Baghdad Diaries Page 3

  We’ve now been without water for one week. My hands and nails are disgusting. Everyone has a sooty face. No one bothers to look in the mirror any more. Needles is the only one who still looks neat and clean. Raad says that in Jadiriyah they have no more day; the sky is permanently black from the smoke of the Dora refinery as it burns. It has been burning from the first day of the war. Poor Suha and Assia; how are they surviving?

  Day 19

  Two rockets fell in the Masbah. One on Salwan and Uns’s garden smashed through their outside wall and into part of the garage. They were all in the sitting room at the time – they are OK, if somewhat shaken. Suha and Assia, who live next door, were apparently filmed by CNN, ranting and raving about the war. The second rocket fell on a house right in front of Peggy and Naji’s and smashed every window in theirs. Miraculously, only Naji was cut by a piece of flying glass. Four days before the rocket fell on that house, the people who had temporarily rented it (after fleeing from Kuwait) had moved to a hotel because it had no water. Another miracle.

  There is nothing nice about war. The one thing that no one bet on was that Baghdad was going to be bombed and hit like this. They were supposed to be freeing Kuwait. Maybe they need a map? No one will hear from us for years, that is if we come out of this in one piece and alive.

  Mundher Baig dead. I really can’t believe it.

  Lubna came by today. Robbers stole their generator and Mahmood’s petrol which he had buried in the garden. They must have been keeping a close watch. Stealing has become the latest fashion. Everything has to be kept under lock and key. Generators go for thousands, bicycles too. Cigarettes are worth a fortune, and kerosene lamps are valued like gold. Shopkeepers who live near their stores stay open, but most goods are sold off crate tops on the sidewalks, odd bods selling wicks, batteries, matches – anything that is available. The other day a house was robbed and when the owners reported it to the police they said, ‘We have no petrol to make a special visit. It will have to wait ‘til we go on a patrol in that area.’

  Day 20

  It has now been three weeks: 44,000 air raids. I have another leak in the waterworks. I will have to check the whole house. Bush says, we make war to have peace. Such nonsense. What a destructive peace this is. A new world order? I call it disorder.

  Day 21

  One week since Mundher Baig died. My hands are now so calloused they look like farmers’ hands. Ma says she feels like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind ... except that we are far from starving.

  They have started hitting the bridges again. Jumhuriya Bridge is now apparently in three pieces. Countless industries, textile factories, flour mills and cement plants are being hit. What do they mean when they say they are only hitting military targets? These are not military installations. As for ‘our aim never goes wrong’ . . . who will save us from these big bullies? Maybe they want to destroy us so they can produce more jobs for their people in the West! Reconstruction and new military supplies could keep them going economically for years.

  Thamir’s chickens have stopped producing eggs. They used to lay twenty-five eggs a day, then two, and now none. On the other hand, Pat’s chickens have never laid so many eggs.

  Last night I dreamed I was carrying a tree. It grew little bread buns on it which I offered around. It had no roots or they were in the air, I’m not sure which. Anyway, I was happily walking around with it. Nice. A miracle tree?

  Day 22

  There is a sameness about the days now.

  I saw the Jumhuriya Bridge today. It’s very sad to see a bombed bridge. A murderous action, for it destroys a link. Everyone is very strangely affected by the sight of a bombed bridge. They cram along the sides, peering down into the craters and holes, looking very sad and crying.

  Meanwhile children have never had it so good. They play on the streets with no fear of cars. They ride their bikes and enjoy themselves. I am called Bicycletta by all the kids in the streets. They wave and ask me how I am when I pass by. I say fine, or not, depending on my mood. Everyone now knows their neighbours, children and grown-ups alike. The Suleikh is like one big village. In fact, the city of Baghdad has turned into pockets of little villages.

  I saw Riadh and Rabab on the street and went in for a coffee to their house. Rabab was the only person who was convinced that there would be a war. She proudly switched on the light in the kitchen; their refrigerator was working too – all on one generator rigged by Riadh, whose practical talents now show their value. Rabab told me that everyone should have a Riadh in the house. His hobby has always been mending old cars. He recently bought a rare old French car which he is slowly working on. His garage is full of wrecks in various stages of repair. They have asked me to come and watch television with them in the evening; they get Iranian television. Lots of women in chadors. Sometimes, even Iraqi television comes on for about half an hour. I hope to make it one evening but it will be difficult since I am the fire- and lamp-lighter for all my house guests.

  Day 23

  Went to Dhafir and Mutaza to teach them how to make kerosene candles. She broke her tooth yesterday. They called their dentist friend who lives nearby and he told them he had no petrol to run his generator. So they drew about five litres of petrol from their car and went off to the clinic with it. Dhafir decided to take advantage of the situation and redid a filling. Ma said, ‘I wish you had told me too.’

  The equivalent of five Hiroshimas have already been dropped on us. We were all restless last night and could not sleep because there were no air raids. At midnight we got an air raid, and everyone promptly went to bed. It’s odd, but the same thing used to happen to us in Beirut. We went to sleep quite happily to the sound of shelling but woke up the minute the cacophony stopped.

