Iraqi Voices: 'I Feel Like I'm Half Dead'

A man holds up the body of a child killed when a bomb exploded
at a wedding party, killing 23 people, including bride and groom

I feel like a different person, I am now an engulfed by fear & cowardness, I jump at the sound of a squeaking door, I feel like I’m half dead.

I have this feeling of being stalked; it’s like Spiderman when he gets those vibes when danger approaches. Such a terrible feeling, you feel your heart is going to burst out of your chest.

Furthermore this morning, on my way to work I nearly had a car accident, a black GMC Suburban nearly hit my car on the highway, it then swirled towards the pavement and smashed in. I stopped to see what happened, it seems that the driver was shot seconds earlier while he was driving or something similar, when they pulled him out of the car he was dead due to multiple gun shots.

This is too much . . .

From Zappy, a 24-year-old Baghdad resident who blogs at Where Date Palms Grow. More here.

'WE NEVER FELT WE WERE GOING TO BE SEPARATED LIKE THIS'

It is known among people that young generations are the seeds for a bright future and prosperous country. But what if these generations are traumatized by war? What if they immigrate?

Ahmed, one of my best friends, became hopeless. I chat with him and sometimes we talk to each other through voice chat on the internet. His sense of humor was one of the best among my other friends. This glow of humor is distinguished and maybe forever.

"I am desperate," he says every time I talk to him. "I am alone and miserable now," he said in despair as I was gazing at his image through the webcam. He was pale. He was not Ahmed the one I know. He was a different man. I could see his eyes were full of tears resisting falling. He did not want me to see them in order not to depress me. Even when he is sad, he doesn’t want to make others sad.

Ahmed was left alone. Our group of friends has left Baghdad. Safaa resisted to the last minute to stay there but he couldn’t. He left to Egypt to work, study, and find a new life where he can feel alive and able to produce to do something useful instead of staying in a war zone where death is the only production. . . .

Sameem, one of my other best friends, left Baghdad and went to Kirkuk. "It is unbearable to live in Baghdad," he said. He preferred going to his hometown Kirkuk which is another victim of the war. "If I die by a car bomb is better than being kidnapped, tortured and killed,' he told me in email he sent three days ago. He added that our neighborhood is no longer the same. 'Many things have changed since you left,' he said. 'It is much worse now."

The family of my other friend Ahmed has left to Syria before he did. He did not want to go there at first. Satisfied with his computer sciences degree and his electronic and electric store he owned in Adhamiya, he did not join his family there. Since this area is no longer alive and since the militiamen started kidnapping shop owners, he thought about leaving. He is in Syria now looking for a job. He sold his store as well as his family’s house and left for no plan to return.

Most of my blog readers and visitors remember Bashar, whose mother was killed in an explosion in our neighborhood last May. He is now desperate like many young Iraqis. He lost his mother, lost his hope and lost everything that brings smile back to his face. He also started thinking of leaving trying to save the rest of his family before he loses them.

We never felt we were going to be separated like this. I remember how our eyes were filled with tears when I left. We hugged each other and cried realizing that we may not see each other again. We were great friends. We always considered ourselves the sign of hopeful Iraq. We were Sunnis, Shiites, and Turkomen and we always considered ourselves the New Iraq, not the "New Iraq" that Hakim's and Sadr's militias and insurgents formed.

From Treasure of Baghdad, who is in graduate school in Philadelphia and writes at a blog of the same name. More here.

'WON'T YOU COME AND WASH AWAY THE RAIN'

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."

From Konfused Kid, a college student in Baghdad, who writes at a blog with the same name. More here.

BABY TALK

My fifteen month old daughter's vocabulary now includes: tayyayah and tattataat.

During Eid, the neighborhood children throw around these firecrackers that make noise, those are called taqqaqaat. Suma watched the kids have their fun first hand, and enjoyed it with them.
Now, whenever she hears gunshots or explosions, she shouts, "Tattataat."

And whenever she hears a helicopter flying above, she exclaims, " tayyayah" as in the arabic "tayyarah" for airplane.

From Fatima, a mother in Baghdad who blogs at Thoughts From Baghdad. More here.'

IF YOU DO NOT CATCH PEOPLE WHEN THEY FALL . . . '

My aunt's unfortunate family was one of those who received flyers reading "leave or we blow up the house."

Without a moment's hesitation, the 10-member family packed their bags and left to my other aunt's place pending a chance to leave a whole country behind. I know my aunt and how peace-loving her family has always been, but even this time, "why" seems to be one of those unanswerable dumb questions. She's not welcome anymore in her own neighbourhood, period.

But then it hit me that someday back in the early 80s, my granny's neighbours, who were of Persian descent, were forced out of their house by the ousted regime. I was too young to remember, but the whole family told me volumes of how gutted and angry they were at the injustice done to the fine people who used to live in the abandoned house nearby, but none of them said a word about ever trying to help. They didn't want to make any waves with the authorities. They were safe enough because they kept their mouths shut once. Now it is their turn to be the victims, and it is other people's turn to watch.

The whole chaos we have been going through boils down to one thing, if you do not catch people when they fall, you, too, will fall and you, too, won't find a soul to catch you. I learned that Iraq is not a hopeless case. We neither need a saviour nor a divine miracle, all we need is be that neighbour. I sometimes wonder whether I will stick to the safe side when I am supposed to bring out the neighbour within me.

From Chikitita, 27-year-old Baghdad resident who blogs at The First Words, First Walk. More here.

(Photograph by The Associated Press)