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Iraq Reports by Kelly
Hayes-Raitt
Backgammon in Baghdad
(03/07/03, Baghdad)
A warm hearth adorned with
ancient delft tiles and antique Chinese tea pots graces a lively
coffeehouse in pre-war Baghdad. (Photo by Kelly Hayes-Raitt,
2/03)
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A
Voices in the Wilderness volunteer from Kansas held a fundraiser for
a children's center. Bowling for Baghdad featured
bootleg rum and a bowling match between activists and reporters
(reporters won). I was much more popular as a bartender than
as a bowler: I have not the slightest clue about the
proportion of rum to coke and apparently erred on the rum side.
On the other hand, I guttered twice.
Games are big in Iraq. Every afternoon, young men gather
across the street from our hotel for their football (soccer)
matches. Every evening, older men gather in coffee houses for
their domino and backgammon matches.
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Soccer
playing fields are sparse and dirty. American bombs hit sewage
and waste treatment plants in 1991. Efforts to rebuild have
been crippled by the U.N. sanctions, which prevent the importation
of chlorine and spare parts for repairs. Additionally, erratic
electricity makes treating sewage and drinking water difficult.
Half the sewage treatment plants are inoperable, and another 25% do
not meet environmental standards. Daily, 500,000 tons of raw
sewage are dumped into the Tigris and other rivers, contaminating
down-stream drinking water sources. Only half the number of
garbage trucks operate. Childhood diarrhea has quadrupled
since before the Gulf War; typhoid fever has increased from
2,240 cases/year to 27,000 cases/year.
Gone are the public gardens and landscaping and greenery. In
its place are brown, decrepit, trash-strewn playgrounds. Yet,
the young soccer players clean their field and play with gusto, not
missing an opportunity to show off for a strange American woman who
is lured to their perimeter by retrieving a stray ball.
By contrast, a woman wandering into a coffee house attracts little
attention. Only men gather in these cacophonous rooms where
the coffee is as thick as the smoke-filled air. The delicate
china teacups are a surprising contrast to the triumphant slamming
of dominoes on the tiled tables.
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It
is in the coffee house across from my hotel that I meet Dhia, a
24-year-old English literature graduate with a strong command of English
and a quick sense of humor. Although I am the only woman here at
4:00 in the afternoon, I feel at home. Dhia assures me it is fine
for me to be here, writing and drinking coffee as thick as melted
chocolate, joking with him and his cohorts and photographing the ancient
floor-to-ceiling blue tiled fireplace that serves as the centerpiece of
the huge hall.
It
is here that George, a photographer and delegation participant from
Ithaca, NY, teaches me backgammon. In a remarkable string of luck, I
throw repeated doubles and silently pray my luck rubs off and saves this
ancient, lively, pedestrian spot from an errant bomb. I feel petty
wanting to save a coffee house from demolition. Yet, it is places
just like this that I fear will not survive. |
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Dhia, a translator who
ran the coffeehouse, worked for the U.S. military during the war and
occupation. Kelly has not heard from him since the fall of 2003.
(Photo by George Sapio, 2/03) |
The
mood on the street changes dramatically after President Bush's
"the games are over" speech. The hotel workers tape our
windows, people stockpile. I go for one last coffee.
Dhia has prepared responses to American letters for us to take back:
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My
dear friend, I'm very happy to read your letter, because it made me know
that there are many people in America [who] don't want this war to
happen.
My friend, I lost two of my aunts and many of my friends in the last
destructive war (Gulf War) and I don't want to lose any of my family
[or] my people in Iraq.
I would like to thank you and all good people in America who love peace
and oppose the war.
Thank you very much for caring about my people in Iraq and sharing their
suffering.
My name is Dhia. I'm 24 year old. I studied English
literature in Baghdad University. I hope I could get my M.A.
degree in English literature.
Peace
& love,
Dhia |
Like
many young people around the world, Dhia dreams of continuing his
education in the United States - the very country that may literally
bomb all his dreams.
Over my last Iraqi coffee, I ask Dhia if he thinks the war could be
stopped. "Only Allah can stop this war. President Bush
wants to bomb," he answers solemnly. I am struck by the
strength of his faith and the futility of his helplessness. I
ask one last question: If you could meet President Bush, what
would you say to him?
"Just leave us alone."
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