  Days 24 and 25

  I tell you, there is this sameness. Even war becomes a routine.

  Day 26

  ‘It’s Monday morning,’ says the Voice of America. What’s the difference? We had a bad night, the worst yet. The minute the all-clear sounded we went to check up on friends and relatives. We have developed a routine route. We piled into Yahya’s car. This time he sacrificed his precious petrol which he had been saving up for visiting his fiancée who lives at the other end of town, in Mansur. We first stopped by Asam’s house where everyone was huddled by the entrance – during air raids it is the most protected place. An assorted mixture of friends and family usually stay the night there, keeping company. She has tall, double-storeyed, stained-glass windows which reflect the war sky as through a kaleidoscope – very dramatic. It’s amazing they are still in one piece. We next went and checked on Muhammad at Ma and Needles’ house. It was a coal-black night, so dark that we could hardly make out the river; even the stars were hiding tonight. Muhammad slept through the whole thing; even the dogs were hushed in that house. Our last stop was Adiba’s house. She opened the door for us crying and screaming in a hysterical fashion, and repeating over and over again, ‘Please God either take my life or that of the bridge.’ She looked a wonderful sight, wearing a jumble of bright colours in her Kurdish way. The house is very close to the Adhamiya Bridge which they have been trying to knock out for two days now. The noise and the vibrations have been unbearable. Instead of hitting that bridge they got a whole group of houses. Wonder why they’re missing their target. Tomorrow we’ll know what they have hit or missed.

  The Martyr’s Bridge and the Suspension Bridge have been hit. I feel very bitter towards the West.

  Day 27

  Apparently the racket that we heard yesterday was the sound of the B-52 bombers. They sounded horrific. Menth got a bullet through the front windshield of his parked car.

  I read this somewhere the other day: ‘Every scientist has intuitions and they scare the hell out of him ‘til he can test them.’ Is that true or false, Doc?

  Fat cats everywhere. Fat cats sleeping, or sitting in doorways; fat cats walking and crossing the streets with no fear of being run over. They of all creatures seem to be totally unmoved by
what is happening around them. They have been eating to bursting point on all the leftovers from the thawing freezers. Meat and chicken have been passed around like nuts – but the end is in sight. Salvador will have to get used to being a vegetarian quite soon. Kiko* would be happy!

  Talking about freezers, Sheikha came back yesterday to her house. She had spent the first three weeks at her daughter’s house and only came back at the behest of her neighbours, who could not stand the smell coming out of her house. She put on a face mask and emptied her giant freezer. Right on top, floating on a sea of stagnant scummy water, was an entire sheep, and bobbing around it were twenty-four chickens and sundry legs of lamb in various states of decay. Two dozen kubbas,** sixty-eight rice patties, plus plastic bags full of stuffed vegetables, beans and peas, all of which had been frozen and put away for the hard times to come. Three whole fishes, hunks of beef, kilos of mince, loaves of bread, cakes and pastries – all had to be thrown out, adding to the diet of the bloated street animals who have never had it so good. By the way, this description of the contents of Sheikha’s freezer could just as easily apply to every well-to-do household in Baghdad before the start of the war. Everyone was preparing and hoarding foodstuffs in their freezers, never imagining that they would bomb us out of electricity. Now the big question is whether to keep the freezer and fridge doors open or closed. If they stay open the rubber seals will dry out, and if closed they smell.

  Most people have run out of petrol, and it doesn’t appear likely that we will be getting any more in the near future. So it’s either pedalling on the bike, walking, or going by bus. Buses are still running but they are packed. A few families took precautions and hoarded petrol in tanks in their gardens – there have been many accidents. Munir U. built large tanks in Najul’s garden but didn’t check them for leaks. Now he says the petrol has all gone – perhaps he sold it to Basil for a huge sum of money. Petrol is so scarce that some dealers mix it with water. One has to buy it from a reliable source and check its colour. Pinky-mauve is the best.

  Some are thinking about going to shelters for the night. Suha and I offered to go and check ours out, although I would never go and spend the night there. The Suleikh shelter is inside Baghdad College, the old Jesuit school for boys, in the grounds of what used to be a monastery and vineyard in the tenth century – the monks were famous for their wine. Wish it was wine instead of war now. The shelter is a big, plain, windowless block. They are the same design all over Baghdad, built by the Swedes. A claustrophobic nightmare. Inside there was low-voltage electricity, not even enough to read by. Very high ceilings. ‘You can register your name,’ said the guard at the door, ‘and come or not come. But if you do want to come, you must be here by six. That’s when the doors shut.’ The doors look like massive metal walls.

  My next-door neighbour and her three daughters have been going there for the last couple of nights. Her husband is stuck in Tunis and she says her daughters are less nervous and sleep better there without the noise – but it’s not quite paradise, she added.

  I came back late from Asam’s house, where I had been informing them about the shelters, to find my driveway full of cars. The house had been invaded by ten more human beings between the ages of five and eighty. Apparently, today’s broadcast said that all radio stations were going to be bombed. They had all been staying together in one house near a radio station. Now they want to stay here – they couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I have taken to calling us Hotel Paradiso. Every inch of the house is now occupied, people playing cards, others listening to the radio and still others boozing away. I can’t stand it for too long. I will have to see what can be arranged tomorrow – maybe divide them all up between this house and Dood’s.

