Hi Bagdad 21
August 2004
On Thursday morning, my translator, Wejdy, and I set off, with
our friend, Ali, at 5.30pm for the Italian Red Cross Hospital
in Medical City in Bagdad. The streets were silent and empty
as we sped across Bagdad - thankfully there were no traffic
jams at this hour of the morning. From there we set off for
Nagaf. There were around 15 Italian Red Cross volunteers with
some Iraqi Red Cross staff and we were to travel in convoy on
the long and possibly dangerous journey to Nagaf, taking much
needed medical supplies and a lorry load of litre bags of
water. Ali, in his car headed up the convoy, which contained 2
four-wheel drives full of volunteers, 2 Red Cross lorries (one
with medical supplies, the other with the water), one
ambulance (also containing medical equipment) and another car
of volunteers. Wejdy and I travelled in the back of the
ambulance, quite comfortably amongst all the boxes and
equipment. We sat next to the sliding side door, the window of
which slid open from both sides. I sat on a seat facing
forward and Wejdy sat in front of me, with his back to the
driver's cabin, so we slid the window open a little from both
sides so that we could both see out. If we had not opened the
window we could not see out as the window was covered in a
sticky plastic frosted glass covering. After several stops and
delays driving through Bagdad, we left the city and headed
south. Wejdy and I were quite happy sitting in the back of the
ambulance and ate some food and drank some water as we passed
Mahmoudiya and approached Hilla. We passed through Al
Lattifya, 20 kilometres from Mahmoudiya and 50 kilometres from
Bagdad.
All of a sudden, there was a huge explosion. The impact of
which seemed to burst against the side of the ambulance and
the glass in the window shattered. I did not know what it was,
but I knew it was bad and, straight away and instinctively, I
fell to my knees and grabbed Wejdy, pulling him down on top of
me, making us into a tight ball, as small as possible in the
bottom of the ambulance.
We did not know if we would be hit again. Augosto, our driver,
wrestled with the vehicle as we seemed to be going all over
the road. I honestly thought that we were about to crash or
roll over. After what seemed like minutes, we straightened up
and carried on our way. From the front, they asked if we were
okay - we were, just my cheek was hurting, not because the
glass had hit it (it had not), but I think from the pressure
of the explosion, but it was not even bruised and calmed down
after an hour or so. And later I noticed that my shoulders and
arms were hurting, probably from pulling Wejdy, but that too
cleared up. After a few kilometres we stopped on the side of
the road. Checks were made on everyone. Thankfully, only one
was injured - Uday, one of the Iraqi volunteers was badly cut.
His face had about 40 small shrapnel cuts, one close to his
right eye and his right arm was badly cut up too. He was put
in the back of our ambulance and treated. He looked shattered
and he looked like he needed to cry - the shock for him was
worse than for any of us. He had been in the water lorry in
front of us and this had taken the full brunt of the attack,
completely losing its windscreen and other windows and wing
mirrors. The tarpaulin over the water had to be removed as it
was ripped and tattered and dragging on the ground and causing
a nuisance. While Uday was being treated, Wejdy and I sat in
the front of the ambulance. The windscreen was smashed, but
still in place. I marvelled at Augosto's composure and driving
- he had controlled the ambulance after the explosion and kept
it upright on the road. The same for the lorry driver in front
- the lorry had taken the worst of the blast and the driver
had continued to control the vehicle, despite losing all the
glass, and his passenger being injured - and he was driving a
lorry! Ali's car too had been damaged, losing the back
windscreen and back side window. Had we crashed after the
attack, the implications are too horrible to consider - we
could have been stuck on the road and come under fire from
whoever had attacked us - it is down to these wonderful
drivers that this had not happened. I asked Ali who he thought
had down this and he simply replied "f**kers". There was no
more discussion on the way to Nagaf and I, for one, just
longed to get there and get off the dangerous highway.
