"No Baghdadi Mentioned The Surge"

Okay, so the shiny-happy why-not-go-back- to-Iraq camp's argument was that Nir Rosen is irreparably biased to be reporting meaningfully on Iraq, but I wonder what are you going to dig up on formerly pro-war Iraqi Christian blogger-turned-news photographer Ghaith Abdul-Ahad after watching his recent series of films, City of Walls, which is almost incomparable in pessimism with Rosen:

"I came to investigate the American military reports that violence is falling in Baghdad...that the US surge has transformed the city....what I found contradicts all the official reports, Baghdad is a city where one street is at war with the next, where the people are more desperate than I've ever seen them...it has been transformed into a city of walls...[these walls] are the main reason why the casualities have fallen, not because peace is an odd sway."

Ghaith visits two opposite Sunni and Shi'i districts, one of them is my district, al-Adhamiya, the part which he shows used to be a very lively place filled with car auto-shops, only dogs roam it now, what also amazed is the barbed wire and the gridlock put on the stairway over the highway, there were no such things when I was last there in September 2006.

A friend and I tried to discern whether what he meant by the opposite district was al-Qahira or al-Sha'ab, but in the end, we couldn't tell what it was, and couldn't care, because the only place it brought to our memory was quite telling.

Somalia.

Here's another video from that series.

NOTE: The district turned out to be al-Qahira, speaking of al-Qahira, here's a nice story, my aunt used to live next to our house in Adhamiya, they left to Egypt soon after we left to Jordan, my aunt's husband, Abdilhussein [the only Shia member of our family] returned for some family business a few months later, he wouldn't dare go to their Adhamiya house, so he spent his time in al-Qahira district.

A map of Baghdad clarifying the area where all of this took place.

The Myth of The Surge

Listen to Nir Rosen, this guy has got it nailed:

But such political maneuvers don't really matter in Iraq. Here, street politics trump any illusory laws passed in the safety of the Green Zone. As the Awakening gains power, Al Qaeda lies dormant throughout Baghdad, the Mahdi Army and other Shiite forces prepare for the next battle, and political assassinations and suicide bombings are an almost daily occurrence.

Review: Pride of Baghdad

In 2003, four lions escaped Uday's private zoo, they were shortly killed afterwards by US troops. The incident took its short lifetime in the news, the sort of trivia to dumb down the war just a little bit before disappearing to join similar anti-depressant news that only lightens things down a minute away from the usual refrain of pounding morbidity.
Thankfully for the rest of the world, that story caught the attention of writer Brian K. Vaughan.
Of course, if it wasn't for the fact that this was set during the Iraq war, I wouldn't have even bothered ; I'm not a comics fan, and like Shooting War,the major elements that compose Pride of Baghdad are all tried and tested, after all, an epic story about anthropomorphic lions was all the rage back then when Simba tried to reclaim his father's kingdom back in 1991. Why, then, is this story one of the best things I have ever read?

Upon tackling an issue as grand as war, novels with an all-encompassing altitude often end up as the victim of their own ambition. Vaughan clearly understands this, and he limits our view of the war-torn Baghdad to the puzzled lions of the Baghdad zoo, don't be fooled by the choice of heroes, Simba and Mufasa are as close to this pride as 60s campy Batman was to The Dark Knight Returns, from the get-go, and amidst the frenzy caused by the US bombing, a giraffe beckons the old gods and then gets her neck cut open by a falling missile which quickly sets the tone of an uncompromising end-of-the-worlds apocalyptic mess, there are so many things to recommend about this book, but its strongest asset is that it completely dispenses of uninformed political statements, it is at its most distilled a straightforward story of a family's survival, which favors a universal approach other than burdensome commentary, that is not to say those lions aren't subliminally political, but they aren't as embarrassingly obvious as the film version of 300 like hastily attached deformities, there are causal throwaway one-liners about the price of freedom, well embedded in the story which is in itself so good that you hardly see them as little more than complementary dialog most of the time. The story is particularly well helped by a sense of doomsday urgency and massive exploration and fascination, particularly the discovery of ordinary constructions of human beings, who are insignificant if not incomprehensible here, most of all, the writers know that first and foremost, a story must move the readers before everything else, the visuals are incredible as well, bringing a magnificent majesty through Miko Henrichon's rendering of war-torn Baghdad elevate the otherwise standard-fare constituents of the story into more than the sum of its parts. Like any good song, the book succeeds in working on multiple layers simultaneously, that by the time this roller-coaster ride of a book comes to a close to its brutally inevitable climax, the creators build up strong emotional rapport between the reader and the lions just to the right point where they take it all down, I was completely mesmerized on various different levels, the abrupt finality, rendered in an unforgettable frame, registered to my memory the thoughts of many Iraqis, sprung from their cages, clueless but fighting with all their struggle to save themselves and their loved ones, Iraqis who were killed with such inadvertent simplicity, in complete denial of their humanity and all that they've been through, it was such a powerful moment, both in the straightforward lion and the allegorical cost of war sense, that rendered me visibly shaken for a long moment.
It is clear that such a powerful work of art cannot be easily followed, and Mr. Vaughn has every right to bask in his triumph as much as he can, as Pride of Baghdad makes almost perfect use of its medium's aesthetics to create the unexpected war story that lays down the cost of war at its most engrossing and harrowing, it succeeds on all fronts and fulfills every ambition. A must read.

Been There, Done That.

This person was in my college, he was my age in the IT department, me and my friends weren't very fond of this guy ; he didn't anything to us personally but he belonged to the slick and stiff category and he had enormous height and an array of suits, which certainly helped him to the purpose, he would often adopt a supposedly formal face that we liked to term 'Makil Qanadir (Shoe-eater)', in fact, a normal mini-game in our mornings was to approximate his official frown size to the virtual size and/or accessories of a shoe that he supposedly ate before coming to college. Those varied from Shoelace Noddle Soup, to the downright butch size 46 basateel.

This person was found killed alongside two of his friends in a car on the Qanat bridge, which is near Sadr City, they were back from college after receiving their exam scores. one of them was sunni and the other two were shia, the person himself worked in the interior ministry so he was probably shia. nobody knew why they were killed, and i don't think anybody puzzled much ; it's simply too common. one of the boys however was rumored to be connected to the Mahdi, which makes it even more puzzling since they were killed near the Mahdi stronghold. his best friend, who recently became a close friend of mine due for geographic reasons, called me and told me the news, sobbing. I didn't feel anything.

As a matter of fact, I did feel something for a brief second, it was - this guy will no more try to find jobs, get married, have children, be happy, be sad, travel, swim, play pool, have diarrhea. He turned in for the day.

He's so lucky.

I'm sorry Haitham, for all the qanadir we made you eat in those past years. i hope you forgive us and may you live happily ever after.

oh and by the way, blackwater, fuck you. do you think we will tolerate this anymore?



happy ramadhan.

Virginia Gunman Chou Plays

Here's the first one, basically a 13 year old fighting with his stepfather, Richard McBeef
and here's the second one: Mr. Brownstone.

Iraqi Resistance and the US plan

Dear reader,

I'm gonna tell you something that all the Iraqis who pretend they're full of pride and shit don't tell you, every Iraqi who knows what's good for him wants the US military plan to happen - it's a known fact today that while US soldiers do occasionally rape 15-year-olds and add naked photos of our hairy butts to their family albums, they are still infintely more trustworthy than any Iraqi soldier from anywhere. When an American soldier knocks on your door for a search, you go 'oh thank god' but when Iraqis do the same, you are instantly on your toes. Forget about all those Iraqis and Arab bloggers who live outside or have never been in there recently, they don't know what it is like - Iraq is dead - we are living in a newfound, and very real, age of sect. The intellects and all the other deadbeats like you and me who do nothing but bitch about how Iraq is great and how we had a beautiful country before the war are having a hard time accepting this, but they're going to have to deal with it.
The American forces are the only forces that are to be relied upon in Iraq, as sloppy and careless as they are, because they don't have anything personal against Abu Haneefa or Musa al-Kadhim, I may have comitted national blasphemy by saying this, but it's 100% better to be honest than a nationalist hypocritical asswipe like most Arabs and Iraqis are. First step towards healing is diagnosis. I really hope they completely remove Sadr City and Adhamiya from the map.

Adhamiya

Ahh, my age-old district. How much I loved you and how much today I come to despise you, for harboring all those Saddamists and criminals who masqueraded under the glorious name of resistance, yes I did support them but only because I was afraid of the Anees & Badr Corps.
The other day, during the same day when Zeyad's brother reported a death of his neighbor, I actually lost a relative, the holy rockets which have been blissfully directed by the Hidden Imam, may Allah hasten his alarm clock, has finally managed to kill my aunt's husband's brother. You wanna hear something funny?

He was a Shiite, 100% to the bone, and the only Shiite linegae in our honest-to-Abu Haneefa Sunni family.

How I got the news? I woke up at 7 AM the next day, my mother came and told me immediately....I have cried like crazy over my four dead friends, and I was very upset about the death of a number of people, but that day I glanced uninterestingly...and then I shrugged, I said: 'Serves him right. He should've went out of the hellhole a long time ago.'