  Day 28

  I am continuously amazed by the good quality of the construction of our houses. Everything shakes and rattles, and yet they are still intact and in one piece. Last night was another horror, maybe the worst yet. I felt each and every thermostone move in the house. The whole of Baghdad shook. They were trying to get at the bridge again. No one slept much. We went and checked on Adiba again. She is not certain why her house is still standing. She’s locked up with that horror of a husband and the bombing. She definitely has the worst of all worlds. Why couldn’t he have died instead of Mundher Baig? Not many would mourn his death, mean old devil that he is. That’s not a very nice thing to say, but I can’t help it.

  Why do they keep bombing the same things again and again? Every one of these bloody rockets costs a quarter of a million dollars or more. Instead of feeding the hungry of the world, billions are spent on manufacturing more and more sophisticated weapons of destruction. Killing is the new world order.

  Muayad and Donny came to visit. Archaeological sites have also been hit. A few arches have fallen in Hatra, Ctesiphon has new cracks, and the doors of the Mustansiriya exploded open. There is also some damage to the museum from flying shrapnel and debris from the bombing of the telephone exchange across the street. Muayad wonders about the state of other sites but does not have the petrol to go and check them. Where would one start in this country anyway? He is especially worried about the Samarra minaret since the factories and houses nearby (with everyone in them) have been virtually flattened. They spend their time checking up on the historic buildings around Baghdad, and boarding up their broken windows. Donny is photographing all the damage as evidence for the future. Robbers instantly descend on a building that gets hit or whose windows are smashed. The two make a wonderful sight – stomachs expanding forward unchecked. Nobody pays attention any more to the old law of weight control that required all civil servants to be checked every six months. Each height had its weight limit, and if it was exceeded the person was demoted. The ambitious lost weight, the pleasure-loving or couldn’t-care-less got demoted or resigned. The Iraqi figure definitely improved under this law.

  Salvador has a new girlfriend, or rather a woman friend, as she is no spring chicken. A black and white pup follows her everywhere, no doubt last season’s effort. I keep shooing them away but to no avail. The stupid thing even wagged her tail at me and I told her that I was not friendly to her but she kept on peering at me from behind the trees, hoping for a change of heart. She’s right, of course. I’m a softie. Imagine a whole pile of Salvador pups to add to the pack that roams the orchard.

  Day 29

  I have moved my many guests to Dood’s house next door. The sausages, smelling to high heaven, were thrown out. We must have done something wrong, probably not enough salt. We didn’t realize that a huge amount of salt is needed to preserve meat. Dood’s house still has water and the new tenants refuse to use the toilet facilities of the orchard. I covered the previous day’s dog shit with ashes from the fireplace. It’s strange, but I can’t tell the difference between human and dog shit.

  I have been keeping a record of everyone who has been sleeping in the sitting room and have been taking super photographs by candlelight. I wonder if the flash will change the mood; shadows are weird and beautiful, like a painting by Caravaggio or de la Tour. I took a photo of Ma, Suha and Najul gossiping around the table, looking like witches. How did painters paint by candlelight? Candles shine up such a small area that they must have painted from memory. It’s difficult to believe that we will have electricity again, that we will be able to turn the lights on and off at will. How one took things for granted.

  There are now so many people staying here – sixteen between the two houses – that Salvador does not know who to bark at any more. He has given up. The inmates of the two houses meet for cocktails, separate for dinner and meet again for herbal teas after dinner. Cocktails are usually arak* – the favourite drink.

  A turning-point in the war. They hit a shelter, the one in Amiriya. They thought it was going to be full of party biggies but instead it turned out to be full of women and children. Whole families were wiped out. Only some of the men survived who had remained to guard their houses. An utter horror, and we don’t know the worst
of it yet. The Americans insist that the women and children were put there on purpose. I ask you, is that logical? One can imagine the conversation at command headquarters going something like this: ‘Well, I think the Americans will hit the Amiriya shelter next. Let’s fill it with women and children.’ What makes the Americans think they are invincible? In their very short history they’ve had more than their share of blunders and mistakes. Imagine my going to check up on our shelter two days before they bombed the Amiriya. Who would want to use the shelters any more? My neighbours say they now prefer to live with the noise.

  The garden and orchard are beginning to dry out. I use all the washing-up water for the plants. Wish we could have a bit of rain. This morning, having a coffee with Najul in the orchard, I reminded her of another one of my pre-war dreams. In this dream, she was asking me to help her design the garden in her new house – suddenly we were in a garden full of gigantic, dried-up, cactus-like plants. I said, ‘But these are all dry.’ Then, ‘Never mind, we’ll plant a new garden.’ And here we are in Dood’s garden, no water, living this bizarre life. Are we now waiting for this garden to dry up?

  Tonight was peaceful – after the blunder of the shelter they’re laying off us for a while. Maybe now they’ll have to be more careful.