Inside Iraq Blog - Times Online - WBLG

Behind the scenes at golden dome building site

In an instant, 18 mounds of professionally buried explosives blew apart a revered golden dome in Samarra. They also obliterated the walls, covered in hand-painted porcelain tiles, that surround the shrine and took out the entire ceiling.
Fixing the mess will take time, but a team of Iraqi architects and engineers is determined to return the al-Askari shrine to exactly the way it was before the attack almost two-and-a-half years ago. That blast was followed by a second bombing that brought down two golden minarets on either side of the dome in June 2007.
The United Nations’ heritage agency, UNESCO, is overseeing the reconstruction effort in partnership with the Iraqi Government, with a contract for detailed designs of the shrine and its famous dome due to be handed out in the coming days.
Originally designed by Iranian architects, it is undecided yet whether Iran will play a part in reconstructing the site. Too much Iranian involvement will unlikely go down well with the local Sunni population. However Shia Iran will be very keen to ensure that the shrine is restored to its former glory.
Preparing the ground, scores of labourers in blue boiler suits have been hard at work since February shoveling away rubble in tractors, storing anything worth saving and boring holes into the remains with electronic drills.
The structure alone is not forecast to be completed until August 2009. Then begins the pain-staking task of re-fitting hundreds of gold-plated copper tiles that adjourn the outside of the 32-foot high dome as well as the golden minarets.
Most of the tiles were salvaged from the carnage but some are bent out of shape and may have to be replaced.
Restoration work is always difficult and time-consuming. In the case of the al-Askari Shrine, it is also hugely politically and religiously sensitive.

Christmas tree shopping in Baghdad

Christmas in Baghdad was always going to be rather lonely so I decided to cheer myself up by buying a tree and all the trimmings.

Admittedly there is a lack of nurseries flogging Norwegian firs in the city and I have yet to see any hand-carved wooden decorations or plumes of thick tinsel. However, fake trees (made in China), flashing coils of colourful lights and boxes of baubles are for sale at certain stores.
Feeling rather excited at the prospect of getting into the festive spirit, I donned a headscarf, hoisted my Iraqi handbag over one shoulder and headed to the central commercial district of Karada with a couple of Iraqi colleagues last week.
It was still a bit early in the morning when we arrived so the three of us ducked into a café to wait until more shops opened.

Settling down on wicker benches around a circular table, we ordered some Iraqi coffee – a strong drink with a bitter taste disguised by lots of sugar that comes in a thimble-sized cup.
One of the guys I was with also asked for a hookah pipe. Soon the air was filled with apple-smelling fumes as he puffed away, while we chatted in low voices against a backdrop of Arabic pop music strumming from a television set in the corner of the otherwise empty bar.
About 45 minutes later it was time to heave ourselves up and hit the shops, or at least hop back into our car and drive a few hundred metres down the road to a rather dilapidated bits and bobs store that had also turned its hand to Christmas gear for the holiday season.

Father Christmas visits Baghdad

Father Christmas visited Baghdad’s fortified Green Zone on Saturday evening.

Flanked by Mother Christmas, a reindeer and a couple of elves, he dropped by the American Embassy compound to spread some festive cheer among a few dozen US soldiers and diplomats as well as a smattering of officials from other countries.
“We appreciate all your hard work in the North Pole. Thank you,” Father Christmas said, standing on a raised platform that had been made to look like a brick chimney.

His appearance was part of a Christmas tree lighting ceremony on a wide patio area next to an outdoor swimming pool at the former Republican Palace of Saddam Hussein where the embassy is temporarily housed.
Also getting involved in the Yuletide spirit, the top British officer in Iraq had the honour of turning on a twinkling string of lights that twisted around the large, brightly decorated Christmas tree, which stood next to a giant inflatable snowman.
Lieutenant General Bill Rollo dutifully climbed onto the chimney-stage and flicked the light switch as the assembled crowd sipped hot chocolate from polystyrene cups and munched Christmas cookies.

Dialysis not working well for Habib

Habib, the young Christian Kurd whose kidneys have failed, is not responding well to dialysis treatment at a hospital in northern Iraq. He needs a kidney transplant fast and you can help.
Anemic, with blood that clots too quickly and weak veins, his body is struggling to cope with the tubes that are inserted on a regular basis to flush out his organs.
“Also the flushing gives him difficulty breathing,” said the 21-year-old’s mother, Nadema Mosa, her face strained with worry and exhaustion.