The fact that I didn't even bother to write about it then gives you an idea of how much emotional I got all about it. Death is to us a fact of life - examine the beautiful irony in the previous sentence. How did I become like this? I have attained the languid unconsciousness of an assassin with all the insecrutiy and the tight-sealed anger sown deep down inside. I am ready to do atrocities without flipping an eyelid if you want me to. Maybe if I was stupid and immature I would've already been with the rest of em, carrying an AK-47 I don't know how to use correctly in front of our local mosque, praying very little and cursing very much while exchanging short semi-porno clips on my latest Nokia mobile. Glorious be my crusade nevertheless, for I am an Iraqi Resistance.


Here are some of my other news which I didn't care much to say :

About a month ago, another college friend of mine was near killed in a bus stop, he was riding a minivan heading towards a Shiite district, al-Jowadir, when the beloved Iraqi resistance came and showered everyone with the bullets of mercy, ending their pitiful existence as sheep waiting for the slaughter, the bullet has come for you, Nameer - but Nameer had a thick butt, and the bullets couldn't get through him - they tore through every non-critical part of his body but they left his heart, lungs, head and penis intact, so he could continue to live as a decent human-being - he did lose his left hand though, and he is a lefty.
As Borat would've said : "High Five!"...oops, sorry I forgot you don't have a hand anymore.

and also I forgot to mention the lovely incident of Ubada, another college friend of mine who is also a glorious resident in Adhamiya, and precisely at the Sifeena, home of the most glorious freedom fighters - this Ubada is a bearded guy with blue eyes who likes to frequent the mosques and distribute Sunni bloc Accordance Front fliers, and one day his pop tells him to go bring something from his auntie's empty house, as she was a smart woman and left Iraq about a few months ago, little did poor Ubada know, but the house was rigged by the beautiful Iraqi resistance in case the infidels come in to try and search it.

The limbs that were once Ubada were collected and buried at Abu Haneefa mosque, so long, martyr, too bad you didn't have any pussy in your short 21-years-old life while you were busy doing all that mosque touring, well, maybe in heaven with your 77,000 virgins.

Ali's Illiad

July, 2006
Amman
El Mawardi Cafe, al-Rabiya

I was meeting my friend Rami for the first time since he relocated to Jordan since 2005, he has brought his friend, Mohammed, with him. Mohammed is a very pleasent, good-natured kid, he's three years younger than both of us, and he's a Shiite. Rami is also a Shiite, but his mother is a Sunni. After a pleasant introduction and a slew of jokes to break the ice, I asked Mohammed why did he move to Jordan. This is what he said:

My father, Ali, runs a contracting firm in al-Harthiya district in Baghdad. Six months ago, masked gunmen broke into his firm, beat my father until he was unconscious, then took him and dumped him in the trunk, and rode on...my father woke up shortly thereafter, and the first thing he did was empty his pocket of all the business cards of foreign firms. After a long and bumpy ride, the gunmen took my father and threw him in an empty room in a deserted, dirty house. They accused him of working with the crusading occupation.

The gunmen called on Mohammed's family, and demanded a big chunk of money as ransom (I can't remember the exact amount, but it was impossible), they wanted it in two days notice or his father will be beheaded.
Those two days were, needless to say, frantic. In between sits with his mother, his uncles and cousins, and selling everything they can get their hands on...Mohammed's family managed to obtain the desired sum.

As for his father, the Mujahideen said to him: You shall spend the day alone, tomorrow the Emir will come and decide what your fate shall be.
and with these words, they left. and Ali slept.

With the fact that Ali's father deals with foreign firms (Mohammed didn't say exactly what was the type of business) and his Shi'ism, there was little chance that the Emir will persuaded to understand the concept of mercy in this case. Also bear in mind that back in 2005, sectarain killings weren't as audacious as they were today, they were usually veiled in ransoms.

Sometime after that, Ali's father woke up, alone. After a time of defeated idleness...Ali decided that he will not go down without a fight, he tried with all his might to do something about the rope that ties his hands...after much wriggling, the rope somewhat let loose and he was freed - after a brief euphoria, Ali realized that nothing much has been achieved, perhaps the Mujahideen didn't care much about tying him up, because the room was locked and there was only a small, high window that will not provide exit to anything but a cat.

So this is how it ends, huh?

Ali's father looked around, gave up and cried...

Is there a God? the question was posed for centuries past, but in this particular case, I strongly think so.

As as footnote, Ali's father decided to feel the bricks in the wall, which was unpainted. Lucklily, one brick was loose...Ali's father did all what he can to further pull the brick out of way, after much work and effort, he did pull it out, and used it to destory the adjacent bricks.

Half an hour later, Ali's father went out in the open like a madman who has never seen the sun...the area in which he was was semi-barren, he went running into the middle of the desert, people who were in the area fled, and as he was crying for help from a pick-up truck, the driver alarmingly drove away, Ali's father collapsed in the middle of the street.

10 minutes later, however, the pick-up truck returned, carried Ali, and provided water and food for him. He drove him down into Ramadi, found a way for him to get into Baghdad, and wished him well with these words: "This is just you know that not everyone in Ramadi are bad people. I bid you farewell."

Ali's father returned late that day, the next morning, Mohammed and his uncles were supposed to hand a briefcase filled with cash to the Mujahideen in exchange for Ali's safety.

They were sitting dead silent when Ali's father came banging on the door....his mother cried again, but this time it was tears of joy.

The next day, Mohammed, his father Ali, his mother and his siters were on the road leading to Ramadi again, but this time they weren't stopping until they reach all the way to Amman, Jordan.


NOTE: The father's real name is not Ali, in the previous story, the boy was actually named Omar. I am recounting the story from my memory, so several details may be missing.

Omar's Oddyssey

---------------------------------------------------
This is a translation of the Arabic posted a week ago
----------------------------------------------------

In the past, I didn't want to leave Iraq - earlier to February 2006, life was difficult, but in a way, Iraqis got used to it, after my friends were killed, it took on a whole new meaning, and two days after the last friend passed to the world beyond, I heard this story, it was all I needed to know that there is no life for me here anymore.

Had this story told by anyone other than a guy that I know won't talk crap to me, I would have immediately called it off as typical Iraqi exaggeration one way or the other, Omar may have exaggerted as some point or the other - as it simply involves pretty much everything and everyone you see on TV - and much, much more! You are probably so bored of individual Iraqi death stories by now but this one simply crosses the Rambo line.

WARNING: This story has a happy ending.

------------------
ENTRY
------------------

An oddyssey normally refers to the mythical trip undertaken by Odysseus in ancient Greek literature, where he encounters strange beings and nameless creatures on his way back home. The following real-life story has been narrated to me by a friend of mine, Omar, one hot morning in Baghdad, and if it doesn't qualify as an honest-to-Homer Oddyssey, I don't know what does.
Omar is my Kia driver, he is my age, but have dropped out of high school midway through and started a carrier as a plumber, before buying a Kia and starting this 'line'. He is mentioned earlier in my blog, in this post. Omar is a streetwise kind of guy, but in the same time he is such a sweet lad, despite his constant swearing and sun-burned tan that suggests back-alleys, his green eyes betary a niceity which I have seen very little of these days.
One day, Omar's mother, his sisters, and two younger brothers (one born 1987, the other 1990) were all taking a taxicab from now-infamous Adhamiya, unfortunately, the taxi dude turned out to be a chewer, (i.e. a person who's connected to a criminal organization one way or the other, the traditional menaing of chewer indicates the middle man between regular people eligible for kidnap and murder, and the interested gangs) The Chewer delievered them to their Grandfather's house safe, but, perhaps on knowning that they are Sunni in someway, or perhaps of something they might have said, the guy returned with 3 pick-up trucks, broke the door and took the two boys away.
Omar wasn't around at the time, his mother called him weeping and sobbing, after knowning what has occured, he hurried back home, took a Shiite friend of his, who we shall call Salim, and went as fast as he could to an area in Baghdad now known as The Presidential, where a Sadr office is located. By the time he undertook this quest, the time was 9:00 pm, way past the curfew, he was stopped by several checkpoints, frenzily explaining his story he would be let go by the soldiers, at one point he asked them for help, but whenver the words 'militia' was heard, faces would recoil in fear and he would just be let through.
Upon reaching the presidential area, Omar lost his grip and his friend Salim took over driving, the area was barren and empty, like all of Baghdad, after roaming around for a few blocks lost they found a drunk guy, who answered in a drunk, overconfident "Hell, yeah! Sure I know where the office is!!!" They picked him up, and despite his drunk incongruence, he sure knew where the office is. However, The office was just as desolate and unhospitable as everything else is.
At this particular moment, Omar's frustration bubbled to the surface, and he let loose in massive frantic that cursed all the Shiites on the face of the earth, he kept on screaming, yelling and shouting until the glorious pick-up trucks came back to the office, and beat them inside it. Omar and Salim took a few cables, but the militiamen beat the shit out of the drunk guy, while on duty, in sync with the religious ideology of the Mahdi's army - they assume a very hostile tone to alcohol. That done, Omar and Salim were separated for questioning.

-What's your name?
-Omar. he gave that up, cuz they already looked in his ID
-You Sunni or Shiite?
-Shiite (cable slashes across his body)
-Don't talk shit to me now.
-Sunni....Sunni....
-What brought you here?

