Nothing can quite describe life in Iraq

People always ask what it's like -- but unless you live here, with the chaos and the checkpoints and soldiers and fear, it's hard to explain.

By Tina Susman

November 10, 2008

Reporting from Baghdad — "What's it like there?"

It's the question we get asked most often by people who haven't been to Baghdad, followed closely by, "Do you live in the Green Zone?" The answer to that one is easy: No.

The answer to the first is more difficult.

Baghdad, like any big city, is a porridge of ugliness, beauty, charm, humor, scowls, color and grayness, but with a twist: It is under military occupation, and signs of U.S. and Iraq security forces are everywhere. There are armed men in uniform at intersections, concrete walls to control cars and people, and checkpoints that don't let down their guard for anyone -- not even a man on the way to his own wedding.

Somehow, life burbles on around these jarring barriers. Sheep graze as American armored vehicles idle nearby; markets hum as American troops in battle gear and muddy boots tramp through; children swarm a pickup truck as Iraqi soldiers hurl U.S.-donated food packs and book bags into the crowd.

U.S. forces sometimes come through the neighborhoods and ask the locals what they think of the way things are going. The reactions are by no means the way to measure Iraqi sentiments after nearly six years of war. Iraqis often offer different views when not in the presence of U.S. forces. Take some of the opinions expressed recently when American troops were not in earshot:

"America is like the dirty water we must drink, because we are thirsty," said Hassan Raheem, an Iraqi barber, explaining that as much as he dislikes the U.S. presence, he believes it is preventing Iraq's rival factions from returning to all-out war.

Hussein Ali, the owner of an electronics shop in Najaf, south of Baghdad, shared Raheem's dislike for the American troops but disagreed with the idea that they should stay to keep things under control. "The presence of the occupation is like a disease in our body," he said.

The Iraqis who spoke to Army Lt. Col. Michael Pemrick on Thursday offered a different take. Pemrick, deputy commander of the 3rd Brigade Combat Team of the 4th Infantry Division, toured parts of Shiite Muslim-dominated Sadr City, generally a hotbed of anti-U.S. sentiment, and the neighboring district of Adhamiya. He spent much of the time inside a "mine resistant ambush protected" vehicle trundling along at about 15 mph -- the better to spot roadside bombs. Every so often the convoy would stop, and Pemrick would get out and chat.

His visit with a shopkeeper was typical of the reactions these encounters produce. The Iraqi man said security was far better since the spring, when U.S. and Iraqi forces were battling Shiite militiamen in the area. But he complained that the concrete wall lining the street was killing his real estate business.

It was the kind of circular argument heard time and time again here. The walls and checkpoints improve security but make life difficult. But if the walls and checkpoints go, violence might return.

Couldn't the military take down a couple of chunks of it just outside his business, so people could easily come and go? the shopkeeper asked Pemrick. "There are no bad people here."

The patrol then headed toward the nearest opening in the wall, to an Iraqi security force checkpoint. A man in a crisp suit, maroon shirt and wide, striped tie approached. His forehead was sweating. He was in a rush. On the other side of the barrier, his shiny blue sedan, festooned with lavender flowers, was sitting. The man needed to get through so he could make it to his wedding

In a land where car bombs and bombers come in all shapes and sizes -- a male insurgent was caught trying to flee Baghdad wearing a bridal gown last year -- everything comes under scrutiny. In this case, the U.S. forces urged the Iraqi military to quickly search the man's vehicle. Then, the barrier lifted and the man headed off to get married.

By the time Pemrick made it to the Jamila market in the section of Sadr City where U.S. troops have a presence, most stalls were closing for the evening. This is the area where, in March and April, fierce fighting raged after Prime Minister Nouri Maliki launched an offensive against militiamen loyal to anti-U.S. Shiite cleric Muqtada Sadr. Over time, the U.S. built a wall separating this part of Sadr City from the majority of the sprawling district that is home to about 2 million people.

The idea was that once people on the other side of the wall saw how well things were going on this side, they would reject militias

It's impossible to say whether that has happened. When asked, people in central Sadr City rant against the barrier, the United States and often the Iraqi government, and they say Sadr's Mahdi Army is their true protector. In the marketplace, there wasn't time enough to have deep political discussions with the shopkeepers. Pemrick asked a few whether they had experienced extortion or bribery attempts -- things the Mahdi Army was long accused of practicing against businesspeople in Sadr City. They shook their heads no.

The sun was setting and it was time to move on. The convoy pulled away, past a man tending a flock of fluffy sheep, past shopkeepers, past Iraqi police at a traffic circle checkpoint where they live 24/7. Along the way, flashes of normalcy appeared through the army vehicle's dirty windows. Chickens browning on rotating spits at cafes; families lured out in the early evening by parks with slides, swing sets and sandboxes; barbers trimming hair in small shops.

But elsewhere in Baghdad, at least four people had been killed in a string of bombings that day. Later, at least 25 people would die in a pair of bombings targeting businesses in the district Pemrick had visited, and a Shiite father who had just moved back to his home in a Sunni district would be killed by a bomb planted outside the house.

Baghdad may be safer, but not for the victims of the bombings, or for Haider Hasoon Salman Saadi, the Shiite father.

And it still isn't a place where a convoy of U.S. troops is willing to go faster than a crawl as it scans the road for bombs.

Susman is a Times staff writer