Inside Iraq Blog - Times Online - WBLG

From Mr Brown to Miss Scarlet

It is just before midday and swelteringly hot in Baghdad.
I am standing outside the blast walls that surround the British Embassy, out of breath and dripping in sweat, having spent the morning chasing around the Green Zone on the trail of Gordon Brown.
Stern-faced Gurkhas guarding the compound regard me with suspicion as I plead to be let inside (and out of the sun) for a press conference that he is due to give.
After a short wait, I’m granted access and taken to an air-conditioned room where UK journalists travelling with the Prime Minister are also being kept.
Mr Brown only has a few, spare minutes during a flying visit to Baghdad to talk to the media before setting off to catch a plane down to Basra.
Addressing the visiting UK reporters, several Iraqi journalists and me the lone Baghdad-based-correspondent-for-a-British-newspaper, he touches on plans to cut troop numbers, dutifully answers a few questions and then leaves.
Show over, the travelling press pack is ushered on to a bus to follow.
I also try to get a lift to the nearest exit but am told there is not enough petrol in the tank.
Alone again in the sun, the only option is to trudge by foot out of the Embassy and along the network of motorway-size roads, linked by concrete roundabouts to a bridge that crosses the Tigris and leads out of the Green Zone.
Not surprisingly, most foreigners move around this compound, which measures about 4 square miles, by vehicle because: a. Of its size; b. The weather is punishingly hot at this time of year; and c. There is still a kidnap threat.
Sadly due to a badging anomaly, I am still waiting for the right pass to get my car through the checkpoints, so am forced to take a bit of a risk whenever I visit the Green Zone, either organising a lift with the person I’m meeting; catching a cab or, when strapped for cash (as I was at that moment), walking.
After a few paces it becomes apparent that I stick out a mile.
Not only am I the only person stupid enough to be walking in the midday heat but I am also a rather conspicuous, blonde-haired foreigner.
It doesn’t take long for some Iraqi man in a dodgy-looking, white, Mitsubishi pick-up truck to take an interest.

Eating out with Iraq's Prime Minister

My fixer was just tucking into his main course of lamb kebabs at a posh restaurant in central Baghdad when a commotion outside caught his attention.
Curiosity aroused, he went to the front door in time to see scores of black, four-wheel drives and pick-up trucks packed with guards pull up in the car-park and on the street.
The vehicles displayed Government badges, prompting my fixer to conclude that some minor Iraqi politician was coming in for dinner.
To his surprise, the suited figure of none other than Nouri al-Maliki, the Prime Minister, emerged, accompanied by two young girls, and walked inside.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes,” said my fixer. “It is the first time I have seen a member of the Government outside the Green Zone.”
Smiling calmly as fellow diners froze mid-mouthful to stare, Mr Maliki strolled over to a table with his young companions – thought to be daughters or grandchildren – while an entourage of burly bodyguards kept a watchful eye.
Within moments, there was a scraping of chairs as people, food forgotten,  scrambled over to try to take a picture with their mustachioed leader.
One of the guards, however, intervened, saying: “Please give him some privacy”, adding that the Prime Minister would pose for photographs after he had eaten.
The pop-star welcome was a far cry from the emotions Mr Maliki’s name used to provoke barely a year ago, when sectarian violence was still high.
People would mock him as weak and ineffective, calling for a tougher man at the top, with some even lamenting the end of Saddam Hussein’s rule.
But a series of crackdowns on Shia militias in the south and al-Qaeda-sponsored fighters in central and northern Iraq has earned Mr Maliki a lot of new fans.
“You eliminated the terrorists. We like what you did,” said one such admirer at the Saysban restaurant.
After he finished eating, the Prime Minister allowed about 10 people to pose next to him one at a time for a photograph. One old woman who was among the chosen few shook his hand, saying: “I prayed to God to help and support you.”
Not everyone was impressed with Mr Maliki’s dinnertime spectacle.
“Why did he not go to eat at a restaurant in Amariya?” scoffed one scathing diner, referring to a notoriously dangerous part of Baghdad. “It is safe here. He is just putting on a show to do well at the next elections.”
Iraqis are due to vote in provincial elections later this year, while the next general election is scheduled to take place in 2009.

[Picture: Nouri al-Maliki talking to the press outside Downing St, after talks with  British PM, Gordon Brown. By Chris Harris for The Times]