Omar told him his whole story, the tale was filled with joyful intermissions exercised by the investigator on Omar's thin, frail body. After the investigator got tired, they brought Salim, who looked like he's been treated with a similar reception, and then shortly afterwards came the Sayyid.
Sayyid is the 'religious authority' in the office, he's the guy with the turban, all militiamen cowered in respect, he asked the two about their names, and then quickly issued his verdict. "Those people are terrorists, go to Sadda and kill them very well."

------------------------
MEANWHILE.....
------------------------
Man: What is your name?
Omar's youngest bro: Mazin
Man: Are you a Salafi (Wahhabi)?
Mazin : No.
Man: Do you love Ali?
Mazin: Yes.
Man: Curse Omar.
Mazin: (curses Omar)
Man: Tell me what you know about the 'brave resistance'?
Mazin: I don't know anything....
(Man falls with a sledgehammer deep on Mazin's fingernails....a horrible shriek comes from Mazin, as broken nails are driven deep inside his own flesh in a mess of blood.)
Man (laughing): Good. The Mujahideen has taught you not to speak.

Afterwards, Mazin has heard the name of that man, when Omar told it to me, it was the first time I ever heard of it, but I would hear it countless and countless times after that.
The man's name was Abu Dera'.

----------------------
SADDA
----------------------
The executioner took the two unfortunate men and hurled them inside Omar's own minivan (Kia), they were blindfolded, he switched the ignition, and the car was filled with Hussam al-Russam's Iraqi party music, he quickly turned it off and murmuered in anger, and the car now headed to Sadda. Sadda is an area in Sadr City that serves as the execution ground for the Mahdi's army, Omar has now gone from crumbling despair through unflinching anger into silent oblivion. But his friend Salim kept talking to the man every now and then.

-Sir, where are we going.
-Sadda.
-How long yet?
-Soon. ...
-Sir, are you going to kill us?
- ....

The sir didn't answer, and his silence soon grew until it horribly engulfed the whole car, Omar became certain of his destiny at that moment, and he began reciting the Shahadas (couplets recited by Muslims upon death) as quickly and repeatedly as possible, he said that all he was thinking about at that particulalr moment of time was how his mother has wound up with losing all her sons together, he just wanted to have once last chance to see her and tell her goodbye.
The car reached the Saddah, the man descended and took the two silent boys to the ground, he took his gun out, reloaded....and then his mobile rang out. The caller ordered the man to stop the execution but continue routine investigation. It seems that Salim's father has connections, and his connections worked at just the right time.

As I told Omar, and as Iraqis normally would say, Omar has "the luck of bitches."
They were transferred from in various cars afterwards, until finally reaching an air-conditioned prison, the drunk man was reinstated in the shithouse, though.
After a merciful investigation that didn't involve attempts to connect coaxial cables with Omar's asshole, a man came smiling sociably and said: "Amoori, we apologize, you're free to go."
"What about my brothers?"
"They are doing well and alive in Sadr City. Don't worry, they will return soon."

For the first time that night, Omar exhaled.

------------------------------
OUTSIDE
------------------------------

Omar and Salim came out at 3 AM, like wet dogs in the rain, they rode Omar's Kia and proceeded down the road, but no sooner than they had crossed a few blocks that a swarm of bullets was being fired at them by local generator guards who mistook them for thieves. Omar pointed to the side of his Kia and sure enough, a nice line of holes decorated the side of the dark purple van. After they were well out of the way, they were met by, lo and behold, the old bandits of the streets! the average carjackers...four Opels flashed their headlights in the distance before Omar managed to use his experience as a Kia driver and dodge them around some side-streets, eventually ditching the car in some dump and spending the night at a friend's house.

Omar arrived in his house in Adhamiya the next day, to find that 2 brothers have already arrived before him, the older one wasn't tortured much, they only used his face as an ashtray, putting them out on his mouth, cheeks, nose and eyelids....but the youngest.....

the youngest was another story, a horror story, Abu Der'a's sledgehammer has made good memories out of his fingernails, and had transformed his knee-joints "Soaps, in Arabic" into actual soaps. His back was filled with light drill marks here and there....and whatever was left of him was filled with all sorts of mischief. He was immediately transported to Adhamiya's major hospital, al-Numan.

By noon, Omar's modest household was filled with all sorts of people - family relatives, friends and other people....soon, a group of men who Omar described as "al-Mujahideen" came smiling and tender, Omar's voice beamed with pride as he talked of the way one of them, upon wrapping up their diplomatic mission, swore to Omar that they'd make them pay back by 'hijacking a bus of Shiites.'

-----------------------------

"But, but, is that right?" I said to Omar in a low voice that came from the depths of some unrealistic pool that felt like an obligation, a laughable imitation of the corny, fake stuff they put on television.

"You're right, sure sure...I even told them so..." Omar's voice was just as dead.

NOTE: This story is happy, because nobody is killed - that's how far can a story be considered 'happy' in Iraq.

Looks familiar?

The picture is hauntingly familiar to the one in the previous post, then again, what is more like death than death itself?


I chose not to say anything when Mahmood al-Hashimi died, as as most of you say I may be biased, and in terms of Iraqi politics a person's best course would be to curse everyone in office and get it over with, but now I feel an obligation.


Today's morning, Amir al-Hashimi, brother of [Sunni] vice-president Tariq al-Hashimi was killed by a dozen of gunmen posing as security officers who broke into his house and killed him after disposing of his bodyguards.

This is the 3rd close relative of Tariq al-Hashimi to be killed in the past year, with his brother and his sister being the 1 and the 2.

and now I would like to talk about my father.

father was just like me in his early days, he even got as far in the imitation as having a bad haircut and playing godless American rock anthems on acoustic guitars until one day he smashed the guitar into pieces and found religion, which is where I seem to be heading.
Haji Amir, his architect friend and the good-natured SAINT who built al-Anbiyaa mosque and who was killed by Badr back in July 2005, was his first close friend to die in the unfortunate series of executions that followed, I shed tears for him though little I have known him, but for his good soul that is so hard to find in these black days, Mahmood al-Hashimi was his 2nd close friend to die. Although I did not know the guy then, but from the responses I got from my grandmother when she heard the news I could feel that he was just as good as Haji Amir.
And now Amir al-Hashimi, who was also a friend of father but not as close as these two.
When my father returned from his work today and heard the news, he immediately went to the balcony and sat all by himself, saying nothing, looking at the sky, I was afraid to look at him, and I experienced a cold shudder of sadness and molten anger.

I do not know Tariq al-Hashimi personally or his family relatives, but I know my father, and I know the sort of people he hangs out with, in the place where I come from, a religious person meant a guy who knew his rights from his wrongs, a person you could trust, a person who could never lie or steal ; my father never scolded me for my guitarplaying or forced me to wear certain things ever, and he has the sign of praying (a patch of changed skin on the forehead that results of much praying when the forehead touches the ground) on his face. The people who he hung out with were good, honest people, people you could really love, people of virtue. NOT the extremist, life-hating, vengeful caricatures Muslims have been cornered into, nor are they the pro-Baathist dictator scum Sunnis in Iraq have often been shoe-horned as.

Whenever I would go into a mosque and sit down after prayer I would feel the peace engulfing me, a calamity and understanding that becalms one outside the cyclone of life outside, the constant searching for meaning and answers...the tough-guy posturing and the struggle for bread.
But now these people are exterminated, exploited and destoryed in this meaningless Wahabi vs Rafidhi war.

Man, this is turning into an obituary.

On a much lighter note, errr....

errr...

....

"The nights of toil have stolen the smile of the lips"
"And years are spent in despair and eagerness"
"Yet, there still is hope in my spirits, never smoldered"
"And I feel my soul, still enfolded, and awaiting"
- Bassim

6/11

June 12, 2006 : a scene from the mourning ceremony - I am the guy with the transparent square mark on his face near the bottom left corner.


and click here to hear me leading the mourning rituals for a few seconds before being overcome by emotion:
http://www.badongo.com/file/1442062


When I look at the calendar, the blackest day of my year is June 11.
It is quite ironic that my personal tragedy bears more than a passing resemblance to the more collective one, all it takes is to turn the 6 upside down.

This post was published in a slightly modified version in my last New York Times group blog, I consider it one of my best posts to date.

