Hard Times ,Life and death in Baghdad.

[mr mahs]

January 22, 2004, 11:09 a.m.

Hard Times

Life and death in Baghdad.

By Martha Malone

BAGHDAD — Tuesday morning I woke up at 7 A.M. local time — one of my trailer-mates across the hall was using the shower so I dozed. One by one, she, her roommate, and then my roommate made their way into the bathroom after the previous person had finished. My bed was warm; the heat was blasting...(yes it gets cold in Iraq, too).

At 8 A.M. I was still in bed. All of a sudden there was a huge explosion (there is a kind of smaller sound a bomb makes right before the huge "boom," that I don't know how to describe other than to say it exists and so it went — kind of "click" and then BOOM). It was really loud and the trailer shook. I thought it was another rocket. I was shocked that there was a rocket attack during daylight hours — that would have been new. I waited for the alarm to sound. And waited.

No alarm...hmmm...odd.

My roommate came scurrying in from the bathroom, shaking. "Did you hear that?! The whole trailer shook!!!" I said it must have been a rocket — it sounded kind of like the rockets that had hit in the past — but then, how different does BOOM sound from BOOM? Experts may say that each has a distinct sound...and I am sure they are right, but if you are in a trailer in central Baghdad, BOOM is pretty much the same as BOOM.

Right. So we figured it was a rocket attack and shrugged our shoulders, and I forced myself into the bathroom for the morning ritual. By the time I got out of the shower, I heard the sound of sirens. But that was not very unusual — only slightly unusual. I brushed my hair, got dressed, and while I was tying up my boots my cell phone rang. It was somebody from my office calling to see if I was alright. Sure, I said. I'm fine. Then she told me what had happened. She said there were many dead and we couldn't account for everyone in our office — specifically, two translators who were last seen at the entrance where the bomb exploded.

For hours no one knew where they were. We went about our day as best we could. Work never stops here — progress is the best revenge against these savages. But our minds were with Raghad and Hadeel — and our prayers, too. Several Arabic speakers from our office hopped in a car and made the rounds to all the hospitals.

Finally, after lunch we got word. They found Raghad — she was injured but would recover...but still no Hadeel. The last time Raghad had seen her she was trapped inside a burning car, and no one could open the doors. The car started making its way around the city morgues. Still nothing.

It took until almost 9 P.M. that night to learn that her body was found and identified by her parents.

Hadeel.

She had just gotten engaged last week and was making plans to join her fiancée in the Netherlands. She had the most beautiful shy smile, and never forgot one of our birthdays. She helped us put up all of our Christmas/holiday/whatever decorations, and jokingly called us "wicked" if she found us using her workstation, the nicest one in the kitchen office.

I don't know if you have noticed this, but it seems like there are just certain phases in life when everyone around you is going through the same thing. Weddings and babies were sort of the collective experience when I left the U.S. more than three months ago for Baghdad (and I am not ashamed to admit that at the time I was happy to escape all of that). Now it is a much darker time. Work continues at its staggering pace and on the surface, until now, everything has seemed normal (or as normal as it can be in a war zone), but there is an air of heavy sadness that has hung over all of us these days.

Two weeks ago on Thursday another one of my friends was murdered. She was 24 years old and a translator for the ministry of culture. The translators I have met here are remarkable. Another from the group assigned to our office comes out of the "green zone" with us every day. She is married and has two children and tells us she is building their future. She truly believes this, and believes in what we are doing. She acts as a sort of surrogate mother as many on our team are under 30. She laughs at some of the comments she hears about us over there (i.e., "What, they couldn't send us someone in diapers?"), and frequently gives us subtext as well as literal translations during some difficult meetings. On that Thursday she was bereft. She made me promise to take care of her children if anything happened to her. That night she called me and put her sons on the phone with me so they would know who I was.

About a month ago there was an IED (Improvised Explosive Device) in front of where I work in the city. The Iraqi guards found it — they came running upstairs to warn us about it. We all ran out of the room we were in at the time as it faced the street and had windows. In the hallway I realized I had left my backpack in the room. In it were the car keys and a bunch of cash. I started back to the door when our translator stopped me. She insisted on going herself to get my things, and before I could argue she was gone. When she returned I hugged her and told her I loved her and she simply said, "I would die for you." Coming from someone who has lived through what she has, those were not idle words. What possible response is there when someone tells you that?

So much of what I have been experiencing lately is incomprehensible to me — it just comes and I don't know how to process it all. I made a pact with myself that if I felt physically threatened I would leave. But where do you draw the line?

[kramadas]

Nice article.

where's it from?

[mr mahs]

Originally posted by raver_mania

Nice article.

where's it from?

http://www.nationalreview.com/comment/malone200401221109.asp

Good site.