by Jo Wilding

Headmaster Mohammed looked out at the horde of kids outside the school gate and mused that quite a lot of them might come back now they’d seen the circus. They wouldn’t want to miss it if it came back again, he said. Loads of kids dropped out because of poverty in the family, the dangers and difficulties of getting to school or the poor conditions of the school itself. Kids from other schools have been kidnapped for money or attackers have come into the school. There’s nothing to keep anyone out, Mohammed said, looking at the feeble gates.

Part of Mohammed’s problem is the lack of text books. They’re still working with the old ones, with Saddam’s picture in them and they haven’t got nearly enough for all the kids, so the teachers can only lecture. Unicef was close to giving contracts for the printing of new books to local Iraqi printers, who had started buying the inks and materials, before Unicef pulled out leaving nothing but ill-feeling between the different companies.

They’ve got no other teaching materials at all. There are a thousand boys in the morning shift and a thousand girls in the evening shift so there’s no time or space for any sort of training for the 30 teachers. Each child is allocated twelve pencils per year, an average of one and a half per month of school. “But the children do not keep a pencil for a month. They keep a pencil for a few days and then it is broken or lost or finished.” It goes without saying that there are no art materials in the school.

by Jo Wilding

I set off for the internet. I’m wearing the poker face I’ve learnt from the Iraqi women to deflect harassment, staring straight ahead, slightly fiercely, not responding to any shouts or remarks, even greetings, because as soon as one man sees you say hello to another, you’re fair game.

The air seems impossibly full for a second and then bursts with a roar, sending a tremor through the ground that shoots up the leg my weight is on, unbalancing me slightly, but the poker face doesn’t flinch. Young men start running past me towards the direction of the explosion. That’s when the shock hits me: I’ve learnt to ignore things blowing up behind me.

A burst of gunfire sends a crowd of children and young men running back the other way. “Wayn? Wayn?” people are asking. Where? “Kahromana,” someone says, referring to the sculpture of Ali Baba’s wife pouring hot oil into the barrels where the forty thieves were hiding, which stands at the junction between Karrada Dahkil, Karrada Kharitj and Saadoon.

by Jo Wilding

A sign on the wall opposite says “Idle Association Thi Qar”. Thi Qar is the southern governorate which includes the city of Nasariya and the road in front of the Idle Association is closed off every morning by a couple of vehicles of Italian troops, dark blue carabinieri in tight trousers and sunglasses, smoking cigarettes out of the roof hatches, a few more on foot and some Iraqi police, while hundreds of men gather outside looking for work.

Next door on the other side of the hotel is the police station. Within a minute of the front door we were accosted by an Iraqi police officer and told to come and speak to his superior who told us we couldn’t walk down that road. Why not? Because it’s dangerous. OK, no problem, we’ll go the other way. No, the officer said. Go back to your hotel and stay there. Don’t walk anywhere.

Less than an hour in Nasariya and I was already being sent to my room. Disobediently we carried on past the hotel door and into town. The hotel manager said it was safe to walk anywhere in Nasariya. As ever, people were curious, friendly, protective, asking were we Italian, what were we doing here and did we want chai. In the streets of Baghdad you don’t see a lot of foreigners but here we’re properly rare.

Another time police came over to the bench we were sitting on outside a tea shop and asked what we were doing. I held up my glass of tea and stated the obvious. They demanded our passports. “It’s in the hotel,” I lied, because otherwise they’d wander off with it, pass it around, find things to ask pointless questions about. “Is there a problem?” No, the first one conceded, eventually, there was no problem, except that by now his colleague was eyeballing the men on the bench and had to be coaxed away.

by Jo Wilding

“This was a Baath party building. The girls have never been in this hall before,” Maha said by way of explanation for the ones who burst into tears and went and hid. “Only three girls come to the youth centre and they only come for sewing lessons.” For the last couple of weeks she’s been visiting the girls’ schools and talking to their parents, negotiating and reassuring for them to be able to come to see the show. Still she was surprised at how many were allowed to come.

“Some of these girls, I have not seen them smile since the war and today they were laughing. It makes me think there is still hope.” Maha is the computer teacher for the centre, which has two computers. She’s well respected in the community for her honesty which is why she was able to persuade the parents to let their daughters come to the show and also why she’s able to convince the manager to let the girls use the centre. Less popular with the staff and community, he’s known as “Little Saddam”.

The girls, like they always are, were excited to see a woman in the show, like the women who work there, mostly as cleaners and cooks, clustered at the back of the room. Maha is hoping today will be a precursor to more of the girls coming regularly. There’s nothing else for them apart from school. There’s some kind of plague that claims them around 11 or 12 years old. They disappear.

March 18 - March 20
by Sheila Provencher
Christian Peacemaker Teams
Baghdad, Iraq

Thursday, March 18

SOLIDARITY WEEK

After last night’s terrible bombing, the day dawned sunny and warm, with a cool breeze. The bombing killed possibly 8 people, so we were more aware than usual of the risks of doing public witness. But today was a special day �- the day that many people from various human rights groups joined the Tahrir Square demonstration, and at the end, marched across Jumhuriyah Bridge to the Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA). Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of the day was the simple fact that our Iraqi colleagues did attend in full force, despite the vulnerability, and expressed with great strength and determination their hopes for a more just Iraq. Their energy carried the day -� we were grateful to be along for the ride.

(Solidarity Week is a series of events coordinated by a number of human rights groups, including the Organization for Human Rights in Iraq, the Iraqi National Society for Human Rights, the National Association for the Defense of Human Rights, International Occupation Watch, Peace Volunteers, and CPT. The detainee issue was the focus for today.)