In the movie “Syriana,” George Clooney labels the first Arab dude to appear in the film - a terrorist, naturally - as “son of a goat.” I have heard this “nickname” in other forms enough to assume it is more than a passing oddity. Since I am an Arab and proud of it, I am also a son of the goat, however, today I am allowed my right to speak. This is what I say:

Four of my friends were killed by a huge double roadside bomb that exploded in Karada on Sunday June 11. That’s right, four, count them … that is, if you can identify their bodies. Forever gone — can you imagine that? Since you are all comfy in your air-conditioned rooms sitting on armchairs, sipping Pepsi or Kool-Aid or whatever it is that you care to sip while your sons and daughters go safely to colleges and your spouses sleep in bedrooms million miles away from here, I’d like to take the opportunity to offer what it feels like to be insane amidst the apocryphal hell of Iraq, both weather-wise and people-wise.
I wish I could fill the rest of my article with expletives, but since I am writing for The New York Times, I can’t. So be it.
They were the best of people. Two of them, my best friends, were Shiites; another was Sunni and the other was Christian — an example of unity that can never be portrayed in a million years by the hypocritical fake advertisements they numb us with on TV. Three of them lived in the internal hostel because their families were abroad, and each one’s story is sadder than the other.
Ninos, the Christian, was perhaps the kindest person I ever met, the type that fills you with a warm glow when you speak with him … you connected to a forgotten fountain of happiness that was spurred by his natural do-goodness. He had just two weeks until he would have finished his final exams and returned forever to the safety of Kurdistan, where his Assyrian family resides.
Yahya was a Sunni from Mosul, also a nice guy: He could not even hurt the ground he stepped on. (He and Ninos were roommates, and were called “the saints” by their neighbors.) His family had moved to Egypt after being threatened. He had one week until he was to leave for home, and on top of that, get married. The girl in question is in our academic department. She is now in a state of paralysis.
The third, Hobi, was a Shiite of Turkish descent from Karbala. He was my best friend. The day before, I asked him if we could take a picture together since this was the last year of college and I would probably never see him again after he set off for Spain, where his mother lives. Little did I know I would get that picture, and that it would be a picture of his grave.
I remember precisely the moment when I got the phone call at 10:30 p.m. telling me that three of them were dead.* The time went very slowly. The room, just a minute earlier moist and extremely hot, became sullen and cold. In the living room Nancy Ajram was loudly assuring us of her undying joy and devotion, strangely out of context.
I went upstairs and wept alone. I wept all day, frequently looking at the mirror and gesturing incoherently … Robert DeNiro would’ve been ashamed …
The next day, while I was walking in the protest in which the three coffins were held up high and marched around the college courtyards, everyone was crying, everyone was shouting — it was a terrible sight. But when I heard the shouts “No! No to Terrorism!” up ahead, I didn’t feel a thing. They were exploiting us, we the people, we the good people of Iraq who never looked at our good friends as Sunni, Shia and Christian — these divisions did not exist. We cried for them together. We prayed the Islamic funeral prayer over all three of them, even though it is supposed to be unacceptable in Islam to pray for the Christian dead. I didn’t feel that I wanted vengeance towards Zarqawi in particular. I didn’t know why then, but I think I do now: because it is not only Zarqawi who is to blame.
My world has not been the same since that day. Everywhere I go there are small marks that bear their faces or actions of the past (like when England wins in the World Cup, of which Hobi was a great fan), and the lectures that Ninos used to make clear to us less-gifted students, and the countless pictures, tokens of a better time that I cannot bear to look at again. Even when I close my eyes to sleep, nightmares creep in and welcome me. Yesterday I dreamt I was killed by marines; before that I was abducted by militias … it goes on and on.
And there you sit, comfortable in your ignorance, sipping on your Pepsi and choking on your Burger King while I tell you the a story of one of those statistical body counts. You are to blame. Your ignorance was a major cause of all this.
I remember back in 2003, when the Americans were still treated as curious aliens. Children of all sorts walked to the American soldier, the proud, brave liberator … Strangely, he was Mexican in origin and the first question that he asked was, Sunni or Shiite? See what I mean? In my past three articles, you can clearly see that I went with the sectarian trend of my times, but now I see my grave mistake — it was a trend undoubtedly ignited, encouraged and adopted by the ignorant anti-terrorist-pro-divide-&-conquer U.S. liberals. It was with difficulty that I identified my friends today, my dearly loved friends, as “Shiite” and “Sunni” and “Christian.” I will never do that again.
Later that night, I printed out a glorious color picture of Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi, the flag of Iran, and the American star-spangled banner, put them one on top of the other in the backyard, the American flag on top of all, and set them all to flame … I didn’t feel a goddamn thing. I don’t consider my actions in the above paragraph justified, even morally correct. I apologize for that, but it’s the truth. Heck, I’m going to write to Bono to ask him if he can do a song about my friends, but I’m not hoping for much.
**
I said that four people were killed, but only talked about three. The last person, Saif, survived the explosion and was hospitalized with third-degree burns. I visited Saif that first day; his face was completely unrecognizable. He kept asking me about the fate of the three others, tears stuck at the corner of his eye. I told him they were fine.
Five days later, I had a dream where I met Sayoofi on the streets. He looked much healthier but somehow out of touch. I woke up giddy and expectant that day; He died that afternoon.
I did visit him on that last day and he told me the story of the explosion. It contained some interesting details :
Saif: “When the explosion occurred, the four of us were walking hand in hand. All of a sudden I felt myself hurled 50 meters in the air, and felt a severe burning all over my body. I wore a t-shirt which eased the pain on my arms; not so for my legs. All around me people were burning and moaning horribly; the stench was unbearable. I could still walk and I crossed the street, calling for anyone I saw for help. When I reached the other side, I flung myself in a pool of mud and water — people came and started throwing cold water on me. I had barely settled when a second larger explosion rocked the streets. I looked behind me and saw the building set to flames, Ninos [the Christian] was beside me: his face was white and something had entered his stomach.”
Here Saif stops with tears running down his face to ask me for the zillionth time about the other three. I tell him that they are resting just as he is.
As for the second explosion: that explains why the body of Yahya (the guy from Mosul) was so unrecognizable. When we saw him at the morgue, he was a big piece of coal. It’s likely that he did not have the luxury of walking away from the second explosion.
Saif: “Afterwards, a police vehicle came and picked both of us up; he drove a short distance before throwing us back on the streets, saying that he did not know the route! A passenger bus picked us up next. Ninos fainted and became very white [we now know that his lung was destroyed], then another police car picked us up. He dropped us at Ibn al-Nafees hospital, where they separated me from Ninos. They ignored me for half an hour and let me burn silently until I barricaded the nearest doctor I could find. My uncle worked in the hospital and he managed to transfer me to the Italian hospital [which is where we were now].”
Two important points: The first policeman was probably in on the explosion, which occurred near a jewelry store; he probably left my injured friends there to guarantee his share of the loot. Second, nothing works in Iraq except by connections (which got Saif into a better hospital). Even if Ninos’s injuries had been treatable, he probably would have died just the same because of negligence and the dirty conditions in the hospital.
***The last time I felt genuinely happy was ten days before the explosion, on Graduation Party day. When I look at the pictures now, they seem to be from a blurry and distant past. Many students from our class are packing up and leaving. I was a strong supporter of staying in Iraq before these events, because (a) call me stupid, but I loved my country, and living abroad sucked for a variety of reasons, and (b) unlike Zeyad, a rare case of someone who became a popular blogger and got accepted to journalism school in the U.S., I can only afford to work or study here in Iraq (in Amman, where my family resides, jobs are hard to find and school is expensive.) The truth is that even after the explosion, I was still undecided, but a story a friend told me the other day — a horrible, Hollywood-like experience that is too long to be told here — changed my mind permanently.
I am sorry, but nobody of sane mind can live here … We Iraqis have been so used to being kicked and dragged through the mud that we did not recognize the abyss in which we found ourselves. But there comes a time when you look around see your world for what it is and cannot take any more of it. I hate to be a whiner, but I tell you nothing but the absolute truth. Iraqis today are strange, sorry creatures — confused, constantly paranoid, and filled with distrust and hatred.
I wish I could tell you how can we fix this. Although the Americans had the upper hand, in my opinion, they no longer do — it’s been a lost in a sea of blood. When I return to our area these days from college, I come into a real-life “Vanilla Sky” ghost town — streets are vacant, some shops are open but their doors are near-shut and people with guns stand at the door. Shiite purging has finally reached us and it did not manifest in small ways: there is a dried pool of blood about 100 meters away from my house.
The only solution I can think of comes from an old Soundgarden song:
Black Hole Sun, won’t you come and wash away the rain

Iraq is Dead: A Snapshot of a week in hell

THURSDAY : (Entering Baghdad)
I left Amman in a nice sunny day, booked my flight - boarded my plane, the flight took an hour and a little more, everything went so smoothly, but the minute I stepped down of the plane I was immeidately whipped on the head by the unmistakable stench of Iraqi heat - a mixture of scroching hot sun, a rotten humid underscore that makes you want to grab the razors and even more scorching heat - It hit unapologetically and very buddy-like, and I immediately secretly wished that I would never be here.
and hereby begins the mockery of Iraqi Airport System.
half-hour long passport queues, messy customs, and my taxi driver gets sick of waiting and bails. I was expecting it, but it's never really the same except once you live it.
After another half-hour of fighting over taxis, which culminated in a second fight after we got the taxi because I rode with two dudes I don't know who happened to go to the same place (see how desperate) who refused to tip the taxidriver, ergo, of course, no taxi ever goes to the inside of Adhamiya anymore so he dropped me off at Nidaa mosque, the nearest placemark.
On the way, I took a glimpse of the forlorn streets of Baghdad, it was actually better than I expected, as the half-empty streets contained fragments of human presence every now and then, and the streets were busy and hectic - but I was told that this was because of the fact that it was Thursday, last day of the week.
I reached home, after a customary kiss-and-tell, the electricity went off. the generator was out of fuel so I had to refill from a half-filled 20-liters can, oh well, here we begin.

