A new thought came to my mind while I was reading Anthony Shadid's book, Night Draws Near. "why don't I start writing my diary on the blog?" I wondered. Finally I decided. It will reflect how life looks like for a young man like me in a country torn between politics and violence.
After watching an interesting episode of Alhoor Alain late last night, I woke up tired and sleepy this morning. My telephone alarm rang at 7 a.m. "Shit," I said. "I want to sleep."
I didn't have a breakfast because I was fasting and I went out to take a taxi to go to work. Usually, I go to Palestine Street where I meet a colleague of mine whom I go with. I have to go there because no taxi drivers take me to the place where I work since it's far and "dangerous".
"Be careful, don't go use the National Theater road," another colleague told me by telephone. "A car bomb exploded there. Police cordoned the area," he said.
I told my colleague and we used another road which made us reach the office within one hour while it takes us 30 minutes maximum. While he was driving, a convoy of interior ministry commandos horrified the people in the street by shooting in the air to separate the vehicles to avoid any possible attack. Using the back of his rifle, one of the commandos broke the side mirror of one car driving. "How scary this is!" my colleague said. "We are starting our day with this incident."
These days, my mood is not like it used to be. My best friends who are also reporters are not present. My muse, J1., is doing a story in another place and the other dear friend, J2., is leaving the country tomorrow and I might not be able to see her for along time. What compensates me is the presence of my dearest male friend, O., whom I consider a brother since I don't have brothers.
I have friends on the internet as well whom I trust and share knowledge and friendship at the same time. The closest ones are G. from India, Z. from N.Z., and H. from Iraq. Sometimes I feel I bother them with my daily complains about the situation but they are so understandable. I feel so comfortable when I talk to them.
I feel them and I feel they are sitting next to me.
Thinking the whole day of the situation in the country makes me really tired. I am trying not to make this affect my life but I don't know till when this will continue. I am worried about my parents and my sister's family more than myself. Few days ago, a huge attack occurred against the Sheraton and Palestine hotels where many western journalists live and work.
"We have to leave," said my mother while we were watching the news. "This country is being destroyed and we cannot endure such life here," she added. "Where can we go?" wondered my father who seemed didn't like the idea. "We can rent the house and go live in Amman for some time at least," she replied.
It's getting very hard for them and for me as well to endure such a difficult life while they used to live normal life from the fifties to the end of the seventies. They endured life in three consequent wars that turned the developed country into a backwards one controlled by failure government and foreign terrorists.
Today, I went to Adhamiya, the Sunni neighborhood, to do some reporting. The streets were so crowded. A traffic policeman left his position at an intersection in central Adhamiya which made the people stuck and refuse to move as each one wants to go first. There was no traffic lights because there was no electricity, as usual. I finished reporting and went back to the office.
The way to Adhamiya used to be very clean, but not any more. Because of the lack of the services in Baghdad, people started throwing their garbage in the streets. I hate this and I wish the people should cooperate with the municipality to restore the clean Baghdad
Before Iftar, J2., who is leaving tomorrow, came to spend her last day in Baghdad with us. We all had Iftar and then she went to her apartment to pack her luggage. She came back an hour and half later. O. was gone by that time as one of his best friends arrived from Dubai. He hasn't seen him for years. We sat down and talked for along time. We talked about her, me, my stories, her stories and about Baghdad itself.
"My house is in Egypt, but my heart is here," she said. We talked about Anthony Shadid's book, Night Draws Near, and the amazing way he describes Iraqis and Iraq before and during the war. "His words make me feel the situation again although I am Iraqi and I went through all the periods mentioned in the book," I said. There was apart I loved in the first chapter of the book. It's about the feeling of one of the most famous sculptor, Maohammed Ghani. "Baghdad …. is the heart of the Arab civilization. Baghdad was the capital of religion and power. It was the capital of Arabs, the golden age of Islam. Arab poetry was Iraqi poetry…. Baghdad is still Baghdad." Shadid quoted Ghani in his book. "It made my tear fall when I read this part," I told J2. "I cannot wait to finish reading it and read J1's book," I continued.
Hugging her, I told J2., "I'll miss you a lot."
"I know, I'll miss you a lot too," she said. Then I left back home and the time was 9:30 p.m. which is a dangerous time to leave in Baghdad.
