Long Time No See

I am not an organized kind of person, but since I have not been out in the street in over five months I thought that I'd better make some inquiries to see how life has changed outside the house walls. To my surprise, it turned out that buses no longer pass by my once safe neighbourhood. It has even earned "The Frontline" label based on the fact that it has been teeming with cannibals lately who seemed to have been craving for bus drivers and commuters.

First steps on the main street only corroborated the spooky rumours. I found myself alone in a long deserted street; apart from a few civilian cars, ING convoys and a couple of mangy cats not a soul was there.

For starters, I was thrilled at the thought of walking in the streets, not knowing I'd feel like a tourist. A Tsunami has hit the area and nobody bothered to tell me. I could not recognize the new décor; what's that charred bus doing there? When did all those shops blow up? I'm running out of pens and notebooks and the only shop that sells stationery has been razed! Only now I could match the sounds I've been hearing with the pictures.

I could have taken a cab, but I just missed buses, commuters, smelly fags, the congestion, everything. I was so looking forward to this long-awaited reunion. It was as emotional as I expected, they have changed 180 degrees sadly to the worse. The atmosphere inside was so eerie; passengers are no longer exchanging chitchats as they used to do, not even smiles – except for the woman who passed my fare to the driver. People are no longer discussing politics, particularly the elderly men, whose views and suggestions have always amazed me; I could sense the apprehension and mutual mistrust, no one wants to venture be outspoken about anything or anyone that bugs them. I thought national mourning has been declared; none of the half a dozen vehicles I rode had a radio playing.

I had some bad vibes about one of the drivers. He was cursing the government and the interior minister in a very funny way. I just could not sense sincerity in his voice. He sounded like he was trying to extract confessions from the guy who sat next to him. "Screw the minister, all this chaos is because of him, don't you think?" Oh my God he does want an answer to that! The young guy's only response was "hmmm".

Tears kept streaming down my face until I reached the Jadriya Bridge. Only there I could smell life. It is funny actually, five months ago, after signing my resignation on that very same spot I smelled my freedom, when I had that conversation with the seagull "I'm as free as you are!" I talked to no birds this time, but still the bridge is the only one that has not changed.

All the errands went smoothly. To let the disheartening feeling go away I treated myself with dazzling clothes, which kind of boosted my morale. When my toes shrieked for mercy - poor things they have gotten used to flip-flops - I thought that I should get back to my ghastly surroundings and leave the market wonderland.

Now how about taking a cab! A promising start; the cab driver was not shocked to hear the name of the area, but unfortunately he would not risk his life and drop me closer to my house. He went apologetic, "Sorry ukhtee [sister] I just don't know what I might bump into, you're alright to walk, aren't you!"

When people used to assure me that I'm better off indoors I used to make a tragedy out of it, moan and whine about the boredom I've been going through. Meeting fellow Iraqis in the streets of Baghdad used to inject a dose of hope within me. Yet, it's no longer the case. People are tired and fed up, smiling used to be an Iraqi trademark, and sure it has become a part of history!




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