Throughout and after the attack, I felt strange - not
frightened, at no time did I feel scared - I just felt
shattered and upset, maybe it was a bit of shock, I don't
know, but it was an emotion I had never experienced before.
When we arrived at Nagaf, later on, we were able to ask what
people thought had happened. Wejdy had seen the explosion
saying that he had seen something hit the road to the side of
us and the dirt and dust rise. The dirt had filled the
ambulance, going everywhere - all over the medical equipment
and filling our own packs with mud and glass - even though the
window to the side of us had largely stayed intact some glass
had come away and flown around the ambulance. Safa'a, one of
the Iraqi Red Cross staff, had been in the car behind us. He
doubted that it was a missile (RPG or mortar) and said he
thought it was a roadside bomb. Possibly, he said, someone had
followed us from Bagdad and overtaken us and laid the bomb,
waiting somewhere nearby with a remote control or setting a
timer for our arrival - but he felt that it was definitely
directed at us and wondered and worried how we would return to
Bagdad safely.
A couple of hours later we arrived in Nagaf. There were signs
of fighting everywhere - bullet holes and tank round holes
adorned many buildings. We crossed the bridge over the
beautiful Euphrates River and I remembered our earlier visit
to this holiest of holy cities, back in December last year -
how much calmer things were in this country then. We passed a
Mahdi Army checkpoint and passers-by were talking to Wejdy
pointing out damage to buildings and telling us about American
attacks on the city, how they could not sleep etc. Some said
"God help Moqtada". We continued deeper into the city passing
markets and shoppers here on the outskirts, almost carrying on
as normal. But as we went on, the streets became quieter. Less
and less people and cars were to be seen. We were warned
against going one way as there were American snipers there. We
went a different way through a residential area. We went down
narrow dusty uneven roads, each side of us sandy coloured
houses came right up to the street. People came out to see us
and hold up the low lying electrical cable so that the lorries
could pass. We began to hear gunfire and the sounds of tank
fire in the distance. As we carried on it became louder as we
got nearer. Again many spoke to us, saying how many people had
abandoned their houses through fear of their lives and gone
elsewhere. Children came out and neighbours watched from their
doorways, many waving and smiling at us - many telling us bad
things about the Americans and asking why this was happening
to their city. One man warned us that the Americans would not
let us in.
The streets then became eerily quiet. Quiet that is except for
the sound of battle - machine gun fire and tank rounds filled
the air. Two of our number ran ahead of the convoy, wearing
Red Cross tunics (white with a big red cross on them) and
waving a huge Red Cross flag. They went to each junction that
we had to pass and showed themselves and the flag. As we
passed each junction, we could see American tanks at the end
of each street, about 150 metres away - at the end of one
street, there were 3 tanks. We carried on slowly. Then we came
to one junction - here the fighting sounded like it was on the
street in front of us that crossed our street. The machine gun
fire was deafening. Again, the two went with the flag to
indicate that we were Red Cross carrying medical aid. But we
were not allowed to pass. They went down the street towards
the Americans, but no, we could not pass. They later told us
that the Americans there would rather have vomitted than speak
to them! We waited a while, not passing the junction and the
battle carried on - it seemed as though it was just in front
of us. We parked up against the empty houses. A family in a
house nearby asked us into their home. We went into the
visitors room - a large room with some seats and mattresses
arranged around the walls, the windows, open, faced onto the
street. We sat for a while in the heat - there was no
electricity so the fans were not working - Nagaf is without
electricity and then we began to unload some medical
equipment. The men from the Italian Red Cross began to set up
a makeshift field hosptial there in the sitting room. They set
up 3 small beds and placed necessary medical items, gloves,
disinfectant and so on, at the head of each bed. Drip stands,
first aid equipment and boxes of medication were arranged
around the room. Poor Uday came in looking like he was in
great pain and he was given an injection to help take the pain
away.
While all of this was going on, the fighting continued outside
- it seemed to be getting closer and the tank rounds from the
Americans sounded like they were hitting the next building.
