Red Zone Reflections

It is Sunday evening and I am sitting at my desk, rested and relaxed after enjoying Saturday afternoon and this morning off. My Saturday included a movie night with my friend, and shipmate,Jen. We watched Secretariat, and even though both of us were 99.9% sure Secretariat won the triple-crown, we sat at the edge of our seats until he crossed the line at Belmont. Still, it was good anxiety as far as anxiety goes, and fun to be at the racetrack rather than in Baghdad for a bit. Sunday morning started with a short run after a little more sleep than normal. It is getting hot again, just one lap around the NEC and I was starting to drip. The rest of the morning was more leisurely, ending with a much needed pedicure, particularly after a week of flip-flops in Mexico. So I start this week well rested with pretty pink toes- I'd say I'm off to a good start.

This past week included a trip into the Red Zone for a meeting. A trip into the Red Zone requires a weapon, helmut, individual body armour and a protective security detachment; you don't just drive to the Red Zone, it involves a lot of planning and coordination. The particular route we took gave me a good look at Tafir Square (currently a popular protest spot) and two downtown thoroughfares. I love the opportunity to see what living looks like across the river, outside of the International Zone.

I wish I could say that it looks good but this trip left me reflecting, wondering really, how it could still look so dilapidated after years of reconstruction. Many buildings have gaping holes and shattered windows, visible scars of the bombings and secretarian violence that have rocked Baghdad in recent years. Amongst these seemingly abandoned buildings there are signs of life- businesses that spill out of ground floor stores onto the sidewalks. Just past Tahir Square were a few blocks of shops, all seemingly devoted to hospice care. Industrial beds, wheelchairs and other items for the infirm lined the streets, block after block. It was an all too visible reminder of a war torn nation needing to tend to those worst affected by years of violence.

Saddened by what I saw, I sought out and talked to an local Iraqi colleague later that day at lunch, I wanted to know how it feels for him to have his capital in its current state. We started with the businesses and he shared that it was common for areas to specialize in shopping catagories. However, when the secretarian violence became more frequent and people became wary of travelling to the other sections of town. Neighborhood entrepreneurs began to open independent specialty stores or stores carrying a broader range of merchandise. As we talked, I realized that this had been evident as we drove through Karrada, a suburb of Baghdad.

Same rough buildings, appearing even more disheveled with electrical lines running in every direction along the buildings' facades. I don't think I can do it justice to describe. Try combining a spiderweb with what a ball of yarn would look like after a cat had an hour with it. Everytime I see it I think that can not be safe, and according to my colleague, and common sense, it is not. But beneath the haphazard power lines were a multitude of stores featuring electronics, furniture, bedding, meat, baked goods and produce. Amidst the rubble and chaos there are striking signs of order. The fruit and vegetable stands offer perfect pyramids of fresh produce- colorful and visually appealing. Nothing like the surroundings but still, they belong. This is a part of daily life too. I try hard to notice the bright spots.

We come upon children spilling out of school at noon, wearing backpacks and smiles, some holding an ice cream purchased on the way home. Seeing the kids makes me happy, it is just great to see children, and I hope for a better future for them. Just past the children, we slow and I read some political posters featuring a catchy cartoon like design and the letters U-S-A vertically placed. Next to U- Unfair, S- Sinister, and A- Americans. The hopeful, warm feeling of watching innocent youth engaged in such a normal activity as leaving school is replaced with the reality of what a complicated place this is. I want the kids to read yet I hate the idea of them reading these posters. Behind the glass, I know there is nothing I can do at that moment but hope for the best. All the money, all the effort, and all the sacrifices; you just want it to mean something, something good and something lasting.

Love,

Krista