AL-AMARAH, IRAQ -- This is a story about an uncommon love flowering in an unlikely place, in a time of sanctions and war.

As the U.S. Army advanced on Baghdad this spring, the tanks and troops swept by a tiny nondescript cement building that stands alone in Iraq's southern desert. As the planes roared overhead, Hadia and Toukham held each other and hoped war wouldn't reach their home, the only leper colony in the Middle East.

For 25 years, the two have lived in the same building together, forcibly segregated from the rest of society. For Toukham, a lifelong resident with no memory of the outside world, the colony is the only existence he knows. Hadia spent many of her first years here pining for the husband and family she was forced to leave when she contracted leprosy.
Over time, as they sat on the sunny porch together and listened to the desert winds, they became friends. They passed their days chatting about times gone by, Hadia sitting in a plastic chair, Toukham kneeling at her feet.

One day in 1991, as the rest of the world was worried about forcing the Iraqi army to leave Kuwait, he reached out and stroked her hair. A romance was born. "I still love it when he plays with my hair," says Hadia, an energetic woman in her mid-50s who giggles at the memory.
The courtship developed slowly at first, with Toukham occasionally working up the courage to take her fingerless fists in his leathery hands. As United Nations sanctions after the 1991 war in the Persian Gulf tightened their hold on this country, they acknowledged their love for each other and were soon spending almost all of their time together.

Four years ago, Toukham asked her to marry him. "Nobody else took me, so I forced myself on her," chuckles Toukham, an impish 75-year-old with a wispy beard. Then he gets serious.

"Life can be lonely here."

Hadia, he says, changed his life and erased the feeling of isolation that he'd lived with since he was moved here as a child. "I like her voice, and I like the way she feels. I like to cook for her too," he says softly. Hadia grins and soaks up the praise.
The wedding was a simple affair, celebrated in the presence of an imam and the other six residents of the colony. They toasted the newlyweds with juice delivered specially for the ceremony.

"As soon as we were married, I grabbed him and held him and started kissing him all over," Hadia said proudly. "I was so happy."

"Me too," Toukham deadpanned in a comically fatigued voice that won laughter from Hadia and the other residents.

They now share a three-square-metre room with two single beds and a tiny oven inside. It's the only space they have for their private life.

Ten kilometres away from the nearest city of al-Amara, the colony is a desolate place. The home sits near a dry riverbed with no other structures in sight. Even the sparse vegetation has been cleared from the area, which was used for military exercises by the Iraqi army. There's no electricity, and water and food are delivered by truck only every few days.

All eight residents have advanced cases of leprosy, having had limited access to medicines developed elsewhere while the country was in the grip of UN sanctions during the 1990s. Most of the residents are missing some or all of the digits on their hands, most have lost their eyesight and none have the strength to stand and meet rare visitors, though they're clearly delighted to have guests.
Hadia and Toukham say they could hear the warplanes overhead during the fighting earlier this year, and were frightened that the war would cut off their uncertain food supply. The nurses, though, made their way to the home even while the fiercest battle of the war was being waged in nearby Nasiriyah.

The fighting, Hadia said, was necessary because it rid Iraq of Saddam Hussein. She and Toukham are both Shia Muslims, a group persecuted under Baath Party rule.

"I'm happy now that he's arrested," she said, a frown crossing her face for the first time in the entire conversation. "He was guilty of so many things."

Life has taken a small turn for the better since the end of the war, as Western aid workers have begun visiting the colony and are now in the process of giving the home a much-needed upgrade. In mid-winter, though, there are still no heaters, and there's a shortage of blankets and warm clothing.
Though Toukham is 20 years older and has had leprosy much longer, its ravages are more apparent on Hadia. Her high-cheek-boned face is dominated by eyes that seem to be pushing out of their sockets. She lost her eyelids to the disease, giving her an unblinking stare: red lines streaking from blue irises.

Toukham is also blind -- his eye sockets are empty and shrunken -- but the nursing staff who occasionally visits the colony say he has surprising strength and spends much of his days taking care of his wife.

"He cooks for her, cleans her clothes and bathes her," nurse Mohammed Jirinati said. "He lives his life for her."

The couple were scared last year when Toukham caught a fever, Mr. Jirinati said. He remembers well how desperately frightened Hadia was when she thought Toukham might die. "She kept saying how she couldn't live without him."

Hadia doesn't like to talk about that time now, preferring instead to focus on how lucky they are to have rescued each other from loneliness.
"Living here is much better now that I've met him," she said. "It's not lonely any more."

The Globe and Mail; Wednesday, December 24, 2003

“Lepers and lovers in a dangerous time” won the 2003 National Newspaper Award for best short feature writing.