A life spent waiting

Face creased with concern, the former Iraqi interpreter sits on a cheap-looking sofa in a rented flat in Amman as his two young children play on the floor and his pregnant wife rests in the bedroom.
“We are worried about what is going to happen to us. The [asylum] process takes too long. I am shocked,” the man said.
In April, he and his family boarded a plane to Jordan in the belief that they would fly on to Britain within weeks to escape a life of fear and intimidation in Iraq because of his previous job as an interpreter for the British military.
More than seven weeks later, they, along with about 30 other former interpreters and their dependents, are still waiting for news.
“We received a lot of promises,” said the man who asked to remain anonymous for security reasons.
“I did not expect to go to the UK directly but maybe after six weeks or two months. If I had known that it would take a long time then I would not have come. My wife is pregnant. It is expensive here,” he said of Amman.
“If by the end of August we are still waiting we will quit from the programme and try to go somewhere else. We can’t go back to Iraq. My city is too dangerous.”
The stranded interpreters are trying to travel to Britain through a programme set up in cooperation with the UN’s refugee agency, the UNHCR. It requires them to gain refugee status in Jordan before travelling to Britain, a process that takes time and offers no guarantees.
“We have been told that some maybe rejected,” said a second former interpreter who lives with his wife and 10-month-old daughter in the same apartment bloc as the first.
This man is one of a lucky handful of candidates, however, who were interviewed by a team from the Home Office who travelled to Amman last month. There is a chance he and his small family could receive the green light to travel to Britain as early as July. The others must continue to wait.
“I would like to go to the UK to save my life,” the 30-year-old said, sitting in his rented flat with three other former interpreters who also live in the bloc.
“If I go back to Iraq, I will be killed,” he said, looking down at his daughter who was gurgling without a care in the world as she crawled across the floor.
The interpreters have been living in hiding ever since they were forced to quit their work because of death threats from Shia militia groups in southern Iraq who view anyone who works for the British military as a traitor or a spy.
Many believe that their lives are in even greater danger now, after accepting the offer to travel to Jordan in a bid to make it to Britain. Rejection and being forced to return to Iraq would be a death sentence, they say.
“People back home think that we are already in London,” said a third interpreter, 28, one of the few men who is single and travelling alone.

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.

Attack (of sorts) in Samarra

I was outnumbered 20 to one in what has been called the most dangerous city in Iraq.
Terrified and isolated in a small wooden hut on the top of a patrol base in Samarra, I grabbed the only weapon to hand, a flip-flop, and started smacking it down in all directions in a bid to defend myself.
The giant ants were more than a match. One would fall only for two more even bigger beasts to rear up from a crack in the ground and take its place, fearlessly zooming towards me.
To animal lovers, I didn’t want to kill the things and initially tried to ping them out of the hut, but this involved opening the door, which invited hoards more in. Therefore, in line with typical Rules of Engagement, I whacked the flip-flop close by in an escalation of force before going in with the killer blows.
After about five minutes of flip-flip pounding, several of the colossal creatures (at least the size of a toe, well maybe the stumpy very skinny toe of a small child) lay dead. The others had alarmingly scuttled off to fight another day.
Moments later came a plague of baby ants to feed off the bodies of the humungous ones. This was too much. Beaten, I retreated out of my bedroom hut, across a stone roof (where another ant army appeared to be planning a counter-attack) and down a flight of makeshift wooden stairs to safety.
It took a while to muster up the courage to venture back. I finally returned, armed with a bottle of drinking water to wash the invaders away.
Job done, I tried to relax on a raised mattress in the hut where I was staying on an embed with US troops, but the fact that the place had been penetrated once meant it no longer felt safe.
Right now, it is midnight and I can’t sleep, convinced that if I do I will wake up to find large ants feasting on my feet or, worse still, crawling over my face.
I texted a friend about my dilemma who suggested scattering sugar outside to distract the ants from plotting their next ambush or dip the legs of my bed in paraffin (apparently a trick used in Africa during World War II to ward off scorpions). Useful tips if I had (a) sugar and (b) paraffin.
Alas, the only items of note in the hut, apart from the unexciting contents of my rucksack, are two apple cores and an empty carton of cherry juice. I am just going to have to rely on my trusty flip-flops and hope for the best.
On the positive side, I guess the fact that the only thing I am worrying about in Samarra is getting bitten by an ant must be a sign of progress given that less than a year ago militants were carrying out public executions in the street and people were living inside their homes in genuine terror.

Failed quest for 'Daughters of Iraq'

For an embed set up to investigate a new breed of Iraqi female guard it was a complete disaster. But fortunately, thanks to an amusing helicopter crew and some friendly soldiers on the ground, the trip was not an utter waste of time.
In fact, things got off to a promising start. 
I mean, it’s not every day you get to ride next to a gunner in a Blackhawk and watch as he test-fires the weapon, while passing over a patch of dusty waste land en route to an area known as the Triangle of Death.
Touching down at a military base on the outskirts of Yusifiyah, a town south of Baghdad, I had been expecting to spend the next two days with some “Daughters of Iraq”, a novel addition to the country’s bulging security forces.
The group is a female version of the better-established “Sons of Iraq” who were formed and funded by the US military after largely Sunni Arab tribes grew disenchanted with al-Qaeda.
It became apparent very quickly, however, that something had gone horribly wrong in the planning of my adventure.
The local batch of Daughters of Iraq only emerge on a Sunday and a Monday, while I, for some inexplicable reason, had been booked to embed on a Tuesday with the US soldiers who run the programme.

