arch/ive/ief (2000 - 2005)

Occupied Baghdad, Wednesday, October 29th, 2003, 11:30 a.m.

Today, and for the first time ever since I arrived, the area I am living in has been witnessing continuous US army patrols. First it started when I saw an American soldier walking past my window, I tried to remain calm, walked to the front door, opened it and stood there crossing my hands in front of my chest visibly as not to insinuate any provocative gesture and at the same time not to look scared or welcoming to their presence.

Eight young men, some of them look even younger than me (I am 24 for those who do not know) all dressed in all-embracing military outfits covered from head to toe except for faces and hands (though some had stylish sun glasses on!!!!). Four on each side, walking slowly in a separate distance of one meter between each two, the second soldier form the front was followed closely with an old Iraqi guy who was dressed in civilian clothes, unarmed and with some kid of an ID dangling from his neck. The man was trying his best to follow the slow steps of the soldier trying to imitate him in a machine-like attitude which came out rather stupid and funny. The patrol was concluded with a young Iraqi man (who I estimated his age to be 20 -24) also dressed in shabby civilian clothes and carrying a gun that did looked everything but working and seemed a plaything compared to the guns of the US soldiers. He was looking back and to the sides, with every look he’d turn around in a scan-like movement yet it only reflected fear and brought sarcastic smiles to those standing on the sides of the road and more confusion and tension to the poor guy’s body movement.

All of them avoided eye contact with me or with the two men who stood across the street watching them along with around five kids who were whispering among each other and checking out the soldiers in astonishment. The way the soldiers avoided eye contact with me and my newly discovered neighbors was so obvious, they just looked through us, and across us trying to keep the poker __expression on their faces yet failing miserably. You could easily tell how hard they are trying to look confident and that showed their hesitancy and fear immensely. I was joined at the moment by Hamsa and her driver, we all stood in the door way and examined the parade like army-patrol (who surely had no clue what they are doing here)

The neighborhood I am staying at for this week is rather upper-class; it is packed with middle class houses and upper class villas. The street is called 52nd in an area close to the down town. It is rather quiet with everyone minding their own businesses. I have noticed aside from the relatively clean streets (compared to those I visited in under developed areas) a lot of unveiled old women (above 50) wearing short sleeved tops. No wonder, these were Christians. I have met few unveiled women that are Muslim, but none of them was above 30 so far. It makes you wonder what these soldiers are doing in such a calm area!!

Ten minutes later, an army vehicle followed by a tank passed in front of my place, slowly, with the same pose of the soldiers. Two in the front seat, one showing up from the top with a gun pointed to where he is looking.

I get back in the house, made me a cheese spread sandwich with Tomatoes, cucumbers and zucchinis… eat it quickly and head to the internet café which is three blocks away from where I live. On the way another army patrol passes me by, and as they are moving slowly it takes them more time than it usually takes a regular car to pass you by. As usual, no matter how hard I stare, they avoid any eye contact with me.

For those of you have been asking about the situation of the Iraqi police, military, and government officials.

The guy who takes care of the garden in front of my house is an x-military officer, an old man in the age of 60. He was in charge of the cannon squads responsible for attacks in the north of Iraq. He is now a gardener, who daily forces me nicely to copy totem Quran verses for him, and everyday I decide to turn him down the nest day but end up copying it the next morning.

Ala’a, an army officer who was in charge of a large area in Baghdad called “the jami3a (university) neighborhood”, an only son to a father of three daughters, in his early thirties, a sweet heart that I met at a common friend’s place over some olive sandwiches and cold beers. We talked a lot about his past job and he shared a lot about his days in the military. For him the war was lost due to Saddam’s favor of politicians rather than for military personnel. He wants freedom, yet he does not believe what he has got now is freedom. He spends his days and night drinking, and he is attending to his father’s palm trees now. During his days of “reign” - as he puts it – his friends enjoyed freedom, they drank, and partied and went in and out of the area with no problems. He was good to them and to the rest of the neighbors (a fact acknowledged by six people who were in the room).

Traffic policemen, have you ever been ignored by hundreds of people around you, and tens of cars? Well this is your chance if you are a policeman trying to organize traffic in Baghdad. He will be standing in the middle of the street trying his best to whistle and gesture to no avail. No body listens (except for the people who abide by what the police man is saying by stopping when he says so - to the distress of the cars behind.) Cars driving over pavements are a common thing, same as cars going the wrong direction in highly dense streets. Police stations are a no-go zone… all of them are located in areas that blocked by cement blocks and barrels in the streets leading to them, let alone barb wires and wooden shafts.

We are in a city where the police is fighting hard to protect itself not the people… in a city where the only concern of most of the people is survive and make it on their own regardless of those around. Again … Beirut haunts me!

N.B. For those who have been asking if they can forward my emails… well sure thing!