IRAQ: Three Baghdadis tell Michael Jansen about how their lives have changed since the war.
Naira lives in a modest, once elegant house on the Tigris. Today the house is run-down, electric current is irregular, water does not flow. The garden overlooking the sluggish grey river has been burnt brown by the merciless summer sun. The dogs living on the river bank have disappeared. Two weeks ago, her upstairs windows were shattered by the blast of a rocket-propelled grenade fired at the residence of the ambassador of Italy across the street.
Over orange juice in the hot, stuffy hall beneath a still ceiling fan, Naira, in her mid-80s, said that Muhammad, her spry, equally elderly servant, would have been killed if he had been in his room when the explosion happened. "You should have seen all the debris we collected and carried away. I showed it to the Italians. They are to blame because they allied themselves to the US. They should pay. I had to get in a man to put in new glass. I haven't money for such expenses."
Raised in a well-to-do household during the British occupation of Iraq and educated in Beirut, Naira may belong to the ancient regime, but she does not look back with nostalgia to more peaceful, prosperous times. Her mind is fully occupied with the perilous present.
Most of her family's extensive land holdings were confiscated by successive revolutionary governments which came to power after the British-backed monarchy fell in 1958. The clan's remaining grove of date palms near her house is dying because the man who rented it has simply refused to water the trees. "I bought a generator to run the pump. But he doesn't water. I don't know what to do." Men have come to her nephew's house, let to the Italian archaeological mission, and threatened to blow it up.
Naira continued to tell her woes: "My pharmacist's boy was kidnapped and held until millions of dinars were paid over." Her own middle-aged son, who used to have lunch with her every day, cannot come because he is afraid to leave his two daughters, a vet and a dentist-to-be, alone at home. He wants them to go to Britain.
"I've lived long enough," Naira asserted. "Why can't I die? I stopped eating for some time, hoping I could die. But then I realised that I could get ill. That would be worse than dying, so I started eating again."
My driver, Abu Ammar (father of Ammar), lives in a rough-hewn two-storey raw concrete house in a comfortable Shia quarter about 15 minutes' drive from Naira. "It's a small villa, isn't it?" he says proudly of his home, waiting for me to agree. "Indeed, it is," I said with an approving smile.
I did not expect such a grand establishment. After I slipped off my sandals near the door, Umm Ammar (my host's wife), his sister and Ammar's smiling young wife ushered me into the sitting room, spread with bamboo mats and carpets. A ceiling fan turned overhead and an airconditioner thrust cold air into the room.
The only pieces of furniture are a massive sideboard holding crockery and a cabinet for the television set, satellite receiver and video player. After I washed my hands, I sat down on the carpet. There was a pillow for my back as I leant against the wall. The noon feast was served on platters. Joining me were Umm Ammar, a handsome woman in her 40s who wears the black hijab covering her head, and her sister-in-law, widowed during the 1980-88 Iraq-Iran war. The men ate elsewhere. Umm Ammar apologised for the fare, saying that roast chicken, rice, pickles, yoghurt, bread, watermelon, yellow melon and grapes were not food fit for an honoured guest. As we were finishing our melon, the electricity went off. We passed round family photos until tea was served. The youngest son, Hamoudi, came with a piece of cardboard to fan us.
Abu Ammar is a member of Iraq's prosperous Shia proletariat which began to rise in the latter years of the ousted regime.
He has seven sons and one daughter. His eldest son, Ammar, drives seven-seater four-wheel-drive taxis on the main routes to and from Baghdad. The second son, Salah, is learning the roadways of the capital. "He was no good at school," Umm Ammar remarked. "It was always the cars. Hamoudi is the same."
Since I understand more Arabic than I can speak, she did most of the talking. A large photo on the wall opposite shows Abu Ammar in traditional Arab dress - headcovering, white robe and brown cloak.
"Just like Saddam," Umm Ammar joked, with a hint of pride that there is a resemblance. "Under Saddam we had electricity, water and security," she said wistfully. "Under Saddam we had a better life. The Americans are no good."
My old friend, Ahmad, a secular Sunni, lives on the other side of the city. He, too, is mightily proud of his handsome home, a modern version of the typical Baghdadi house designed by one of Iraq's most distinguished architects. The house took eight years to build because materials were not available under the sanctions imposed after Iraq invaded Kuwait in 1990. British-educated Ahmad is a committed Baathist who served the ousted regime in several senior capacities. One of his closest friends, a doctor and former dean of Baghdad University, was murdered three weeks ago, almost certainly because he was a Baathist. There have been many such revenge slayings. Ahmad, who rarely leaves home, came into town to meet me one day at the exclusive Alwiya Club, so I promised to visit him at home before I left the country.
It took us half an hour to find the right row of detached houses.
His is built of yellow bricks round a dusty courtyard. The sitting room is furnished with fat plush sofas and armchairs, carpets, modern Iraqi paintings, a television, and a table bearing his computer.
He is one of the fortunate few who can receive e-mails at home when his electricity and phone are working. The ice cream he served me had turned to mush during a power-cut while Abu Ammar drove round the neighbourhood asking directions.
Although concerned about his safety, Ahmad said, "I retired five years ago and never held any really high-profile positions, so perhaps they won't think of me - unless they are going to kill all Baathists." He remains convinced that the Baath is the only party which can rule Iraq. "The Baath had nearly 50-50 Sunni-Shia membership. No one even knew what a person's religion was. The Baath has been too stunned and shocked to reorganise, but it will, it will. I'm too old now.
"Younger people will take over ... The Americans had no plan for Iraq after the Baathist regime fell. They are interested only in setting up military bases so they can dominate the region. They don't really care about the Iraqi people. They only say they are acting in the name of the Iraqi people. The chaos we endure every day shows us we don't count."