The Commanding Officer, Captain Michael Starz, who had nothing to do with organising the visit but was merely hosting it, was as puzzled as me as to why I had been sent on such an odd day to see real live Daughters of Iraq.
Unfortunately our mutual realisation of the error only dawned after the helicopter had upped and vanished, leaving me stranded in this rural spot.
To make matters worse, Tuesday (when all this took place) turned out to be the very day when thousands of Iraqi soldiers poured deeper than ever before into the Baghdad Shia slum of Sadr City.
I had been waiting for the past week for this to happen so it was typical that the action should kick off the moment I decide to take a chance and leave.
Alas none of my mobile phones worked in Yusifiyah and my satellite phone decided to go on strike so I was blissfully unaware of this hugely symbolic event until I finally logged onto the Internet a lot later in the day.
With no chance of seeing any Daughters of Iraq at work, I asked to be put on the next flight back to Baghdad.

A helicopter was due in at 3pm, which meant I had time to go out on a patrol with Captain Starz.

Delivering aid to Sadr City

Smiling excitedly, the skinny orphan clutches a new rucksack given to him by a group of Iraqi soldiers as part of a limited mission to distribute aid to the many needy people in Sadr City.
Rasoul Mohamed Sharif, 12, and the other 30 boys at a ramshackle orphanage are among the lucky few to gain access to this assistance, which is only being distributed in the southern sector of the Baghdad Shia slum.
Ongoing clashes between US and Iraqi forces and gangs of Shia gunmen who have controlled Sadr City for the past five years, means that soldiers have been unable to deliver supplies of food, water and medical assistance any deeper.
As a result boxes of bandages and other basic medical equipment lie untouched outside a Baghdad military base, while hospitals and medical centres in the northern two-thirds of the impoverished district are fast running out of supplies.
First Lieutenant Mostafa Zeid, a doctor, said that it was very frustrating to know that people were in need of help and to have the necessary assistance, but be unable to deliver because it is deemed too dangerous.

“We know that they [the hospitals] are suffering from a lack of drugs, medicines and doctors and they need help,” he said, noting that the supplies had been sitting around for more than three weeks.
“I am very sad and frustrated.”
The Ministry of Health had offered to help deliver the equipment to the hospitals but the soldiers say that they prefer to hand it over themselves. The Health Ministry has a record of being closely connected with the al-Mehdi Army militia that controls Sadr City and there is a suspicion that the medical aid will end up with wounded militiamen rather than civilians.
First Lieutenant Zeid is hopeful that the army will be able to reach the cut-off hospitals and medical centres soon, following a ceasefire agreement signed on Monday between the Government’s Shia political bloc and supporters of Moqtada al-Sadr, the Shia cleric who commands the Mehdi Army.
Clashes continue on the streets, however, and no move has yet been made to cross beyond a wall constructed by US forces to seal off the southern sector.
The military doctor predicted that this would change. “I believe in one week we can take this [the medical supplies],” he said, speaking to me on Tuesday.

Random kindness

Something really random just happened so I thought I would share.
I was sitting in my office, which is actually a small room inside a suite inside a hotel in Baghdad, feeling rather blue – it happens every now and then.
Truth be told, I was generally feeling sorry for myself. Pathetic, considering how bad other people have it out here, but there you go.
Anyhow, the cleaner, who visits my room every day and always greets me with a big smile no matter what is going on in his life, came in to make some comment about the laundry.
I tried to hide the fact that I was upset, but failed.
As soon as he noticed, the young man sprang into action, wiping away my tears, telling me to be happy and not to worry about anything. He even planted a big kiss on my head as if I were a member of the family or something.
Before I knew it the cleaner was off pottering around the bathroom with a mop, but thanks to his kind gesture I feel much better.

Pigeons welcomed in Baghdad

A flock of pigeons has taken roost in a busy square in central Baghdad, where three fountains also recently started to spout water.
The rare display prompts some passers-by jokingly to liken this tiny fraction of their otherwise broken city to London or Paris.

“It makes me feel like we are in Europe,” said my driver as we pulled up to Tahrir Square this morning to check-out the tame birds and the waterworks.
Twittering to each other, the pigeons flutter around the foot of a large stone plaque at one end of the square, which is actually shaped more like a rectangle and also boasts a revamped patch of parkland surrounded by a main road.
The Baghdad Council installed the birds here a few months ago as part of a push to revive the bomb-scarred capital, said a young boy who looks after them.
“There are about 300 pigeons altogether, though I lost a few of them in the first day because they just flew off,” he said, declining to give his name.
Housed in a green cage, the size of a garden shed, the grey, white and speckled birds are released every morning at 7am and shooed home at 5pm.
The walls of the cage are lined with shelves holding small, straw baskets where the pigeons sleep and also reproduce.
“This chick was born three weeks ago,” said the bird-keeper, reaching into one of the baskets and plucking out a small ball of dark grey feathers.

People walking across the square pause to check out the pigeons and the fountains. Some even snap a few pictures on their camera phone.

