Samir the pianist was angry today, he was blaming Saddam
for taking 30 years off every Iraqi's life. He became more
inflamed when he saw a protest supporting Saddam, shown on
the BBC today, "look I told you, they should not allow him
to speak, he knows how to reach his people." The gang were
leaping around chanting for Saddam holding pictures of him
above their heads. It is one year after the fall of Saddam
and 3 days after the new interim government took power.
"These Iraqi people need a strong leader. They need a
dictator like Saddam, there is no other way" he laments.
Then I get angry .. "look democracy cannot happen over
night.. these things take time" then the lights go out, the
air conditioners go off. It is 50c here in Baghdad. We are
stood in the sweltering heat without light or fans. Samir's
mood switches. "What have the American's been doing here for
a year? we still only have electricity for 6 hours a day and
the generators out here are not powerful enough to power the
air conditioners.." I decide to carry on filming in
darkness, the curtains are closed to keep out the unbearable
heat. "You know Saddam rebuilt Iraq in 3 months after the
Gulf War in 1991.. then Iraq was really destroyed. this time
it wasn't and still we are without electricity." I began to
think, you know if the Americans wanted the Iraqi's to support
them, it is easy, they should just provide the basics for
them. Earlier we had passed one of the many motorists pushing
their clapped out cars in the street. Samir was
laughing, "look we are country of petrol, why are these
people pushing their cars." We pull up for fuel joining a half
mile queue, 30 minutes later we get to the top of the queue
but we are sent away. Our number plate ended in 'even'
numbers and today only those ending in 'odd' numbers could
get fuel, but Samir's tank was low, so we pull over to one of
the youngsters on the roadside selling black market fuel
from cans. Samir can fill his tank for less then a dollar
here, petrol is cheaper then water. But not on the black
market, we paid 5 times the price. Samir often buys from the
black market, sitting in fuel queues for hours in the
unbearable heat, the air conditioning is not working in his
car. The boy pouring the fuel is joined by his sister, she
starts tugging on my shirt, then her mother comes over and
speaks in Arabic to Samir. He is laughing, "this mother is
asking if you want to marry her daughter and take her out of
Iraq."
We drive off. Samir looks at me, "you know the Iraqi people
deserve better then this, we are not a nation of beggars, we
are an educated nation, this is the cradle of civilisation.
I wish you could have seen me 15 years ago.. I was a rich
man and so were these people."
postscript
Samir is sad. Rita his daughter and his lovely granddaughter
Lulu are leaving back to the States. Samir thought they were
crazy to come in the first place, but 3 months ago at the
height of the siege of Fallujah they came. They hid their
American passports and passed safely through Fallujah.
But now they are leaving back to the States, to join his ex
wife and other daughter who is married there. Saha his
eldest daughter and Fadi his only son are saying goodbye
tonight. Although Saha, a pro Saddamist surprised me, she
wants to try get a non immigrant visa to the States to join
the others. She'd always teased her father who has dreamed
of living there all his life but now she is trying when we
go the Amman tomorrow. She has been crying a lot over the
last few days, the empty house seemed full of life with Rita
and her child. Saha always carries a deep sorrowfulness in
her eyes, she really doesn't want to leave her home, but
with all that is happening here she seems to have changed
her mind. She also knows that her sick mother will never
come back. Conflicted isn't the word for Saha, she looked at
me saying, "yes.. I'm going to give it a go," then looked
back to the wonderful Iraqi food she is cooking and looks up
sheepishly, "but you know, Rita has been there 5 years now
and she doesn't like it."
Anyhow it is too dangerous for me to travel on the road so
I'm flying with my friend Marla, the American aid worker who
looks after families bereaved by the Americans. We are going
to meet Samir and his daughters in Hashem's Hummus Bar in
downtown Amman, and I can't wait. Simply the best hummus
outside of Abu Shukri's in the old city of Jerusalem, where
I used to breakfast daily when I made a film there. We will
float in the Dead Sea, try get Saha a visa for America and
finally say goodbye to Rita, Lulu, and possible Saha.
Oh, how is poor Samir going to feel. He is waiting for his
papers, not getting any younger, desperate to taste the
American dream, discover success or as he says 'simply die in
peace.'
sean 03 07 04
posted by mcallister at
6:36 PM
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