One in particular sounded very close, shaking the house even
stronger than the others, the glass light fittings rattled and
my toes curled. One of the Iraqi Red Cross guys told me that
when they had come to Nagaf a few days ago, they had been
allwed to pass the American line and deliver the aid and do
something worthwile, but here we could do nothing. A few days
ago, the Americans had been further away from the Imam Ali
Mosque, but now they, and us, were within 200 metres - it
seemed as if they thought they were going in for the kill and
they did not want any of the injured to be saved. As we were
not allowed to pass the lines we could not treat any of the
injured, and they could not pass through the lines and get to
us. The situation was unbelievable and impossible. The
Americans should have let us through, we were aid workers.
There is NO way they should have stopped us. It just shows
their flagrant disregard for human rights and human life. They
are disgusting, evil murderers and I saw it for myself, all we
wanted to do was deliver aid to injured people. The decision
was made to pack up and head out to Kufa, where there was also
(unreported) fighting, some 10 kilometres away - there we
would be able to do something worthwhile, it was hoped. So we
packed up all the equipment and headed back out along the
dusty streets. The residents that remained came out to see us
go, asking why we were leaving. They also could not believe
that we were unable to pass. They were telling us things about
the people leaving the city. One said "Is this democracy?"
Another "God help Moqtada" and others told how the Americans
had been firing at their houses.
We took back roads out of Nagaf, so bumpy that the ambulance
bottomed out several times and made our way to Kufa.
We passed more Mahdi Army checkpoints, who let us pass
unhindered and approached the Mosque.
Here Ali talked to the men guarding the site and they pointed
the route we should take to the mosque gates. We entered the
mosque. This was a 'double' mosque - two mosques in one
complex - Moqtar Mosque and Muslim Mosque. Mahdi army men were
sitting in the shade around the Mosque eating their lunch. One
small girl near the mosque stared at us in disbelief - I
smiled at her and her little face broke into a wide grin - I
wondered at the things she had seen and what her life was
like. Inside the mosque, all the vehicles parked up in the
mosque compound. The Mosque was being worked on and made
beautiful, there were builidng materials everywhere and men
working.
We were taken to a small room in one of the buildings around
the courtyard and given lots of cold water to drink.
I had put my headscarf on as soon as we reached the outskirts
of Nagaf. Now I had my chadoor on as well - here in the
mosque, it was important that not one strand of hair was on
display.
Safa'a then took me and Wejdy to another small room across the
courtyard. In this room were about 10 small beds with 5
patients - young men who had recently been injured. One man
had a colostomy 5 years ago, but it had started to bleed and
he was unable to reach a hosptial so he had come to the mosque
for rudimentary treatment. Two other men had been burnt badly
after an American missile attack - the one had both legs badly
burnt and one arm, the bandages on which needed changing,
blood and fluid was seeping through. Safa'a told him to try
and move his injured limbs to keep them mobile. The other 2
had also been injured by a missile attack. One, who said he
was 18, but looked 15 or 16, had shrapnel wounds all over his
back and buttocks, so he could not even lie down comfortably.
Fortunately, especially for the burns victims, there was
electricity here - at least they had the benefit of air
conditioning and fans, if nothing else.
We left the room and were taken into the Mosque itself. It was
the first time that I have ever been allowed into a Mosque in
Iraq. Unlike Syria, Tunisia and Turkey, non-Muslims are not
allowed into mosques in Iraq - but they made an exception for
us and I felt so lucky and honoured as I entered the recently
refurbished prayer hall. It was absolutely stunning with huge
beige and white pillars and beautiful white glass lights
hanging between each and of course, lots of fans. The prayer
hall was open to the mosque courtyard with huge brick arches
and the hall itself was large, peaceful and airy. The Mosque
is called Moqtar Mosque. Moqtar is the man who killed Yezid,
an Ummayad in Damascus. Yezid is the man who killed Hussein in
Kerbala in 680 AD. Hussein is the man who is revered in the
month of Moharram and 10 Moharram (Ashura) is the day on which
Hussein died at Kerbala - this is the day that the bombs
happened at Kerbala and Khadimaya this year - the most
speacial and holy day for Shia Islam. Moqtar is buried in this
Mosque. In addition to this, this mosque is the first mosque
that Imam Ali , son-in-law and cousin to the Prophet Mohammed,
ever preached at and it is the mosque that Moqtada Al Sadr,
the man himself, leads prayers every Friday - the one you see
on TV. So it is a very very special place, almost, but not, as
special as the Imam Ali Mosque in Nagaf, where Imam Ali is
actually buried.
