My uncle hates Saddam Hussein. His lips curl up whenever his name is mentioned, "hell" and "bastard" always making an appearance in a subsequent sentence. My uncle was part of the mass exodus that left Kuwait when Iraq marched in in the summer of 1990. I was in Egypt visiting my grandmother at the time and watched her fear grow as the days passed with no word from her son. He managed to call us on the day Kuwait was invaded, but for days afterwards we heard nothing from him.

A week and a half later we were sitting on the balcony and saw an Alpha Romeo drive up our block. No Alpha Romeo ever even entered our city save for my uncle's, so there was no way mistaking that car. If I weren't there to hold my grandmother down I'm convinced that she would've jumped off go run to her son.

My uncle had packed up his family (wife and four-year old son) and left Kuwait City hours after making his first phone call to us. He was terrified and the rumors of soldiers raping and pillaging were more than enough to force him out. He drove from Kuwait to Egypt, stopping only for bathroom breaks for his son.

If there's anyone who would rejoice in Saddam's execution, it would be my uncle. But he hates the way this whole process unfolded and can't understand what would prompt the U.S. to execute this madman on Eid al-Adha. "I don't want to think about Saddam during the Eid. I don't want to talk about him, I don't want to rejoice in his death. That's not what I want my Eid to be about". Poor uncle. I think he feels jipped that justice hasn't been served. This rush and secrecy just doesn't do it for him.

It's really interesting right now, however, sitting here watching my family's reaction to the news. Al Jazeera is on and their faces keep changin from shock, horror, and disgust (coverage of Saddam's pending execution) to joy (coverage of the hajj), followed by excitement (reminders that Ahly and Zamalek are going to play tomorrow).