“If he stays on the dialysis he is going to have side effects. When he goes for the flushing it is good because it numbs him but in the end it is going to exhaust him,” she said, speaking from next to Habib’s bed on a kidney ward at Hevie Hospital in the Kurdish city of Duhok.
“Every day we try a new piece of equipment and it does not work.”
Lying on one side with bandages around his neck – the only place where doctors could find a good enough vein to insert a dialysis tube – Habib is desperate for help.
“Nothing has really come out of this painful process I have been through,” he said.
“The longer they continue the dialysis the more they are going to torture me. Every day they stick something in me. The only answer is a transplant as I cannot continue with this illness.”
Unfortunately the family, which fled Baghdad to a village on Iraq’s volatile border with Turkey last year after being persecuted by Islamic extremists because they are Christians, lacks the funds to pay for the treatment.
They only managed to start the dialysis, which is supposed to keep Habib alive until a kidney donor is found, thanks to a $400 donation from a stranger. That money will soon run out.

Technical crisis in mountains and a fire station

A technical breakdown was the last thing I needed while reporting from the remote mountains of northern Iraq last week. Equally, a fire station was furthest from my mind when it came to finding a solution.
However, when the battery in my B-Gan (a contraption that – when it works – enables you to email data) decided to die barely an hour before my deadline, I was willing to try anything to get Internet access.

Standing on the roof of a simple motel off a winding road in the Matin Mountains, I had managed to file the text of my story but lost the connection before I could send the pictures.
Frantic and fully aware that 24-hour Internet cafes have yet to appear in this part of the world, I called my fixer to take me to the nearest town to see if we could find some form of Web outlet.
The one dilapidated store that claimed to provide online services was shut for the evening but a helpful young man standing across the street said that he thought he had a friend who had Internet access at home.
He made a quick phone call to confirm his theory before selflessly jumping into the car with us to direct my driver to the house.

Dying on the frontline unless he gets a new kidney

Gazing out of his bedroom window hoping for a miracle, Habib knows he will die in the next few months without treatment for a debilitating kidney disease but his family are unable to afford the life-saving transplant operation.

The young man’s parents, Kurdish Christians, spent most of their money moving Habib and six of his siblings to a village on the Turkish border of Kurdish-run northern Iraq last year to escape the violence in Baghdad.
Adding to their dilemma, the family's new home sits on the frontline of what could become a war zone if Turkey decides to launch a military operation to fight Kurdish rebels based across the mountainous border.
“He is very sick and needs a kidney transplant. If not he will die,” said Habib’s father, Shamoon Michael, tears streaming down his face.
Nadema Mosa, his mother, was also desperate. “Please, please somebody help us,” she said, stooping to touch her son gently on one shoulder as he lay in bed, too weak to move or speak.
Both of the 21-year-old’s kidneys no longer work, he is unable to eat without throwing up and even keeping down liquids is difficult.
“He cannot concentrate. He needs fresh air so we open the window a fraction to help him to breathe,” said the mother.
I first met Habib and his family last week in Dash Ta Takhe, a tiny Christian village tucked away inside Iraq’s border with Turkey.
The area, a target of Turkish artillery trying to hit the outlawed Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK), has since been closed to journalists by the Kurdish region’s Peshmerga forces as cross-border tensions mount, but I was allowed access to the village again on Saturday to check up on the Michaels.
To my dismay, Habib’s condition had deteriorated rapidly.

A lot happens in a month in Iraq

Sitting back in my bureau in Baghdad after a month away, nothing much about my immediate surroundings has changed.
- The cranky, metal air conditioner still rattles as though someone is playing a permanent drum roll on the inside of it with long nails;
- The toilet still doesn’t flush;
- I remain addicted to samoon – an Iraqi version of bread, which looks like a flat rugby ball, has the consistency of naan but tastes like a bagel.
Despite such points of familiarity, life outside my office has definitely moved on.
Iraq changes by the day so a month contains a host of developments and these past four weeks have been no exception.

(Picture: A piece of samoon against the backdrop of my bureau)

Still stuck -- and my shower gel just ran out

Still here and the novelty of being stuck in a curfew has definitely worn off.
Three days in and I have run out of shower gel – am improvising with facial scrub – food supplies are dwindling and the four walls of my room have started to feel like a prison.
Thoughts of making my friend’s wedding evaporated on Friday when I was told there were no flights leaving the airport even if I could break the rules to sneak up there.   
By evening, the nightmare deepened as the Government announced it was extending the curfew for another 24 hours until Sunday morning.
This means missing Father’s Day too – sorry dad, hope you and the rest of the family enjoy the BBQ, at least it means there will be more to go around without me there.
While the curfew is irritating, at least the only thing I have to moan about is missing flights, family events and running out of soap. For millions of Iraqis in Baghdad who are also confined to their homes, these past few days have been much more uncomfortable.

Stranded in Baghdad

Right now I am supposed to be sitting on a plane winging my way to Amman where a second flight is waiting to take me home to London for a wedding this weekend.
Instead I am stuck in my Baghdad office unable to move because the Government decided to slap a curfew on the city last night that looks set to hold until the weekend.
As a result, my attendance at the wedding is in serious doubt (sorry Naomi and Anton – hope you have an amazing day), but I am keeping my fingers crossed in case the situation changes.