This is a conversation I had with one of my friends. Parastoo -my friend- is an Iranian Kurd. She lost her childhood, and her city, in the 8 year long Iraq-Iran war. A war that was started by Saddam.
I have my own memories from those days. Once I was in school when a bomb hit our neighborhood. Our school was old and had been built on a land where water ran under it, so they couldn't build a shelter there for us. In those war days, schools were not enough for children and classrooms were so filled up, that some of us had to sit on the floor and listen to the teacher. And I was living in the heart of Tehran, capital of Iran. In our neighborhood there was a big hotel: Tehran International Hotel. Where beauty contests were held before the Islamic revolution. Now the hotel was a residence for people who had lost the home in the war, from borderline cities: war refugees. They had lost their wealth, home, city, and family members, and living there, each family of 4 or 5 in a 2-bed room in the former hotel. And many of their children were in my school, some in my class, some my best friends.
That day the school children screamed and yelled and cried and ran out for their lives, worried for their family. All the school windows were broken, and the broken glasses hit the wall in front of them like sharp spike. Two of the absent school children were killed by the bomb which had fallen on their home. My parents, when I found them in streets were scared and worried. We quickly went to my brother's home nearby, to see how they are. My brother and his wife were scared too, of course. Thankfully they had been hiding behind cushions of a chair with their two children, and were safe from the broken window glasses. Mehdi, their 5 year old son was telling us how he wanted to kill Saddam. His ambition at that innocent age was to grow up enough to hold a riffle and kill Saddam who had broken their home.

Now Saddam is dead, and the nightmare is long gone. But are we happy now? Why nobody is dancing in the streets?