Security
One of the major concerns voiced when I told people I was going to
Iraq was "Is it safe?" (the second being "Do you think you’ll get
married off while you’re over there?"). When your entire notion of a
country is based on images of weeping mothers and bullet scarred
buildings, it’s easy to see why some people expressed a concern.
I have to admit, I had the same expectations, a place full of
downtrodden, listless and war-fatigued people, where saying "I’ll be
right back" might be as portentious as the horror movie cliche. But
what the 24 hour rolling news chanels, and the newspapers, and the
embedded reporters don’t show you are the people getting up, eating
breakfast and going to work. The children going to school. People
nipping out to the shops for some bread. So in that respect, life in
Iraq is perfectly normal. Yes, the buildings are a little run down, and
if you look closely you can see the bullet holes. Yes, you will find a
line of houses with a toothy gap in the middle where a bomb has been
dropped. But you will also find new buildings, new roads and lots of
new shiny things to buy.
And the price you pay for this normality? Enough checkpoints and
security guards and guns and frisking to make even airport security
blush.
It’s hard to get used to seeing guns everywhere. And I mean everywhere.
Driving along any stretch of road will see you stopped every few miles
so that armed soldiers can peer in the window, occasionally ask you for
your ID, look surprised when they discover you are tourists, and wave
their car ariel attached to a plastic box, sorry, extremely
technologically advanced British made bomb detector, all around the
car. In the centre of Karbala (and indeed near any of the shrines I
visited), no cars are allowed, so you must submit to a thorough frisking
whenever you attempt to move around the town (male and female separate
of course).
Let me try to describe what happens. On approaching a checkpoint,
please note the wide open space for the men to walk through, and the
shrouded tent, with thick, heavy, dust sodden carpets draped over the
entrance (at least 2 for safety) for the women. I can’t speak for the
male experience of being checked, but for the ladies - on entering the
tent, join one of the queues forming in between the metal barriers, the
kind you might pass through to enter a concert or sporting event. Brace
yourself as your cousin advises you not to speak English as this might
confuse the security ladies. Approach and hold the abaya open. Wince
as they get a little more familiar than I’m used to experiencing on
those times I beep at Dublin airport. Open your bag, smiling dumby all
the while. Get your cousin to explain why you’re holding a camera.
Ignore the puzzled looks when they learn you’re a tourist (this
particular experience will be repeated several times during your
visit). Thank them for the very thorough medical check for unusual
lumps that may be growing. Pull yourself and your abaya together, and
exit coughing through the second set of dust laden rugs. Shake your
head and sigh when your brother and dad ask why it took so long.
They’ll never understand.
A trip to Baghdad will see the decline of the pat down, but an
increase in the number of soldiers lining the streets. Car checkpoints
are more frequent, causing the glorious experience of the Iraqi traffic
jam, and there are tanks, and sniper towers, and guns pointed in your
direction. Soldiers wandering the streets, asking to see the photos
you’ve taken (again, perplexed at the whole tourist thing), the worry
being that would-be bombers might be doing a bit of recon - why else
would someone be taking photos of buildings?
But quickly back to the tanks. These fine vehicles are the absolute
best bit of the wholly unnerving experience. Because in order to make
them look less intimidating, to make the soldier with the AK47 appear
friendly, they have decorated them with ribbon. And fake flowers. Gun
barrels bedecked with pink bows and fabric daffodils - I only wish I
could have taken a photo to show you - but I kind of thought that if a
photo of a building got me in trouble, then perhaps taking pictures of
tanks might be frowned upon… You’ll just have to take my word for it.
They look magnificent.
On a final note, I have to commend each of the Iraqi soldiers we
encountered on our trip. At all times we were treated with courtesy,
respect and friendliness. They may be tasked with keeping the peace in a
country which has a long way to go before reaching stability, a place
where the next car they are checking could blow up, but despite all of
this pressure, they still manage to retain their humanity.
No comments:
Post a Comment