Iraqi forces see victory in Basra

Iraqi soldiers are standing proud in Basra one month after launching a surprise offensive to wipe out murderous gangs of Shia militants that had been allowed to flourish under Britain’s watch.
Many of them say the operation has boosted their confidence, but the militiamen warn that the only reason the fledgling Iraqi army had any success was because they continue to observe a ceasefire order by the radical cleric Moqtada al-Sadr.

Soldier Hassan Sha’an said the past four weeks has tested the training he received from British forces in conducting raids and pulling security for an important person. The 25-year-old is part of team charged with guarding the Iraqi commander of forces in Basra, Lieutenant-General Mohan al-Furaiji.
“When we conducted raids I remembered what we had been taught about covering our backs and looking out for our colleagues,” Mr Sha’an said.
“After the achievements of the Charge of the Knights operation I feel as a soldier more confident to go on raids and patrols or search for people.”
Nouri al-Maliki, the Prime Minister, launched the Basra offensive on March 25 after alerting US and British commanders at the last minute. The original plan that Lt-Gen Furaiji had drawn up anticipated the campaign to start in mid-July.
Encouragingly, the first wave of attacks caught the militants off-guard, but two days later they launched a counter offensive, prompting at least one entire Iraqi Army battalion of 1,400 men to flee.
Threats by Mr Maliki to disarm rang hollow and the mission appeared to be on the brink of failure before thousands of Iraqi re-enforcements backed by hundreds of American and British soldiers joined the fight at the start of April.
“They [the militiamen] collapsed,” said Lt-Gen Furaiji, claiming that the gunmen were a fraction of the 12,000-strong force that some had anticipated.

Rogue elements of the al-Mehdi Army militia, loyal to Moqtada al-Sadr, are accused of being behind much of the violence and intimidation in Basra, where the population was forced to follow a set of strict religious codes or be punished.
The Iraqi commander said: “Those who fought are from special groups who received training in Iran.”
But the Basra leader of the Sadr movement, the cleric's political wing said the Government had launched a witch hunt for anyone linked to the Sadrists to ensure rival political parties and their militias gain power in Iraq’s second city.

Sandstorm hits Baghdad

The sandstorm swept in without warning overnight, covering everything in its wake in fine particles of dust.
By morning Baghdad was cocooned inside a yellow haze of dirt. Visibility shrank to a few meters, erasing almost all trace of the Tigris River that slices through the capital.

Many people wrapped a scarf over their mouth and nose for protection and sheltered their eyes behind a pair of goggles or shades before venturing outside. Some even purchased the sort of white face mask a dentist would wear to help them breathe, while anyone with asthma stayed at home.
Every year at about this time sandstorms engulf Iraq like a dirty blanket of fog that clogs the air and leaves behind a thin layer of filth.
Majid Kamal, a traffic policeman, who spends his day zipping around Baghdad on a motorbike, was aghast when he awoke last Thursday to discover that the outside world had been transformed into a dust cloud.
“This sand gives me a headache,” the 35-year-old said. “I tried to get the day off but my boss refused because he feared the bad conditions would cause more road accidents.”
After several hours spent driving around breathing in the dirt, however, Mr Kamal’s chest and eyes were so sore that he was allowed to knock off early.
Like many Iraqis, the dust reminds the traffic policeman of the start of the invasion five years ago, which was also blighted by a huge sandstorm.
“At that time, I was made to stand outside 24-hours-a-day,” Mr Kamal said, noting that Saddam Hussein had ordered all his security forces to work.
Latifah Hussein, 43, views sandstorms as a bad omen.
“This is a sign from God. It is not a good sign for the poor people,” said the housewife, dressed in a long, black robe as she popped outside her Baghdad apartment to pick-up some medication from a local pharmacy.

Iraqis belt-up in road safety drive

On my first trip to Iraq four years ago my driver told me off for trying to put on a seatbelt when I sat in the car because such a move – aside from the blonde hair and blue eyes – would clearly mark me out as a foreigner and a potential target.
“Iraqis don’t wear seatbelts,” he said, though I subsequently wondered whether it would be better to run the risk of attracting unwanted attention rather than endure the daily hazard of racing through the streets of Baghdad without a safety harness.
Over the past fortnight, however, a transformation has taken place. Iraqi drivers are (albeit in many cases reluctantly and/or in bemusement) wearing seatbelts for the first time following a Government order.
Many see the new rule as a bit of a joke given that the authorities have yet to stop the far more serious crimes of car bombings and kidnappings, but others welcome the move as a tiny glimmer of order in their otherwise chaotic lives.
Keen to write a story about seatbelts (http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/iraq/article3761059.ece), I headed off around Baghdad in the back of a taxi to see if people were belting up.
Incredibly, to a greater extent, they were, largely because no one wants to be stung by the 30,000 dinar (13 pound) fine.
My taxi driver, who is still getting used to the sensation of wearing a seatbelt, is pleased that Iraq’s traffic laws are catching up with the rest of the world’s, but he just doesn’t place car accidents very high-up on his list of concerns.
“I don’t have safety in my own house and garden so why should I worry about safety in my car?” Mohammed Farid said.
The 29-year-old knows only too well the perils of living in Iraq. Four years ago he was injured in the leg by a bomb blast when out driving. A couple of months later, criminals stole his car.
Mr Farid also noted that the countless checkpoints, road blocks and blast walls across Baghdad prevent anyone from driving fast enough to hurt themselves if they were to crash. “I only wear this strap to avoid paying a fine,” he said.
The law is imposed to a lesser extent on the roads leading to the capital, with some drivers saying that they belt up only when they approach Baghdad. However in the southern city of Basra and the northern city of Mosul traffic police are also out in force.
Ehssan Jabor, a taxi driver in Basra, is fuming at having to wear a seatbelt.
“I can't drive in this hot weather wearing this stupid rope around my body like I am under arrest,” the 45-year-old said.
“The authorities have to find real solutions to our real problems such as the [lack of] power, jobs and water instead of bothering poor drivers with these silly laws.”
Mohammad Ali, a 33-year-old car dealer, disagrees, saying: “If they want to start by imposing the law on small matters, then that is great. I agree with anything that will help the city become safe again.”
Up in Mosul, opinions are similarly divided.