FRIDAY: I woke up, washed, dressed, then hit the mosque prayer, Friday was a curfew so nobody went by car, and since I went a bit late the street was empty, but not that EMPTY! it was desolate, like some scene from a Western movie. For the first time since I don't remember, the mosque wasn't filled to the brim...I actually managed to pray inside the mosque's actual building and not the courtyard, a first in god-knows-when. and I actually managed to listen to the speech this time!
When I got back home, Grandma Ta'iffiya already let loose of the friendly gossip of the latest death casualities on the civillian war front, check this sadly tragic story: A poor boy merchant who sells groceries is killed at the mostly Shi'ite district of Kamm, the grocery market on the outskirts of Adhamiya, while heading to the cemetery, the van has a tragic accident and the uncle dies, a week later, another son is kidnapped then killed, naturally. They make it to the cemetery this time, but the father looks upon the three tombs and then falls flat on top of them lifeless out of misery and shame, the mother, hearing this, goes into semi-paralysis and is still at the hospital.

This story alone is worth a post by itself, it is stories like these that make me curse our glorious nation indefinitely and take out an AK-47 and just kill about everyone in sight.

Disgusted with it all, I pretend to read for my upcoming final exam - which is a week soon.

SATURDAY: American vehicles have been passing sparodically at noon from our relatively uninteresting street. I spend the day refilling our two generators and buying fuel from a home-delivery gasoline dude. We buy 65 liters for 60 I.D.
At night, a bullet flies out of nowhere and breaks the lower glass pane in Grandparents' living room; triggering a plethora of jumping and squealing before start a body count and find out everyone's all right.

SUNDAY: I spend the day re-arranging Grandparents living room furniture, with the beds AWAY from the window as possible. American activity outside is increasing while I hear rumors of a crackdown tomorrow.
On a more cheery note, I finally have a pretext for walking half-naked around the house, which is something I couldn't do in normal-hot Amman and with five guys around in a small appartment, yay!

MONDAY: American soldiers close down the street and proceed to search an entire side of the streets while totally neglecting the other side (our side), this is apparently the case on all streets. They get into a house for like 10 minutes, stare around, ask about weapons, then put a small flag on your front door and go to the next house.

TUESDAY: I wake up, go to the kitchen, and before you know it, just when I leave the kitchen, the house is filled with born-and-bred Star-spangled Americans, along with four usual dirty policemen, they spend a confused two minutes at the living room, while two or three search the nearby rooms, a policeman tries to touch my guitar, while another US soldier finds out a book about CIA and gets unreasonably excited. They find out that Gpa was military ambassador at the US in the 50s and go nuts. when asked for weapons, Gpa whips out his 1950s revolver, they shrug and write no guns; we've already hid all the other weapons somewhere nice.
5 minutes after they leave, I dress in prepartaion for going to college, to find out that my mobile was stolen!
Apparently, one of the police commanders stole it while I wasn't looking - my phone looks very fancy (a Siemens X, called in Iraq the Scissors cuz of its extra keyboard and the way it folds) but is actually dirt cheap, anyway, I tried calling it but to no avail.
Tried going to college but after a very sweaty 15 minutes of walking I am sent back home by a nervous national guard who stops me halfway through the street.
Damn.

WEDENSDAY: I call my phone, a man with a very crude southern accent picks up after several rings and tell me not to call again or he will 'tear my ass'. Later that day, during a series of prank-calls in which we lost it a little, a neighbor calls up my number and tells the nice policeman that we have known all about him and his unit number and we will not rest until we fry onions on his bare naked bottom. I mimicked sounds of a US soldier in the back, the guy was as silent and nice as little girl on her first day of primary school.
Anyway, it was still not worth the trouble of tracking him down, although Adhamiya residents in general enjoy any clash with the Police commanders, so I called the mobile company and had the SIM card deactivated.
Electricity has been absent for 10 days.
------------------------------

Life in the past week has made me confirm many deductions which I have wished to God that will not come true, From the moment I felt the harsh, cruel wind slap me like an angry mother punishing her child for being so late to come home to the moment I am writing these words to you in a small net cafe which is the only shop open in a dark, scary street with no cars and small nearby children playing football, a once glowing, lively street with people that were living in a small world all of their own, I am filled with an immeasurable sense of loss and hate, HATE at everyone who took up an official seat and blurted words beyond a microphone. I am positive that my faith in my country has been shattered beyond repair once and for all...living in Iraq, you don't know how much of a mockery that statement is, life in Iraq is little beyond shadowy representations of life as you know it, it is madhalla, humilliation, I feel sorry for anyone who cannot leave this fucking shithole forever.

Yet sometimes, a strange delusion creeps up to my being, at times when I innocently forget about the hardships of life and the cruetly of time and laugh at a dirty joke with my neighbors, we are transported in a space-time continum in a dilirium of stupid happiness, when I fondly play soccer with the neighborhood kids while the local teenage mosque guards are about 10 steps away from us, holding their tense shotguns and pretending to be our saviors.

The last time I wished I could stay in Iraq was when I went to college, I met many friends who I haven't seen in months, we laughed, we cuddled, we talked girls, movies and football like the old days, and it was this that I really wanted, the way everyone should live - but even there in my enclosed atmosphere of the college, something sinister evokes the darkness, like the half-torn death sign of my four friends who were killed three months earlier, or the fact that half of our department are leaving abroad, including many college professors.

I am so full with despair and helplessnes - usually, I blurt out my anger with music, so I whipped out a Shi'ite latmia that never failed to move me, I don't dig the words, but the voice is incredibly mournful and is about the loss of the reverred Imam Ali, the Imam who was so fed up by his own Iraqi followers that he once said: 'Iraq is the land of shikakk and nifaak" (division and hypocrisy). I connect the bittersweet sadness that it invokes with the despair and confusion towards my own homeland, Bassim al-Karbalie should do our national anthem.

" I wish that on that day I was there
and neareth thine shrine I would renew my oath
and I will hold a ceremony for your tragedy and mourn thee
and cry like women who lost their sons on your loss in despair
Yet, I forgot you not, I live in your memory
My being from the distance of separation, O Aba al-Hassan, calls."

Kid escapes Death

It was probably June 14, two days after my four friends were killed. We decided to hold a funeral for them in the college, I remember being a cold sense of detachment from the world and everything in it...I quickly dressed in ALL OUT BLACK. Black shirt, black pants.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized the danger in my uniform, so I opened the buttons of the shirt, reavealing an olive vest underneath! cool, now not only I am in the Mahdir's Army, but also a member of the army.

I whatthefucked and hurled ass out, after all, I was just going to go up the street and rent a taxi...
I told you earlier, I was so detached, however, as soon as I walked to the tip of the street, I changed my mind, and decided to return home.

Tough luck. Three dudes about my age in small motorbikes (lovingly called Bestas in iraq) came lazily behind me, passed me a little bit, then barricaded me.

The guy who was directly at my center was dark of tan and ugly of teeth, he was obviously the leader, his teeth stuck out, Ronaldinho-style. He calmly said :
"Salamaalikum"
I replied, calmly too : 'Aalkumsallum'
'What are you doing here?'
'I am returning home.'
'Where is your home?'
'Near the mosque'
'What mosque?'
The mosque was small and had two name changes, I took a wild bet and after a moment of hesitation I spoke the latter.
He paused for a moment, and then:
''Hop on, let me drive you home'
I was a little panicked now.
'Wait a minute, this is my area, right here is house of Mr. A'
He didn't answer
'I am going to a funeral ; I was just going to pick up a taxi'
It was certain they all carried guns underneath their casual clothes. It is also of no coincidence that they chose to do this here, the place was adjacent to an abadonened farm, where bodies are regularly found, our street witnessed about 10 deaths in the very same area. Even if he bought I was of the area, he could kill me if he thought I was a Shi'ite.
'Show me your wallet'
I showed him, my attitude was a smily nice dude.
'Here's my wallet, and ID'
My first name is neutral, but my second is somewhat more of a Sunni name, although Shiites do name it every now and then. It was not proof enough in my opinion.
The only ID i regularly carry is not my Civil ID, it is my college ID.
The second guy asked, he was more of a wiseguy:
'What's this ID?'
'It's my college ID, university of [Cornyname]'
'What?'
'[Cornyname]'
'What??'
'[CORNYNAME]', he was enjoying this. but the first guy nodded in approval with me
'Cornyname'....
he looked through the wallet, took out the money, looked in the sidepocket where I keep my keys, asked of my other pocket, I showed him my mobile.

'Okay, you're free to go' He returned the wallet, and the money. My impression of him was somewhat positive.
They could still shoot me when I turn my back, but there was a certain change of pace that I recognized that they really are going to let me go.
Ronaldino said, as an aftertaste: 'You're wearing black...'
I quickly said, arms out 'You really think I am THAT stupid if I was of them sonovabicthes?'
'At least you could look more neat'
This was true, my shirt was open and my hair was unshaved, I could pass a decent slipper-torn Madhi's servant anywhere. In a sense, they had a right to stop me, precautions matter, I could only be thankful that the dudes who stopped me had some time to think it over.
'Well, the guys were killed yesterday and I am pissed'
'How?' The wiseguy asked, the third guy was just compars.
'Karrada explosion'
'That's terrorists work' but the side-cracking smile on his face strongly added another dimension to his sentence.
'Okay, bye'.

