the minute they’re here, they’ll never leave until they kill Saddam and destroy Iraq. They’ll take out Gaddafi and then el Assad, and probably move on to Iran.”

“I agree completely, Sis.” Jehad was surprised, but also proud that I had acquired a critical analysis. His approval meant alot to me.

“In concert with Israel, they will plunge the whole region into chaos and death. The Saudis are all too happy to appease. They’re as bad as Israel. It wouldn’t surprise me if we don’t wake up in a few years to learn they’re working hand in hand with Zionists, probably against Iran,” I said.