Fishing in Saddam Hussein's lake

Standing by a blown up bridge with Blackhawk helicopters buzzing overhead, the American soldier casts his fishing line into the lake surrounding a former palace of Saddam Hussein just outside Baghdad and waits for something to bite.
Warrant Officer Leslie “Scott” Henry is part of a unique group of fishermen and women that meets every Sunday and on odd days of the week to take a break from the toils of war with their rod and an array of bait.
“It’s a chance to relax and get away from everything else that’s going on out here,” said the 45-year-old, who deals with aviation safety for US military aircraft in Iraq when he is not trying to hook an asp or a bass.
“You’ve got to stay ahead of the fish. You’ve got to be innovative,” Warrant Officer Henry told The Times as he tried out a new form of bait – strips of scrunched up bacon from the canteen, stuffed with cream cheese.
Situated on a sprawling military base next to Baghdad airport, the al-Faw Palace is one of several grand, marble buildings ringed by man-made lakes that have been occupied by American troops since the invasion five years ago.
Hundreds, possibly thousands, of fish live in these expanses of water, inspiring several soldiers to drop their guns and pick up a rod.
They formed the Baghdad Angler’s Club and School of Fly Fishing, which has its own Web site – www.baghdadflyfishing.com – displaying shots of men and at least one woman posing with fish of various sizes and shapes.
Last February, the group even helped to organise a tournament, dubbed Operation: Catch Fish, which attracted some 300 anglers. Chief Warrant Officer Bobby Carter grabbed top honours, reeling in a 14-pound carp.
"It's a great feeling," the amateur fisherman, who had competed in smaller contests back in the United States, said at the time. "I can't win one back home, but now I can say I came to Iraq and won a fishing tournament."
Iraq is renowned for freshwater fishing. For centuries Iraqis have cast their lines into the Tigris and Euphrates rivers that wind through the country, snaring huge fish such as carp that are barbequed into the traditional meal of masgouf.
Carp is the most numerous kind of fish inhabiting the lakes at Camp Victory but Warrant Officer Henry prefers going after game fish such as asp or bass. “Carp eat off the bottom. They are garbage fish,” he said. “It’s easier to catch carp.”
The angler’s club has about 100 rods that it lends to anyone on the camp who fancies trying their hand at fishing, even visiting journalists.
Intrigued, I and fellow reporter Peter Graff decided to venture to Camp Victory on Sunday to join in the fun with Warrant Officer Henry and one of his colleagues.
My only past angling experience had been opening the fridge door at home as a teenager in Camberley to find a tub of writhing maggots courtesy of my two, fish-mad brothers so I was slightly nervous at the prospect of having a go for real.

Toilets, snakes and flies

British soldiers in southern Iraq have some of the most informative toilets I have ever seen, with signs on the doors of cubicles offering advice on a host of different topics from snake sightings to learning Arabic.
Admittedly, the threat of a snake bite was furthest from my mind when I headed down to Britain’s military base outside Basra; a place better known for its rocket rather than reptile attacks.
So it was with a certain amount of surprise that I read a sign on the door of the ladies’ lavatories at the main headquarters warning of a snake sighting.

“A snake has been spotted in the ladies toilets,” the red-lettered poster read. “Do not attempt to handle it. If seen make noises and leave the room.”
Apparently the snake had been eyed three months ago and the sign, illustrated with a cartoon of the creature, had been there ever since.
With just one working cubicle, the odds of any snake rearing its head as someone was sitting on the toilet appeared worryingly high. However, I was desperate so ventured inside.