Here in a small room off the side of the prayer hall we sat
down for lunch. Wejdy experienced for the first time a
pleasant vegan phenomenon. Everyone else was fed first - they
had horrible kebab meat on some flat bread with onions and
tomatoes. We waited patiently for our food to arrive - Ali had
kindly explained that we were vegan. And then it came - a huge
plate - over 40 cm in diameter - of yellow rice with baked
vegetables on it - eggplant, tomatoes, potatoes, onions etc -
it looked delicious and everyone else thought so too, looking
eagerly at our food. And once again, I enjoyed that feeling -
the feeling that everyone else in the room had wished they had
said they were vegan too. Throughout the meal, different men
came and joined us in the room. Many of them were fighters and
they were all thoroughly pleasant men. Being the only woman in
the party, I was completely spoilt, my chai glass constantly
filled etc. But when I spoke a few words of Arabic saying how
much I loved Iraq, chai etc that was it. Talking and laughter
filled the room as we discussed Wales (and its 'occupation' by
England), the situation in Iraq, the evil of America and even
what sports I liked. Poor Wejdy could barely keep up with the
translating and he encouraged me to say more and more in
Arabic, but by now my head was pounding - probably from a
combination of the 2 hours sleep I had last night and the bomb
blast on the journey south. I was happy when we were informed
that we would take two hours rest until 6 pm, when we would
open up a clinic for the evening - I was to help any women
that arrived. But before we went to sleep, a couple of
fighters wanted to speak to the Italian Red Cross men. One of
them wanted to know why, every time he launched a rocket, his
body shook, his eyes went blurry, his ears went strange and he
became dizzy. The doctor told him it was probably from the
force of the launch. But the man was still concerned, saying
that it did not happen to his compatriots - he was told that
it was probably due to his health, different men can do
different things and he probably was not 100% fit from all the
worry and fighting and that it was nothing to be conerned
about if he felt otherwise healthy in his normal day to day
life. Abu Moqtada ('father of Moqtada' - he had recently had a
new born son who he had named after Moqtada Al Sadr), another
fighter, had crude stiches holding together cuts on his
fingers - this was then dressed very tidily, but he was still
able to fight as his right hand was un affected.
When we awoke at 6pm, we were given more chai. I was also
given a photo poster of Moqtada - it was an old battered one
and the men wanted to give me a new one. I declined their kind
offer, prefering the old one that had actually been used and
put on display in the mosque. We had earlier met two of the
mosque sheikhs and now we talked to one of them for a time
before going outside and helping to unload the lorries of
medical aid. Two ambulances were filled with emergency
equipment for Nagaf and other things were unloaded into a
makeshift clinic in a room within the mosque compound. Then
the lorry of water was unloaded onto the courtyard of the
mosque. Nagi, a little 9 year old boy was helping here. I had
met him earlier and he was a real sweetie. Orphaned, he lived
in the mosque and he was everywhere all the time, the centre
of attention and spoilt and fussed over by all. I was told
that he loved to help the fighters load their guns with
bullets and he wanted to fight and die alongside the men. He
wore a headband which said "Please God, let Mohammed's law be
obeyed always" in Arabic. He worked so hard all day and night
and when we went to sleep, later on, in the prayer hall, he
was there again, sleeping next to us.
