The sound is distant but persistent – a scraping and rattling that grates on the nerves. What, I wonder, can be causing this slightly unpleasant noise today, on the great Moslem feast of Eid el Adha. This should be a dignified day, and above all a family occasion in which people observe the duty of sharing the meat of a slaughtered sheep with the less fortunate. It's a day when children usually get new clothes and enjoy themselves playing outdoors.

Ah, that's it, now I remember: the same sounds could be heard on the Eid el Fitr holiday at the end of Ramadan: children are trying to ride the rusty swings and shaky roundabouts in the derelict no man's land that used to be a park in an upmarket residential area.

These kids are too young to have seen better days, when the park was kept tidy and clean; and they're too poor to get as much as a glimpse into the amusement parks where, today, the well-off take their children. But they're happy enough, bursting with energy and shrieking with laughter as they get the swings moving.

Street vendors

As I drive down town to meet one of the hundreds of foreign reporters currently setting up shop in Baghdad, I see that the street vendors have spread their goods out over the pavement that has turned into a permanent flea market. While in itself this is nothing new, it strikes me as odd today, on this first day of the holiest Moslem feast, when people would normally stay at home with their families.

But then, I wondered, how could people feel festive in this, the most talked-about city in the world, that has made the headlines for months as the debate goes on as to whether or not the world should go to war over it? I feel embarrassed to exchange the traditional greetings with people whose main concern right now is their own survival in case war should actually break out.

Hoping for the best

People in Iraq have very vivid memories of the bombing of power stations and the ensuing disruption of the water supply in 1991. Even though there are now fuel-operated generators at the water treatment stations, there are still serious reasons to feel concern about the fate of the civilian population. My ICRC colleagues in the region have been pre-positioning food and other relief in warehouses in neighbouring countries to be able to respond to a potential emergency in any part of Iraq. We have also assessed the level of medical care here and brought in stocks of standard first aid, surgical and medical kits; if the worst comes to the worst, they will be available to hospitals looking after the war wounded.

Hoping for the best while preparing for the worst has kept everyone occupied for weeks now. I feel I have little that's helpful to say to people who wonder how they are going to provide meals to their children or medicine to ailing parents if and when the conflict starts. But despite my misgivings, the hotel doorman responds warmly, his face lighting up, when I do actually wish him Kul Aam wa Antom bi-Kheir – May you be blessed every year.

Despite – or perhaps because of – the tensions, a little human kindness goes a long way in Baghdad.


Baghdad, 11 February 2003