Training in Iraq for London Marathon

With one eye scanning for suitable cover in the event of a rocket attack, the officer ran around a sprawling British military base outside the Iraqi city of Basra as part of a training programme for the upcoming London Marathon.
Captain John Gilbody and four colleagues, who are also deployed in southern Iraq, will fly back to Britain to take part in the annual event on April 13 to raise money for Sense, a charity for children and adults who are deaf and blind.
In preparation for the big day, the 29-year-old from Derbyshire also intends to run a ‘Basra marathon’ around the dusty airport camp next Sunday.
“My theory is that if you can run one mile then you can run 26,” Captain Gilbody said, after completing three laps of the base, or some 12 miles, on Thursday in a respectable 1 hour and 40 minutes. “I think it is a massive challenge, but I feel good. I am really proud to be doing this.”
Running a marathon is hard enough, but try throwing in the added risk of rocket fire, insecticide fumes and the heat of Iraq’s fast-approaching summer.
The Basra camp comes under near daily attack from rockets fired by Shia militiamen who want the British forces to leave Iraq. Hitting the deck fast, preferably under some hard cover, is the best course of action, but Captain Gilbody does not let the hazard get in the way of his outdoor training.
“It’s a threat, but the drill is the same,” said the officer from the Duke of Lancaster’s battle group. “Whenever I run I have always got one eye on where I would go if something happens.”

The story of seven Baghdad families

Here are the stories of seven different Baghdad families and how their lives have changed since the United States and Britain invaded Iraq to topple Saddam Hussein.
Largely interviewed by Ali Hamdani, an Iraqi journalist for The Times, these individuals offer a personal insight into the impact of the past five years and the violence that has left, at the very least, tens of thousands dead and forced many more - Shia Arabs, Sunni Arabs, Christians and Kurds alike - to flee their homes.
The people who suffered most are least optimistic about the future. Those whose lives are becoming stable sound more upbeat.

Family 1: The Shia family forced to move from a Sunni neighbourhood

Mina Ta’e, a Shia Arab, lived with her brother and mother in Ameriyah, a predominately Sunni neighbourhood in the west of Baghdad. Al-Qaeda militants forced the family to flee to nearby Mansour, but that neighbourhood also became a battlefield between Sunni Arab extremists and the Shia al-Mehdi Army militia.
The 26-year-old bank employee said: “I felt very happy when the invasion happened. My father was executed by Saddam so I couldn’t believe that we were finally rid of him. I started dreaming of a new Iraq, a free Iraq. Five months later our dream started to vanish.”
Gunmen began killing anyone in Ameriyah who worked with the US forces. Nightly clashes erupted on the street between Sunni Arab insurgents and US troops, while in the daytime, theft and carjacking was rife.
Ms Ta’e said: “Armed groups started setting up checkpoints in the middle of the road, stopping girls who weren’t wearing a head scarf. They also told us not to wear jeans or drive a car.”
She and her brother moved separately to other districts but their mother remained until a gang beheaded the son of one of their neighbours in front of his parents. “That was the moment that we decided enough was enough and we should leave immediately before they come after us,” Ms Ta’e said.
Her family rented their house to a displaced Sunni family that wanted to move to Ameriyah. Ms Ta’e and her mother then moved to nearby Mansour, a mixed Sunni and Shia area. Shortly after arriving in Mansour, that neighbourhood also descended into chaos with al-Qaeda fighting the al-Mehdi Army for control.
Ms Ta’e said: “Two of my uncles were shot dead in front of our house while they were visiting us because they were members of the district council.”
About six months ago, the situation started to improve with the arrival of Iraqi soldiers, concrete barriers and checkpoints. “Some families have started to come back but not many. I still can’t return to my house in Ameriyah. It’s a very dangerous place for Shia.”
Asked about her thoughts for the future, Ms Ta'e said: “My life is better in terms of getting rid of the man who killed my father and also we are now able to travel outside the country and see the world … but that’s not enough because we are missing an essential thing in our life and that is safety.
“We found alternatives for everything else. We bought generators to replace electricity, we changed our houses, we changed our clothes, but we still haven’t managed to find a replacement for safety. I don’t want to live like a refugee inside my home country.”
Ms Ta’e said that she did not want the US forces to leave at the moment because the Iraqi Government was too weak to handle to Sunni and Shia gangs. “I hope things will get better the next year. We have nothing more than hope to live for.”

Iraqis of Mosul speak of suffering

Five years of war have taken their toll on the Iraqi city of Mosul, where people live in fear, many without jobs, electricity or a reliable supply of water.
Engineer Ashwak al-Jaaf lost her husband and the eldest of her six children when unknown assailants killed them following the invasion, writing over their bodies that the pair had been members of Saddam Hussein’s Ba’ath regime.
“I fled to Syria for two years,” said Mrs Jaaf, aged 50.
“When I returned I found that everything had been stolen, even my car. Life is very bad now, dangerous and there are no basic services. This is what happens if you leave a country without a strong leader.”
In certain parts of Mosul, whole roads are lined with mounds of rubble, the remains of a building destroyed by an American hellfire missile or a car bomb.
Sewage runs in the street and the graffiti on walls advertises house after house up for sale.
Mrs Jaaf said that she too would leave again if she had the resources.
“Before the war, life was perfect. My husband was a manager at the Ministry of Oil and we felt very well protected. I am unable to believe that the situation can ever be restored,” she said, blaming the US military for instigating the chaos.
“They destroyed our country and caused many people to be killed because they wanted to oust Saddam and take Iraq’s oil,” she said.
American commanders are working alongside the Iraqi army and the police to stop extremist groups, such as al-Qaeda, from operating in Mosul. Militants, opposed to the US military and US-backed Iraqi Government, have conducted a campaign of killing and intimidation in the city since 2004.
But some local people fear both sides of the fight in equal measure.