Throughout the evening we talked to so many fighters it is
difficult to remember them all. I can honestly say that they
were all amazingly brave kind and decent men. THEY ARE NOT
TERRORISTS OR RELIGIOUS FUNDAMENTALISTS. They all knew that I
was British and that the Italians were Italian and all had the
capacity to realise that, just because we were from bad
countries occupying and stripping Iraq, it did not mean that
we agreed with out governements. On the contrary, we explained
that we did not. And not being Muslim was not a problem either
- there was complete and utter respect for each others'
religions. They just want America out of Iraq, away from Kufa
and Nagaf and away from their holy shrines. Many of them did
see it as an attack on Islam, but readily listened to me when
I explained that it was more than just that. But I could not
answer when they asked me why I thought the Americans were
attacking the mosques - in the end I just answered that I
could not understand the hatred in any man's heart that would
attack poor people in residential areas with no regard for the
sanctitiy of human life, so I certainly could not answer for
these evil-doers.
Another local man wanted to take us all to his house and put
us up for the night - he asked why did America attack Iraq and
try and bring their Western 'values' which Iraq does not want?
He said "You're Christian, become Muslim, if you don't should
I kill you? Of course not. So why can't America just let us be
and respect our religion?"
Another fighter told me how his mother was also fighting - she
fires off RPGs at the Americans, in her chadoor, even covering
her face up to her nose.
We also met other fighters who had travelled there from all
over Iraq - from Hilla, Amara, Kerbala etc.
Then as we crossed the courtyard one time, Wejdy suddenly
spotted an old school friend, in fact one of his best friends
- Mohammed from Hilla. They could not believe it, meeting each
other under such circumstances after one and a half years.
Mohammed had come to fight America and Wejdy had come to help
with medical aid and vital translation.
During the evening, a speech was read out over the mosque loud
speaker - then all the men stopped and started chanting ending
with "Moqtada, Moqtada, Moqtada". They had just been told that
America had launched a big attack on the centre of Nagaf, but
the Mahdi Army there had fought back with RPGs and they had
repelled the attack - the Americans had pulled back - I just
hoped it was true, and that as a result no further blood had
been spilt.
There were no weapons stored in the mosque. The only time I
saw weapons was when the fighters would come into the
courtyard to rest or get water etc. They were not launching
any attacks from the mosque itself. I saw all sorts of weapons
-sniper rifles, AK47's, RPGs. I joked that I was so angry with
American soldier's attitude that I could have launched one at
them myself. Well, that was it. They had an idea that I should
go outside and hold An RPG and have my photo taken. This had
to be done outside of the mosque as an RPG could not be held
in attack position (even for a joke) in the mosque compound.
At first, Ali, who was in charge of our group, wouldn't hear
of my going outside in case there should be an attack - I was
certainly safer inside the mosque compound. But then the Mahdi
Army guys persuaded him that it would only be for 5 minutes
and we were allowed. Outside, amongst even more fighters, I
held, first of all, an Iraqi RPG. As I posed (not easy in a
chadoor) with this weapon, it became heavy and I was glad when
the photos and film was done. Then I held an American RPG, but
this one was easy and much lighter - I told the fighters this
- that the Americans always get it easy - even their weapons
were lighter. One of the men from the mosque filmed me -he had
filmed us all day and Wejdy joked that he bet he would show
the film to Moqtada.
So during the evening the Italians opened up a makeshift
clinic and a long queues quickly formed across the mosque
courtyard. Some of the Italians went and treated the badly
injured men. Every time a woman turned up, it was my job, with
Wejdy translating, to find out what their problem was. Then we
would go and tell Safa'a in the clinic and try and get the
women treated, ie jump the queue, as soon as possible.
One lady, Azhar, with her mum, Om Khalid, was suffering from
kidney stones. I spoke to one of the Italian doctors who told
me there was nothing to be done for her here, but that she
could go to the Italian Hospital in Medical City in Bagdad and
receive treatment there free of charge. I spoke to the ladies,
in Arabic, and they told me how they could not sleep with the
American attacks on Kufa.