On thinking it over, I think subconsciously that day, I wanted to die. I was so filled with meaninglessness that day I just wanted it all to end, I couldn't imagine that a living person I talked to just the other day could just vanish....

Shit.

I returned home, and some of the ominous dirge of the past 10 minutes caught up with me, I murmured in quick prayers, but in an hour or two I managed to forget about it.

I changed.

I arrived in college, attended the symbolic funeral and was about to return home when a few friends took me aside and told me not to wear that shirt I am wearing right now again.

'What for?'
'Are you crazy? How could you dare to wear a blue shirt, that's the sign of the FPS police, they could kill you second.'

Shit? You bet your fucking ass!

They didn't understand why I was laughing, you can't dress black, can't dress blue, can't even dress the collegeboy's white after the recent killings....well, that's Iraq for you.


I apologize, I haven't told you about my friends' murder, I have no energy to discuss it again! even if I wanted to, I wrote it twice, and one of them was for the NYT, so I can't publish it.

Maybe I could work it out sometime, but not now.

Battle Of Adhamiya, Live as LIVE can be

(PRELUDE)
I have read so many contradictory and strange reports on the events that summarized the Battle of Adhamiya, between the good people of Adhamiya and the notorious Interior ministry forces, bascially, everybody down there really knows what's going on, so here's how I, until very recently a resident of this glorious area, interpret what happened in the past tragic couple of days.
First off, this isn't the first time that such a thing had happened in Adhamiya, the very same thing, on a smaller scale, was tried last month, and has been happening everyday in short bursts, read my post (The Day I Tried To Go Home), two posts before this one.

On the night of Mahmood Al-Hashimi's death (THURSDAY, Apr 13), clashes in Adhamiya were ferocious, it is said that the usual young dudes were returned home and only the tough guys, the ones with the BKCs and RPGs, were in the zone.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday, April 17 2006
TIME : 2 am

I was at my room, pretending to read, except I just bought myself an amplifier for my electric and was trying to scare the bejesus out of my grandparents sleeping below, Aerosmith was banging hard on my setlist so when the fas hit the ras (Iraqi antonym for fit hit the shan) I didn't know.
Hell was loose outside, all sorts of variations on the word Boom could be heard from all sorts of directions, I shrugged, in our side of the Earth, rat-a-tats at night were the oh-so-mundane lullaby of the bedtime story, they usually subsided after 10 or 15 minutes, probably some wise-asses Shiite back-in-blacks trying to take over the nearest mosque they could get at in the Sunni monster of Adhamiya, or like last time when a dude of the locally set-up watch teams accidentally mistook an American hummer for Interior forces and lashed out, intiating an accidental firefight that lasted for 30 minutes, only this time, it didn't break down.

As time went on, things only got worse and worse, the explosions became less monotonus and more scary, and for the first time in many moons, me, the careless, bohemian 21-year-old guitarist started to feel the pangs of fear, this was different, these goddamn Interior forces, why just couldn't they let us be...

I washed myself at 4 am and tried to pray, from far off, explosions stopped for a minute, triumpahnt cries of 'Allah Akbaar' were heard before the explosions barked back in retort. The event gave me a very uneasy feeling, what WAS going on out there?

I went to sleep.
I woke up at 6:30 am, half an hour before our Kia arrives to take me to college, Abu Esmail was up, as usual, but what was unusual was that the explosions outside did not die down.

This was bad, the room was hot, and I woke up in a pool of sweat, it was one of the few times when I felt an unbearable force of gravity pushing me to the ground and I felt that if only I could just get out of my clothes, my body, and just be free of all this terrible mess, of this inexplicable country, if God could only fleetingly transform me into an unimportant bird that could fly high in the sky singing songs about summer and meadows, as if in some false sugarcandy musical.
Oh my god, Oh my god.
I called the Line Driver, who said that he ain't coming and that All Adhamiya is sealed off.
Sure, I said, how can u come?
I cursed under my breath, took off my half-worn college clothes and slept semi-naked, Abu Esmail was still up.

***

I woke up at 2:30 pm, I heard nothing and I grudglingly I did some few chores before going outside to sniff out some news, Habeeb, my favorite naive neighbor told me that yesterday only five of our guys were killed, two of which were killed by 'friendly fire' or what he cheekily called 'own goal', of the Interior forces, he couldn't say, there were dozens dead ....

Those sons of bitches, they had it coming...
The people of Adhamiya are known for a strong anti-occupation stance, Adhamiya was named because of the Abu Haneefa mosque, otherwise known as Al-Imam Al-Adham (The Greatest Imam) hence the Adham in Adhamiya, the mosque ranks in importance as that of its Shiite counterpart in Kadhimiya, Imam Mosa Al Kadhum's. for these reasons, it is sometimes identified as the leading Sunni territory in Baghdad, in as much as Sadr city is THE shiite region.
Sectarian Badr/Interior forces have been responsible for the deaths of many good men of the area, such as the aforementioned Haji Amir which I talked about...
According to Iraqirabita.org (Arabic), which is so far the same site which told the events as we saw them on ground, about 2 am yesterday, a force of the Interior ministry backed up by militias in civil uniform demanded to enter the area for search operations, since any search operation was prohibited after curfew (11 pm), and the force was not backed up by any joint American coalition forces as instructed by the Interior/Defense ministry directives, the local watchteams refused their entry, clashes erupted soon afterwards... preliminary counts indicate that six vehicles of the Interior commandos were destroyed with its crew and that bodies filled up the aptly-named Omar street.

By the end of the day, I called my Shiite college friend, who told me that life outside was pretty normal and that everyone, except those whose homes are in Adhamiya, have attended seminars. His talk seemed very alien to me at the moment, as if speaking from another planet, I found normalcy irrelevant, he tried to talk me up about the graduation party but I almost wanted to slam the phone in his face, where the fuck are we and where are you? it was weird because normally I didn't give a damn.

Pretty soon, the day ended and the night came, I stayed up waiting, 2 am, 3 am, 4am
nothing....
oh well, I slept it and called it a day.

DAY 2

I woke up at 6:22 am, precisely so because the Alarm clock was mad and furious at me, I woke it up angrily hoping for all that noise to stop, I shut off the alarm,
it didn't stop.

the noise were outside, this time 3 times stronger than yesterday, I didn't even bother to call my line driver. the gunshots and explosions were literally over the top of our heads, calls from anxious relatives came rattling and local people with AK-47s were running in the streets, the mosque gave away a customary Muslim war chant : Allah Akabar , Allah Akabar , La Ilah Ila Allah....
some reports said that gunmen banged on doors and demanded young men to defend the area, nothing of the sort happened in our part of the town. Habeeb and his brother stood outside at the rooftop with their guns ready, much as we did in the days following the Feb.22 Samarra mosque catastrophe. I wished I could participate, but my parents have got rid of all the guns.

My love for my country, incongruent but always there, have focused now on my love for the people of my area, this was one of the dangers of sectarian get-togethers, my grandma, TA'IFFIYA, cursed Shiites on her every passing-by that day, and I don't blame her considering the trauma we've been suffering her for her emotion, wrong and politically incorrect as it may be.
As for the interference of the army in containig the crisis, a relative called and said that the National Guard people were just 'standing there shooting up in the air' while the fight rang on elsewhere.
American forces also joined in, siding up with the Interior forces, I really don't know about this one, I'll ask my pals later today.

Cursing, I slept again at 10 am, woke up at 3 and found that the noise has subsided thankfully, I hurried to Habeeb, we sat together talking girls for a while before his uncle came, telling us of the Interior forces commando who was lain dead at the head of our street for 3 hours...

The fight, as always, took place in the approprietly titled Omar street, as well as the Ras Al Hawash areas nearing the police center.

Fights were rampant around Baghdad college perimeter as well.

That afternoon, My grandparents told me that fliers were thrown in which 'Shiites' threatened to kill or arrest all the youths of Adhamiya, and said that the place have become unsafe for me and they told me that I'd better do the moving out which I've been planning for several months now today.

I quickly hurled up a few items of mine into a taxi and hauled ass, this was 5 pm.
the area was mostly empty, in Kamm street, Iraqi army forces set up checkpoints and began inspecting cars, we left there for my other grandma's house in an area that shall remain unknown.

Today, I called my grandma TA'IFFIYA to see how she was doing, she said things were fine and people at Abu Haneefa mosque gathered : National Guard officials, Msulim Scholars and Interior forces representatives settled to solve the issue, but said that there were rumors of things loose still, I told her I wanted to come back and pick up a few things and she approved this but instructed me to be careful.

I took up a taxi again and as soon as we reached the place I felt a sense of wondrous, wondrous pride of the people of my area, goddamit, we are strong, word on the street that something as big as 400 Interior forces members were killed.

Look at me, all sectarian and igrnoant in this post, but what can u do when hell's split asunder, u run for people who look like you, I'm sorry to say this, but the chances of any average Iraqi Joe considering things in non-sectarian terms, be it the people he meets or the subliminals given off by the color of his underwear, are as much as the appearnce of the proverbial Red Flying Elephant.


