Becalmed Baghdad counts war’s cost
There have been dozens of bombings in the Karrada district of Baghdad. But there is one date Ali Hameed will never forget – 26 July 2007.
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![]() ![]() ![]() Ali Hameed
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At six pm, a massive truck bomb exploded near his fish shop. Five members of his family were killed.
“We thought it was an earthquake because of the power of the explosion,” he told me.
Ali spent several minutes helping the wounded in the street. Only later did he realise that his home nearby had been destroyed. The whole apartment block was flattened.
In total, more than 60 people were killed. Ali pulled the bodies of his daughter and his brother from the rubble.
But, despite everything that happened to his family, he does not come across as angry or full of hate.
“The situation now is getting better,” he tells me.
“Life is gradually coming back to normal for us. People have started to question the purpose of fighting.
“We have a bright future in Iraq. The cloud that was hanging over all of us has passed.”
The smell of grilled fish wafts out onto the road. It is full of people buying groceries, sitting in cafes, and standing around chatting.
There is a sudden bang and I instinctively flinch. But it is just a car backfiring. The locals do not even notice.
Future anguish
Across Baghdad, people are starting to feel more confident. There are still bombings and shootings almost every day. But there is no longer the constant fear.
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![]() ![]() ![]() Dr Haider Maliki
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The drop in violence has allowed many to think more about its effects. One recent study found that 70% of children exposed to trauma in Iraq go on to develop psychological problems.
At a park in central Baghdad, two orphans are playing.
Salah is nine years old. He was found by the police after a bomb went off. Nobody knows what happened to his family.
Saif is seven. His parents were killed in an explosion.
“I want to tell them [the bombers] it’s against God’s law to kill people,” he tells me. “I want to ask them: why did you kill my mother and father.”
He says he wants to be a policeman when he grows up, so that he can find his parents’ killers and send them to prison.
Salah barely talks at all. His shaking hands tell their own story.
Dr Haider Maliki deals with many similar cases at Baghdad’s only child psychiatric ward. Flowers hang from the ceiling and the walls are brightly painted. They have tried to make it as friendly as possible for the children.
Dr Maliki thinks problems are being stored up for the future.
“Many of the children who have experienced trauma become very violent,” he says. “They are violent towards their parents and they have no respect for their teachers. It will be a very violent generation.”
Letting off steam
On the other side of the city, there is a very different scene. We watch as the stunt bikers of Baghdad take to the streets.
![]() Bike enthusiasts make the most of a relatively safer Baghdad
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At dusk, more than a hundred people gather on motorbikes. It is an anarchic sight as they race around performing skids, jumps and wheelies for the crowd.
The police keep moving them on, but they always find another venue for their impromptu displays.
The young men are ecstatic – almost intoxicated by the mix of testosterone and petrol fumes.
At one point, the bikers are joined by a man driving a minibus who skids his vehicle wildly around the empty car park.
After all the violence of recent years, young people in Baghdad clearly need to let off a lot of steam.
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