Two other women turned up with their lovely children. Two of
the children were suffering with fever and sickness. One lady
had Sadiq and a new born who she had called Moqtada and the
other lady was holding her little daughter, Zahra'a, with two
other children, Hussein and Ali. Moqtada and Zahra'a - the two
youngest, were ill and they were given medicine which they had
to mix with water (which is dirty) and take twice a day.
Then a whole family turned up needing treatment. Every time I
saw a woman in the courtyard, looking lost and requiring
treatment, I had to leave anyone we were talking to go and
help. This family had a whole host of problems. The little
girl, Zeinab, 9 had kidney stones. The Italian doctor told her
to come to Medical City in 6 months for an ultrasound scan -
they would only be a problem if they moved or became bigger -
in the meantime she was to drink lots and lots - the family
had brought her x-rays for him to check. Om Zeinab (Zeinab's
mum) was suffering from stomach acid and she was given
magnesium powders to take twice a day and she also had a bad,
painful shoulder for which she was given some packets of
paracetamol. Then her mum had colon problems and she was told,
like others, to get to the Italian Hospital in Medical City
for treatment - she could not be treated here.
Another woman brought her little son with gastorentoritis - he
was also given medicine.
There were others, but one of the saddest was a little old
lady who lived in the mosque. I pushed her in the queue - she
was suffering with a prolapsed womb and when the doctor
touched her abdomen she shrieked in pain. There was nothing to
be done for her, he said, just painkillers. Even if they
operated, it was likely to happen again. She was a dear, sweet
lady and kept thanking me - I felt awful, I had done nothing.
I saw her the next morning in the mosque ladies' bathroom -
she kept talking to me in Arabic, but all I could really
understand was "thank you" and "goodbye".
Throughout the evening the queue did not subside and the Red
Cross men looked shattered and coped so well in the
conditions. They were asked if they needed to rest, but they
declined, not wanting to leave people standing in a queue
while they took a break.
We finished at about 11.30 pm and took rest in the room where
we had eaten lunch. We drank water and ate some food and then,
thankfully, it was time to sleep. Fighting had broken out some
time earlier and, though it was nowhere as near to us as it
had been in Nagaf, it was still close. We heard loud booms
from American tank fire and reply fire from the streets around
the mosque.
I felt drained and shattered and felt like I wanted to be a
real girl and have a good cry. Not for myself, but for what
was going on around me. It all seemd so unfair, so wrong and I
felt powerless to do anything to try and put it right - I feel
writing about it in this way goes some way to address this,
trying to tell the truth about what I witnessed and trying to
tell as many people as possible.
We found a carpet and lay down for sleep in the prayer hall.
At first I was boiling hot in my chadoor and headscarf and I
thought I could not sleep with the sound of the fighting
outside. But I did, I was so tired, though the call to prayer
at about 4.15 am woke me up for a time, but I didn't mind as I
find the call to prayer a beautiful, relaxing sound - and
being in a mosque while it happened made it seem just extra
special.
At 6.30 am we were woken up - we were leaving. Time for a
quick wash before we hit the road - the thinking being that we

would beat any would be attackers on the way back to Bagdad.
We left the mosque, waving goodbye to our new friends and
drove through Kufa, the town was just waking up and some
market stalls were just being set up for the day. Then outside
of Kufa we drove past some lush green fields for a time before
passing three brick factories. They did not look as bad as
those a Al Nahrwan - but I saw the living quarters - squalid
tiny brick houses arranged around the factories and chimneys
and the only difference seemed to be that there were only
three of them here as opposed to 100 -150, so therefore the
air could not be quite so poisonous.
We drove on and reached Hilla and here for the first time, I
felt afraid and worried. It was not long before we would pass
Al Lattifya - would we come under attack again - I was
dreading it. There were many checkpoints along the way,
including a paticularly big one at Hilla, with a big traffic
jam.