All this while the assholes in the g-zone play merry-go-round round the Prime Minister chair.
















Wedesnday, April 19 2006

The Day I Tried To Go Home...

[TRUE STORY]
Thursday, March 23 2006

[SCENE1 :
We are on the outskirts of Adhamiya, THE Sunni territory in Baghdad, largely Shiite National Guard have installed deployments on its outskirts, a convoy of three police cars, filled with members of the notorious Interior ministry forces, arrive and is stopped by the National Guard].

INTERIOR POLICE CAPT : I demand to enter the area
NATIONAL GUARD : You do not have jurisdiction here.
INTERIOR POLICE CAPT: You do not tell me what I have and do not have, we have business to do and we will do it whether you like it or not.
NATIONAL GUARD CAPT: We have an agreement with these guys, we do not enter and they do not hit us, You will not enter.
INTERIOR POLICE CAPT. : Them? We shall enter the place and kill them to the last Jihadist, Fuck them, and their mothers and daughters, we will go in there and tear up their asses, and rape down their mothers and sisters in every house.

[INTERIOR POLICE CAPT. shoots three bullets near NATIONAL GUARD CAPT's feet]

NATIONAL GUARD CAPT. : You did this...okay, then please step right ahead, but I should warn you, they are monsters.

---------------------------------------------------------
[INTERIOR CAPT. rides up his car and the three vehicles progress onward, NATIONAL GUARD CAPT. waits for a bit and then goes to MUJHADEEN, telling them of what happened]

MUJAHEDIEEN : Take your troops and leave the area.

--------------------------------------------------------------
[EARLIER THAT DAY]
a Kia filled with sleep-deprived college students is lazily trotting in a quarter of Adhamiya notorious for its high insurgency factor, in the Kia, KONFUSED KID sits near the driver's seat, pretending to read for yet another exam, a pose he's been doing these whole two weeks, the narrow steets are filled with masked men holding checkpoints]

KONFUSED KID : Something's not right.
KIA DRIVER, a young dude the same age as KONFUSED: Them are just leftovers from yesterday's nightwatch.
KONFUSED KID: True, but why are they all masked?
KIA DRIVER (ponders) : Yesterday 13 returning visitors from Karabala were killed in Amriya....probably it connects....
On the way to college, the Kia drives by, TANTAL, a guy in the same department as Kid's, but has a different ride - the two exchange waves.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE : College, 2pm apx.
(TANTAL's phone rings, it's his mother)

TANTAL's MOM : Hello Sweety Tantal, listen, do not, at ALL costs, attempt to return back home today, it's very dangerous right now and bullets are flying everwhichways, explosions are on a minute basis, please, please, return to your aunt's house in Palestine Street. is that okay?TANTAL : Okay.
--------------------
nearby, KID is met by two people in his line : a guy, JIDIDA and a girl, JUBBA.
JIDIDA : Hey Kid, line's not coming, says he's got car trouble or something...KID : Oh...(looks at JUBBA, who confirms), I guess we'd all have to take a taxi then...
the three pick up their stuff and head back home to Adhamiya.while on taxi, JUBBA's mom calls - tells her daughter not to come back to Adhamiya cuz it's a slaughterhouse right now, the girl has no place to go and tells the mother she's with two guys from her line, Mother grudgingly accepts the fact but tells JUBBA to be careful, and to most importantly stay out of the main roads. JIDIDA makes phone calls for most of the trip, KID - always broke and never caring, is unpetrubed - he sits near the driver and hums to the radio.
-----------------------------------------------------------

SCENE :The roads today were conspicously straightforward, we now are overlooking THE BRIDGE leading to Adhamiya, police forces have completely blocked out the entrance and prevented even people from going across.The other side of the bridge looks promising - smoke rising from several different places, gunshots, minor explosions here and there...

KID : Sounds like Fun day.
The three step out of the taxi.
JIDIDA (to passerby) : Hey, how can we get in there? is Kadhum route open?
PASSERBY : Closed, so is Kassra's, everything is blocked out nowadays.
JIDIDA makes several phone calls at once, JUBBA is infected by his workmanship and does so too.
JIDIDA is flustered, he sits on the pavement.
KID takes a picture of JIDIDA, shows it to JUBBA.
Although JIDIDA seems to lead the scene right now with his businessman like-nervousness and phone calls and KID has kept to himself most of the day,
JUBBA always dicusses things with KID. KID wonders why...

KID : you have no place else to stay?
JUBBA : no. My uncle's in Jihad Quarter, and things are worse there.
KID : Then I guess we'd have to walk you home
JUBBA : You don't really have to
KID : What can we do anyway, all roads are blocked.

After a while, people are finally allowed to cross the bridge at their own risk, the three decide to take their chances, JUBBA's house is at the district just left of the bridge, once the boys get to drop JUBBA home they can be move more freely.as they move near the guards, JIDIDA asks :

JIDIDA : Can we get through?
GUARD is apparently slightly annoyed : Sure, at your own risk.
ANOTHER GUARD, more hippety-hop : Where you wanna go?
JIDIDA : Sifeena(Both guards exchange mocking looks)
ANOTHER GUARD : You'd need a boat, my friend.
KID : What's going on, anyway?
ANOTHER GUARD (with a smile) : Our guys versus yours, you know

The guards were friendly enough, as the three are halfway the bridge, the rucus, which have been quiet for a while, suddenly cracks big to life again - in Technicolor, multiple shots are fired and car sirens bellow somewhere close to where they are heading right now...the three make jokes about death, the atmosphere is tense joking, especially for JIDIDA, who's about to run.as they close on the area, the place is absoultely devoid of any human being at first - a ghost town, an ambulance car whizzes by quickly amidst the backdrop of gunshots. At any minute, a car full of gunmen could pass by and shoot the three stone cold.The street is lined up with shells.
JUBBA : As soon as we near the area, we can go into my friend's house, hers is the first in the sidestreet.
JIDIDA : What are we ever going to do? My father says on the phone the biggest problem is between Sifeena and our houses.
JUBBA : We can stay there until things quiet down, or even our house.JIDIDA is uncomfortable with the idea of hassling girls ; KID senses this and reminds him
KID : Hey dude, you forgot that we got friends here? both JESUS and MAHDI have houses here.
JIDIDA is relieved, JUBBA is a little disappointed.
Once the three enter the actual sidestreets of the area, signs of life begin to show up in volumes, all the usual kids are out on the street, some of them obliviously out of sync exchanging porn pictures on Bluetooth. they decide on continuting the trip to JUBBA's house, a little deeper inside the area.
The three are met with glances, JUBBA is a girl of the area and the two strangers with her merit some explanation.
JUBBA finally gets home, she invites them for a sip of water as a thank-you, KID wanted to give in but he was interrupted by JIDIDA's nervous no-thank-you before he could open mouth.
the two go to JESUS's house, a guy with them in the Kia but didn't go to college that day. JESUS is not christian, they just like to call him that

The street of JESUS is filled with masked men holding AK-47s.
a man talks to one of the masked men
MAN : Yo Mohammed, take off the masks, Americans are patrolling Jirdaagh street...
MASKED MAN doesn't answer, three other masked men arrive, a car finally picks them up all and heads off somewhereJIDIDA almost pisses his pants at the sight.
JIDIDA : Who are these guys?
KID : Probably Mujahideen of the area
JIDIDA : Goddamn.
The two ring up JESUS's house, after 10 tense minutes, JESUS appears, apparently just awoken up.
-------------------------------------------------------
SCENE :Jesus's House, Hour later.
Food is on the table, Jesus does the role of hospitable host very well, urging the two to stay the night here until things quiet down. JIDIDA is strongly opposing the idea, talking about what if Americans patrol the area at night and takes us as detainees and what of these crazy-ass Mujahedeen out there? He continues making phone calls throughout, KID also calls his grandmother, TA'IFFIYA, who tells him to stay put.KID is still unconcerned, JESUS is almost dying of insistence to make the two stay, and JIDIDA is dying to get home.
KID : So what if we got searched, plus, you are Shiite, we are the Sunni folk, we gotta be afraid, not you, What if we can't go home, man? Plus, I think you wanna go home because of the rumorsJIDIDA : about waht?KID : About Jesus's sexualityJESUS looks at JIDIDA sidelong glance, the three burst out laughing.
KID and JESUS try to strip JIDIDA while he is talking to his pop on the phone.
in the end, JIDIDA's brother rendez-vous with JIDIDA at the tip of the bridge, just where the taxi guy dropped them, as the two walk out, much to the opposition of JESUS and his pop, BIG JESUS.
Both men are very tired and worn out, hair in disarray, looking like shit and smelling like piss.
a taxi man comes out of nowhere, and asks them : Why is the road closed?The two look at each other, nobody bothers to answer.
JIDIDA's brother awaits them in a 4x4 as promised.
Finally, KID is dropped off at his house at 5:30 PM.
------------------------------------------------------------
FINAL SCORE
2 HOMEBOYS KILLED, 16 POLICE OFFICERS DEAD.
---------------------------------------------------------------