Love at first bite

I think about it at least a dozen times a day. If there is a piece floating around the kitchen I will sniff it out and scoff it down. My dreams are sometimes punctuated with images of the stuff and I invariably wake up craving one.
After a life-time of successfully avoiding addiction to substances such as alcohol or tobacco, I have finally met my match: Iraqi bread, aka “samoon”.
Try to imagine the flavour and texture of a fresh, plain bagel that has mated with a panini and a soft, white roll. Mold the mix into the shape of a deflated rugby ball, shove it in the oven until it is fluffy and warm on the inside, smooth and firm out the outside and voila, samoon.
This scrumptious nugget of baked pleasure adorns breakfast tables up and down Iraq, where it is lovingly dunked into bowls of cream-cheese, honey or jam.
It frequently pops up at lunchtime too, with chicken or lamb tikka gracing its innards, sandwich-style. A basket of the more-ish dough slabs is also to hand at dinner, with families stocking leftover slices in a bread basket for later.
I first sampled the delights of samoon four years ago when I dutifully tried it with various accompanying fillings. I soon realized, however, that the taste of the bread itself eclipsed anything that went with it so I switched to eating slices on their own, meaning that I could get through more in one sitting.
Since then, my samoon-per-day count has rocketed to worrying levels.
A straw poll of ordinary Iraqi adults led me to believe that average samoon consumption is one, two or perhaps three portions within a 24-hour period. I typically get through four and, on a bad day, have even managed nine.
It has reached the point whereby work is postponed for a few minutes if a warm samoon is in the vicinity – well the snack doesn’t taste as nice if it gets cold.

Snow in Baghdad

Children in Baghdad squealed with delight yesterday morning when they awoke to see snow flakes falling on their city for the first time in memory.
Gazing in wonder at the sky, many people also hoped that the surprise, white shower was a sign of peace for their war-wrecked country.
“This is great! I wanted to play in the snow but my mother kept telling me to get back inside the house or I will catch a chill,” said Samman Othman, aged seven as he admired the rare flakes, which were slowly drifting down to earth.
Kasim Dawood, a 21-year-old student, said that the sight of snow was a dream come true.
“It is the first time I have seen snow and I hope it will not be the last,” he laughed.  “I think it is a sign of peace from God. The white colour coming down from the sky is like a bird of peace.”
Pharmacist Ahmed Abdallah, aged 33, agreed: “We always have just violence so it’s good to start the day with the quietness of snow instead of the sound of bombs.”
While drawing gasps of astonishment from residents around the city, the smattering of snowflakes failed to make much of an impact on the floor, where it melted into large grey puddles upon impact.
By mid-morning in central Baghdad the snow had turned to drizzle and then stopped, while the temperature hovered around freezing ensuring a frosty breath for anyone who poked their head outside.

The art of looking good on patrol in Iraq

Elbow or knee pads strapped deliberately to ankles and goggles worn back to front over helmets, some Iraqi soldiers have a unique sense of style.
Efforts to mimic their American mentors or simply spruce up and re-enforce their regular army gear result in a variety of different outfits whenever the troops are on patrol.
Sejad Mehdi, 21, said that he habitually fixes a pair of goggles to the back of his American helmet – bought at a Baghdad market for 50,000 Iraqi dinar (21 pounds) – because he saw US troops wearing them that way rather than because he uses the mask in his job.
“It makes the helmet look better,” he said, speaking while on a joint patrol escorting a visiting American general to a market in Yousifiyah, a town south of Baghdad, last week.
Asked why he also had knee pads around his ankles, Mr Mehdi said: “It looks more trendy and they tend to slip down when you have them around your knees.”
Pads sometimes worn by US troops (officers told me that their new uniform has internally fitted padding for the knees already, which makes the attachable versions redundant) have been known to slip down on operations, but certain Iraqis think it looks good that way to begin with so put them around their ankles on purpose.
There is trouble, however, if a commanding officer spots the fashion statement.

[Picture 1: Sejad Mehdi wears knee pads around his ankles while on patrol;
Picture 2: I love the fact that this soldier posed for a picture with the little girl with a fag in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other.]

Joking even though there is no gas, water, electricity, money, jobs...