Then it happened - just 5 kilometres before the spot we were
attacked in the day before, we came under attack again. This
time I saw it. A huge explosion in front of us threw up loads
of dirt and debris and the road disappeared in a cloud of
smoke. We drove on quickly. There was no way we could stop, we
had to keep going. To stop would have surely meant that we
would have been killed. A white car passsed us, the driver, a
man in a red yeshmack, was holding his blood soaked head as he
drove on - his car was wrecked, but he kept going - you must
not stop. A kilometre or so up the road, there was an ICDC
(Iraqi Civil Defence Corps) checkpoint. We were stopped and
Wejdy told them what happened. Do you know what these cowards
said? "What do you want us to do about it?" Well for one, set
up a patrol down the road to stop this happening. They are
supposed to defend the civilians of Iraq and here they are a
kilometre up the road from where civilians are being attacked
and they are doing nothing about it. We did not stop until we
got to Bagdad. Safa'a walked down the convoy checking us all.
I asked where Ali's car was, where had Ali gone. "I don't
know" he replied "I just don't know - we will have to find out
where he is when we get to Medical City".
We still don't know where Ali or his car is. He was in the
first vehicle which was hit by the roadside device. But when
we passed the site - some 50 metres in front of us when it
went off - we saw no debris from a wrecked and broken car. No
one seems to know where he is and his mobile phone, always,
always on, is off or 'out of range'. We are sick with worry
and it has been hard typing this today with this on our mind -
I will let you know what we find out. He is a good man, and
always tries to help everyone. It does not matter who they are
- he took us to Fallujah and it is because he kept us safe
there that I trusted him with our safety to go to Nagaf. I am
just hoping and praying that he is okay and that it is just
his phone that is not working.

The Mahdi Army are not terrorists or mad men. Each and every
single one of them was disgusted to see the damage to our
vehicles and hear about what happened to us, saying that it
was wrong, so wrong. The terrorists are the men on the highway
trying to blow up Red Cross vehicles and kill good people
trying to help others. It has been suggested by many, and
sensible people at that, that the attacks could have come from
American troops - after all, they did not want us to go in and
help the wounded in Nagaf, so why not try to stop us from
getting there in the first place?

I feel so certain that what America is doing in Iraq right now
is wrong - it is a criminal act. I am as sure about this as I
am that meat-eating, vivisection and the war in the first
place was wrong. America should get out of this country and
get out now, they have wrecked it - the problem is that they
have opened up a sore that cannot heal. If the people were
suffering before, their suffering is so much worse now. I look
at Iraq and I see a broken, battered country witrh nothing in
place to make life in any way easy. Buildings and
infrastructure were badly wrecked (from sanctions mainly)
before the war, and I wonder at the minds of men who could
bomb and attack such a place and kill and hurt so many
innocent people. I hear story after story of suffering and
injustice and it is making me sick and tired.
As I type this, I want to cry, I am literally fighting back
the tears. I don't know if I am just tired from the last two
days, if it is worry about Ali or if I have just had enough of
seeing suffering. I do know that I feel emotionally drained -
in a way I had the most amazing experience of my life with the
gentle men of the Mahdi Army, but in another way, I wish it
hadn't happened - that none of this was happeneing and I only
wish it would stop soon and that they will prevail. I cannot
be unbiased about this, I am sorry - it is just impossible.

(Today we have been to visit 'Jamal' - I have talked about him
many times before - he looked after the boys in the temporary
accommodation shelter. His brother 'Ali' is fighting in the
Mahdi Army in Nagaf, alonside another brother. Happily 'Jamal'
has heard off 'Ali' and he is alive and well. And the other
brother arrived in Bagdad yesterday, safe and sound. Thank
goodness - 'Ali' is such a nice man, I could not bear anything
to happen to him.)

All for now
Helen Williams
living in Bagdad amongst Iraqis
from Newport, South Wales