And so here I am, back home after one of the most troublesome days I've yet met - made more intense by JIDIDA's incessant fears and nagging.Today I was utterly and truly convinced of the helplessness of the political game, I lost faith again in keeping interest, true, I love my coutnry and I wish the best for it, and I may have been more optimistic in the past - much to the admiration of those stupid clueless Americans who just want someone to assert their legality of the war - FUCK THE EXCUSE, the country is falling apart, people, it takes strong strong wills to have more faith in this country, look everywhere on the blogosphere, hope is quickly dying...I just wanna swear my ass off at this horrible mess we've deteroriated into, it is now impossible, I tell you, impossible not to think of sectarian terms, as people are being divided into Sunni and Shiite territories, things do not look very promising. Six months earlier, I didn't even know what the word 'sectarian' meant in English, after a death of a close family friend by Badr, I became aware of the danger, but I shrugged it off as something that cannot ferment a long-standing unity, but today, it is amazing how little evil work can change a belief so quickly - these days, every person I meet, there's a little voice inside me that wants to know if he's Sunni or Shiite, I've become hatefully familiar with all the discrmiminations between Sunni and Shiite and how to tell who's who (names, areas, clothings, rings, vocal intonations)...All out Brother-against-brother Civil War? why the hell not....
The only place I feel free of these constraints is in college, most of my friends there are Shiite from southern governorates, and some of them are actually UIA-affiliated, they are also the nicest people - we spend our days talking girls and laughing head-over-heels, but when you get back to your repsective Sunni/Shiite territory, things are a lot different.
Well well, what to do, I guess I'll turn up Metallica's 'Mercyful Fate' and revel in swearing it all away as a last resort of an insecure teenage dude who's weak with words..
[hip-hop backup beat]
F**k You
F**k Me
F**k Sunni
F**k Shiite
F**k Iraq
F**k USA
F**k Allys
F**k
F**k
Piss
C()t
D((k
Stupid Mothafa'in' Politicans

oh, btw, if anyone cares to know, I no longer am troubled by Allys, she took a hike with her rich ugly-as-mutt ex-boyfriend again, I still love her, but now seeds of a mercyful hate have finally arisen - I think I'll get past this soon enough.

"What's so civil about war anyway?" - Axl Rose

Men In Black...with torn slippers...

For those of u still wanting to continue on the cartoon comments debate, i've posted there, so read. now...

Men In Black....wish Will Smith was here now.

Ahhh...where to start...
Not to look like everyone else, with the before/after askariya mosques, so here goes, i won't talk shit about what happened, so I assume u know the specifics, if not, go read pretty much everybody else, god I'm so sick :

DAY1
It was the normal kinda college day, I was walking with my friend Dobi, who is a shiite from Karbala, when suddenly another shiite from Najaf, Hamchi, comes all concernced, saying'They hit the Hadi shrine in Samaraa'
Depsite his Karbala descent, Hobi is practically an atheist, he shrugs and we walk on, this is also the first time I ever hear of the Hadi shrine...in Samarra? erm...excusez moi, but ce n'est pas sunni territory? what r u saying? Hamchi is deeply into religion and is part of the UIA-related organization in our college, much unlike the Badr horrific acts, Hamchi is probably one of the nicest guys I ever met....he walked away in hurried strides.

Anyway, things continued normally for the time being, I laughed so hard that day my belly still hurts. what a stupid fool.
Until it was time to leave college...
Considering that we live in the overly Sunni district Adhamiya, several of my friends decided to stay in college today, not risking going back, I chose to go back nevertheless, better today while I can...
I rode off in several mass transit lines, all the time hammered by calls from concerned parents and relatives, not all of them neccessarily in this country. My father was the worst, he looked deeply distressed as if cursing the day he let me stay in Iraq, his voice held a tone of introvert emotion....he asked me when will exams end and when could I come to Jordan...I calmed him down in a nonchalant voice, loving his concern for me but unable to react accordingly inside a suffocating Kia.
Things were quite normal outside, except for an extra checkpoint at Sunni Bayaa, but Mansoor, Bab El Ma'dham et all did not show me anything of the horrible confusion my parents/relatives were talking about. When I reached Adhamiya, the roads were blocked in a fashion similar to that of Ashoora's celebration day roadblocks, but everything was calm and orderly, the soldiers were not demeaning or threatening in any way, as a matter of fact, they were instructing people how to find differnet routes back home. I had to walk home, I picked up my dinner on the way back home. It was placid. thankfully...You only needed to watch the TV to see the horrible news unfolding from every direction, countless mosques burned and Imams killed, people dead on the streets...
the day progressed less than tolerably...
Past midnight, there were voices outside and sounds of footsteps, mistaking it for the long-sought thieves who steal the power wires of the local generators every other five days or so, I hurried to the window, only to find several plainclothes men with rifles and Klashinkov roaming the area, After a hazy confusion, I understood, those were neighbors out in the street to warn and defend the area should any Badr militia try to go through here.
I didn't go outside anyplace today, I feel gutted and tired the same way I got out of bed. My hair is getting long too.
So far, nothing has really happened in our area, wait a minute...just now....I can hear intense gunshots to the south, there seems to be two sides, one near me, the other distant, as if replying...the sounds have subsided after a full minute.
phone call....a family friend, asking me if everything's okay....i okayed him, feeling the general tension and very much not liking it.
well, that's pretty much all that's going on. General tension awaiting for things to resolve, gunshots every now and then, and horrible news on TV and the Internet, 111 dead!So far, nothing has happened in our area, but everybody's on their toes.

DAY 2

Today was a Friday, but guessing by the curfew I expected little to no sermons today, official hoopla was to 'deny preachers the right to inflame things up and to prevent gatherigs' I don't dig the government, but that was cool. I stayed home, supposedly reading for an indefinite exam, but actually watching tragedy after tragedy on TV. 47 bodies were found in Nahrawan, laying side by side like their babies. big bearded dirty blood-soaked babies.The curfew was supposed to end till 4, but it got extended till next day.
Events have culminated in the emergence of the 'men in black with torn slippers driving pickups', who are purpotedly Mahdi's army, but Moqtada Sadr denied their allegiance, the Men in Black have took numerous mosques around the capital, anyway, district-wise, these dudes tried to enter our district through Al-Noman's hospital, and were warded off, they also tried to take over the two nearby mosques, Sideeq and Assaaf, but about 30 something neighbors received them in their underwear with a heavy dose of AK-47 spray bulleting...I got a call in the middle of the night, It was Habeeb, a neighbor friend.

'Hey kiddo'

'Hey Habeeb, something happened?'

'Naw, just bored, standing outside here with my Noss Akhmaas [AK-47], wondered if you could come and join us?'

I never fired anything in my life, nor do I intend to

'I've got nothing but my dick in my hands...plus, I gotta read, ward off the bogeymen for me'

'Thought so'

'Can't believe u carrying it, shoot a bullet for me'

'Shut the fuck up'
I looked outside to take a peek, basically, all the assorted kids of the neighborhood, after The nighttime prayer, the lights are intentionely turned low, and the warzone officialy assimilates its shape. Five roof snipers, about 10 people on the streets, all the while smoking and laughing, probably watching porn on mobile phones too... Where are we headed? I don't know, but I'm hoping Habeeb stays with two legs this evening.

To quote the old Iraqi moral, I pissed and went to bed.

DAY 3
I couldn't stand staying in home much longer, things were realtively calmer today on TV. everyone with a turban agreed on national unity, but there was an explosion in a Karbala market...what the hell. My hair was very long, I went to Habeeb, who insisted that we go to the nearby mosque to pray before we head to the barbershop.The small mosque was crowded at the low-traffic prayer of Noon, amazing! but one needs little to wonder, often in times of struggle people turn to religion.
We headed out to the barbershop, the streets were ghastly and serene, by the time we reached the shop, it was closed, 75% of the market was closed, save for a few shops whose owners live nearby.
I returned, we spent the daytime on the street, the street was narrowed down with palm tree logs that would force any car to slow down...we sat on the log and traded war stories...
'15 Badr people have infilitrated Adhamiya''People in red Opel stopped and started firing yesterday, that's the mess u heard late at night'etc etc...
So far, the only people happy with the situation are the little kids, facing empty streets, they set up small soccer fields and kicked the living out of each other, they were all happy like chipmunks.
I looked at their happiness and felt the pristine carelessness of it, savoring the moment and wishing I could live forever as a kid who don't give a shit. It's a shame, It's a real shame what's going on, but I think things can be contained after all, as long as we keep the faith, in ourselves.
Curfew's been extended too, so no college tomorrow, Yay...on second note...Yay?

Hey....Right now, Sadr dudes and Sunni dudes are gathering in Abu Haneefa, working out a unified statement. hope it's not the usual condemnation gibberish.

Yesterday, I was sick and afraid, but today things have got quieter and I got thinking, although people have died, and mosques were torn, the situation has been boiling up for two years and it had to come to a point like this..despite the many extremists and stupid folks in this coutnry, the majority, Sunni and Shiite, know what's good for them and they won't shut up. Mahdi's army or not, these people will be vanquished....Sunni and Shiite people have come together and rebuilt Qibaa mosque and prayed noon together, always be optimistic, not stupidly so, but keep the faith in yourself and your people. Some media are scaring the shit out of me, but I will ignore them.

I can't wait for these days to finish, and they will finish, because afterwards Sunni/Shiite will be closer...

Kid