Jump into a taxi in Baghdad and within minutes the driver will most likely have steered the conversation onto a favourite topic here – power and water, or at least the lack of both.
“Makou falous, makou kaharaba, makou maie,” is a phrase, meaning: “No money, no electricity, no water”, that is often uttered with a wry laugh because people feel that the situation has barely changed since the invasion and there is nothing they can do.
Another line follows: “Makou nafut, makou shi”, which translates as “No gas, no-anything.”
Officials say that electricity levels are improving all the time but Iraqis on the street insist that they still have to rely largely on private generators to power their homes or make do without.
Winter is also surprisingly cold in Iraq given the ridiculously high temperatures that are hit in the summer, forcing people to wrap up in blankets and extra layers of clothing at night if they have no fuel to burn for heat.
Such discomfort prompts many to turn to trademark, Iraqi black humour to make light of their misery.
“Black humour is well known following so many wars and shitty conditions,” said one Iraqi man in Baghdad. “It helps us psychologically and is often the only way to deal with a stressful situation.”
As a result, sarcastic remarks about the dearth of essential services - such as the "makou" list above - are widespread. Even the violence that has plagued the country for almost five years makes ripe joke fodder.
One recorded message on a mobile phone that can be sent to a caller says:
“I am sorry but the person you are calling has either been kidnapped or killed in a car bomb.”

Get out of my house, shrieks the Iraqi woman

“What are you doing in my house?” screamed the furious Iraqi woman as she walked in on a group of American and Iraqi soldiers who were crashing around her living room after kicking down her front door.
“Get out, get out,” she shouted in broken English, shaking her fists in rage at the troops who had frozen as if caught in the act of doing something naughty.
Surveying the damage, the woman shrieked: “Are you happy now?”
American soldiers, and increasingly their Iraqi counterparts, have been conducting house-to-house searches since the invasion, checking neighbourhoods for weapons, insurgents, dead bodies and kidnap victims in a bid to quell the violence that has consumed Iraq.
Hoping to cause minimum inconvenience, the military has softened its approach, always knocking on the front door of a house and waiting to be shown in.
Many homes in dangerous areas, however, are empty after the occupants fled the escalating violence, leaving the soldiers with no option but to break open the front gate and bust down the front door, either with a boot or a crowbar.

Unfortunately on this occasion last Thursday during a search through Saydiyah, a flashpoint mixed Sunni and Shia neighbourhood in southern Baghdad, the owner of one rundown house that had appeared unoccupied showed up after her door had already been knocked in.

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.

Basra handover, no sleep and a broken plane

Covering the British handover of Basra was always going to be painful after a sleepless night.
Unfortunately I had to wait for my correspondent in the city to file some overnight quotes to me for an on-the-ground piece to run that day. An Internet meltdown at his end meant that this did not happen until 2 o'clock on handover morning and I spent the next three hours writing up the story.
Camped at a US military press centre in Baghdad’s Green Zone where embedded journalists stay when in transit, I gave up any chance of sleep after finishing the work and had a shower instead.
That was when it dawned on me that I had forgotten to pack any form of soap or a towel.
Figuring that water alone was better than nothing, I stepped into one of the plastic shower cubicles in a trailer at the press area before drying myself off with a miniscule flannel, which for some obscure reason I had remembered to bring.
Then my mobile phone rang.
It was 5.30am my time and 2.30am in London where by best friend Louise was calling me from the middle of the dance floor at a rugby club party to let me know that the original version of a classic tune we used to love (Apparently Nothing by The Young Disciples) was being played.
Standing there with my flannel, I sportingly bopped along for a few moments before telling her that I really ought to go as I had a flight to catch.

Interpreter dismay at British rejection

Two other former interpreters are also dismayed at being denied access to the Government's assistance package because their contracts were "terminated for absence".
I.K. Salman, who has featured in an earlier blog, left his job and fled Iraq with his wife and two children after an armed gang turned up outside his house in Basra in March 2005.
“They [the British forces] must know very well that attending work after receiving the threat was going to be like a death sentence to me,” said the 43-year-old.
“When I informed one of the British officers about my resignation over the phone immediately after receiving the threat he never told me that I need to send them a written letter and he just accepted my resignation over the phone and said to me that he feels sorry to hear this.”
Mr Salman, who currently lives in Damascus, continued: “It’s not only my case it’s also the case with all the other interpreters who were threatened.
“I think the British Government was only trying, by making us fill these forms, to show the public and the media that they are going to help those people who served them in Iraq ... but then they put this sophisticated criteria just so none of us or maybe only a handful of interpreters will be eligible for this scheme.”

Yanked from sleep by machine gun fire

The explosion of gunshots shook my bedroom window, yanking me out of sleep in an instant on my third night back in Baghdad.
Iraqi police had come under fire from a building near my hotel and were responding. An army unit also stepped in, adding extra rounds of heavy machine gun fire.
After three weeks out of the country, the gunfight in the early hours of Tuesday morning was a harsh reminder that although violence in Iraq on the whole is down there are still plenty of dangers.
Sitting up in bed trying to work out what was happening, I sent a text message to a fellow journalist friend who was sleeping a few floors below me in the same hotel.
“What the f*** is going on outside?” I asked.
She replied: “No clue. Just keep away from the windows.” Followed by: “Don’t they know there are people trying to sleep around here!?”

'I don't want my kids to watch me slaughtered like a useless sheep'

Scared, alone and in fear of their life, scores of Iraqi interpreters who worked