CPTnet
13 May 2005
IRAQ REFLECTION: Bullets and Candy
by Matt Chandler
A Wednesday morning:
It' s called Al-Kahhal Street, but it's more of a highway--at least it's
supposed to be. Tom Fox and I were on our way to meet a Sunni cleric in
the Al Aadhumiya district of Baghdad, and, as usual, the traffic along
Al-Kahhal was heavy. All the drivers honk their horns, usually to no avail.
Then I heard a concert of horns coming up behind us, and drivers,
surprisingly, were clearing the way. A white Toyota pickup truck
overflowing with uniformed and heavily armed Iraqis armed sped by my window.
Two blue BMWs followed, and then another pickup truck--pistol and rifle
barrels pointed out in every direction. One zealous officer shouted at a
reluctant driver. I assume he said something like, "Move now or I'll
shoot." I don't think he needed to articulate the threat.
A Thursday afternoon:
My friend delights in showering my teammates and me with gifts, usually
cakes, and never stops asking whether we need anything. He came to pick me
up for a visit to his house for the first time in nearly a year. I climbed
into the passenger seat of his new (to him) Volkswagen Golf. The seat was
lumpy and uncomfortable. We made conversation about the car as he started
the engine. "Excuse me," he said as he reached for my rear. Naturally, I
leaned away. He pulled a 9mm pistol from under the seat cover, checked the
magazine, and then tucked it away by his door. "Sorry," he said, "You know
the situation."
A Friday evening:
I've traveled to Iraq four times now, and it's getting harder to find unique
souvenirs for my family and friends. But I was determined to get my
shopping done in the local market in one day this time. The market filled
as the sun set. Young men and women browsed for shoes, mothers held outfits
up to their children for sizing, buyers and sellers negotiated prices. I
was trying to keep my eye out for tasteful trinkets, passing over the toy
guns at the kiosk to my right. Wait--those weren't toys. The salesmen
demonstrated the handgun's clip release for a woman in a black abaya, while
a girl to her left watched intently and a man to her right tested deodorant
sprays.
A Saturday morning:
"Come in," the young priest, told us "You are most
welcome." Justin Alexander and I had only crossed the threshold when he
stopped us. "Please excuse me for this." He picked up his Kalashnikov from
the sofa near the door and held it by the barrel before us. "Don't be
surprised. This is a priest's station, not a police station." He chuckled
as he moved the weapon to the corner. We both smiled awkwardly, and then
sat down at his bidding. He presented to us a candy dish with caramels on
one side and 7.62 caliber bullets on the other. "This is our tragedy," he
said.
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