Out in the City

The Rules of the Road in Baghdad

         I walked out into the street with two men, one next to me, the other a few steps behind.   We cautiously looked around.   If something was going to happen, now would be the time.   We weren't in any position to do anything about it, so we just quickly crossed to the other side of the street.   The man beside me and I walked toward the main car, and the man behind me split off toward the chaser car.   People on the street stared and some stepped back from us as if they expected something to happen, too.

Instead of just quickly passing through the neighborhood, my two drivers had parked both cars in a parking lot opposite a Baghdad hospital.   All three of us conspicuously walked across the street to enter the building, and had spent over an hour inside while I took pictures.   Now was the vulnerable time to get back to the cars and drive away.  

         With countless bombings, abductions, and with both Shia and Sunni death-squads competing with each other for higher body counts, it was a bad idea for anyone to be in Baghdad, let alone someone obviously not Iraqi.   Just driving through one of the less volatile areas was an unwanted adventure, and to stay in any neighborhood over ten minutes was considered close to suicide.   Those who would kill or kidnap someone like me had gotten just too organized for anything like comfort.   If I was spotted, cell phone calls would be made, and I would have a reasonable expectation of being captured or killed before long.  

The fact that there was currently a gasoline shortage worked to our advantage, though.   Instead of the usual Baghdad gridlock at every corner, high prices had caused drivers to stay of the road, so the streets were fairly clear.   Once we got to the cars, we could actually speed away.   First would be the main car, with me in the passenger seat, and then the chaser car, following close behind.  

A chaser car has more than one purpose.   If the people in the main car are kidnapped, the chaser car can follow to see where they are taken.   If the main car is disabled by gunfire, explosion, etc, the chaser car serves as an escape vehicle.

As we reached our car, I watched the passenger door and listened for the familiar click signifying a door being unlocked, but none came.   Looking up, I saw my driver get down on the ground and look underneath the car, and I noticed the driver of the chaser car was doing the same thing.   After a quick chilling realization, I bent down and helped them look.   Nothing appeared to be a bomb, which there had been more than ample time to place.   We got in, started the engines, and left at top speed.         

         After some circuitous driving, our next stop on the sweltering streets of Baghdad was a Shia mosque that had been partially destroyed by a Sunni bomber.   We parked in an ally nearby, and I waited in the car while my driver checked out the situation.   The chaser car driver remained in his vehicle and pulled this gun out. A woman and a child started to slowly walk by, stopped when they noticed us, and walked back the other way.   After a few moments my driver appeared and motioned us to follow.   We did, and the driver brandishing the gun put his other hand on my shoulder as we walked forward, pushing me on a little faster than I was going.  

         I'd gotten a good feeling about this man I'd just met earlier in the day, but this caused me to remember countless warnings I've received about never trusting drivers you haven't known for a long time.   These days, there's a lot of money in kidnapping, and things are less predictable and more violent than ever before, so the common advice is "Don't trust anybody".   It didn't help that I didn't see a mosque, but in such situations, the best I can do is just take a deep breath and trust.  

         There was indeed a mosque, but it was a small one without a big dome, surrounded by businesses on a major street in Baghdad, so it wasn't recognizable from the outside.   Once inside, it wasn't very recognizable either.   There was broken glass being swept up, and there was a huge pile of bricks and chips of blue-green painted plaster on the floor.   (For those who've never been in a mosque, there aren't any pews or chairs, it's just a big room.   Carpet or prayer mats are all that's needed to worship.)

         I shook hands with the Imam and also two workmen already trying to rebuild, and took out my camera.   After a few shots, another kind of shot rang out.   Machine gun fire sounded like it was just outside, and though I thought we should perhaps stay put for a minute, everyone else was of the strong opinion that we should duck back into the alley and drive away.

         My driver said that the only place he would take me where I could get out of the car for a minute or so, if I really wanted to, was in the Karrada district.   I'd stayed at a hotel in Karrada on my first two trips to Baghdad, and had done plenty of walking, so I was happy to see it again.   As we drove down streets that by Baghdad's hellish standards were considered safe, no less than seven bomb sites were pointed out to me, all of which had happened in the last month, all within about four blocks of each other.

         We got out of the car a few times, I took some quick photos, and we got back in the car.   As we got a little further from the center of Karrada, and my drivers got a little bolder, I stayed out of the car a little longer.  

         All of a sudden, some confusing distant bangs sounded, and I felt something stinging my side.   We quickly got back into the car again and drove off.   I just sat there, thinking I was probably shot, looked down under my shirt that had a small hole burnt in it, and I didn't say anything.  

         There was some blood, and I was clearly burned, but it seemed like whatever had hit me had simply bounced off my rib.   Though painful, I didn't think it was serious.   I felt adrenaline throughout my system, and the pain didn't even bother me after a few minutes. I don't completely know why, but I never said anything about it to my companions, and they never noticed.  

         On the way back to the hotel, I was invited into the house of the man who drove the chaser car.   I had a soda and played with his kids a little bit.   The two friends then took me back to my hotel, made plans to pick me up the next morning, and I went inside.  

         I have no idea what hit me.   It couldn't have been a direct hit from a bullet, and I'd expect most shrapnel to rip through a rib cage, or at least break the bone.   All I had was a very tender rib, a two inch burn/laceration, and some small pinpoint burns surrounding it.

         This was my first full day in the city, and though everything I've written was a big deal to an American with a camera, in Baghdad terms, nothing eventful happened at all.