Iraq

This wasn't the best trip for blogging, since it was much easier to work than it was last year. (Less time locked in hotel means less time for blogging.) On the bright side, we have about 50 hours of video to sort through and edit.

Tomorrow morning Rick and I will take the land route out of Iraq, rather than risk being grounded at the airport by the dust storms that have marked much of our trip. It will be the first time I've driven out since 2003.

All the rooms are full at the Bourj Babel Hotel outside of Basra. Every guest is there to visit a family member inside of the US detention facility at Bucca.

At 3:30 AM minivans take them out into the the desert where they wait at the first gate until it opens at 7 AM.

All the rooms are full at the Bourj Babel Hotel outside of Basra. Every guest is there to visit a family member inside of the US detention facility at Bucca.

At 3:30 AM minivans take them out into the the desert where they wait at the first gate until it opens at 7 AM.

There is no electricity and the town is dark. Oil flares light the sky. Bucca burns on the desert floor like an alien city.

Our driver to Basra was playing this song on the trip.

As the sun came up on a recent morning in the district of Sadr City, Iraqi army troops searched as many as a thousand houses, arresting a dozen suspects and collecting nearly 50 unregistered weapons.

Four months ago, these streets, some too narrow for Humvees, were controlled by the Jaish al-Mahdi, a Shi'ite militia whose name in Arabic means the Mahdi Army, which in 2006 poured out of Sadr City and took over large parts of Baghdad.

Mehyar said he had a car, but he didn't bring it with him.

"It's broken," he told me, and I'm sure my expression gave away my dismay. "We can take a cab, or we can take my bike."

Today, the newspapers plant their flags on a mountain of corpses and a city of walls.

She empties her lungs.Capillaries blossom red. Color leaks back into lips.They move, but our ears are still ringing.Brace against the door frame for a secondary blastand pray that it never comes.

For five years, we let the asphalt burn our feet,breathed in the smell of sewage and blood,and waited for     a spring full of tulips,     a black shirt stained with salt,     a red kaffeiya and coal black eyes. . .

In the lobby, he smiles while his hands fidget with the room keys'When I saw him bleeding from his chest,I swear I forgot how to speak - in Arabic and in English. . .my only son. . . I am an old man now. . . he was all I had.'

'They own the land, and now we are their guests on it.'

...

Today, on the edge of Amara.Flies swarm around the desk.He buckles his belt.Prison tattoos curl around his wrist and a shadow clouds his forehead.

Yesterday, on the edge of Falluja.The same room with the same old men.Nicotine teeth, gold watches and pearl handled revolvers.

It is, at least, a safe place to sleep.

After five years, we have lost even this - even the clarity of death.Nothing left but the hospitality of thieves.

San Francisco's KPFA Morning Show interviewed David Enders on July 30 about the current state of Baghdad and how the recent American troop surge has affected the region.

Listen to the Morning Show (David Enders begins at 80 minutes)

Download the episode

I was on KPFA's morning show yesterday talking about the situation in Baghdad. Listen here.

You can watch my recent interview with Press TV (the Iranian government-owned English language satellite channel) here.

Interestingly, HR 1308, proposed in June, would make Press a terrorist organization.

The Iraqi Army built a base in the outdoor space where 7,000 Sadr City residents pray every Friday.
This Friday, they posted snipers on rooftops and checkpoints around the mosque.
The Jeish al Mehdi tried to keep worshipers from confronting the soldiers.

The most amazing thing to me on this trip has been the ability to visit places I haven't been able to go since 2006, and in some cases, since 2005. It stirs memories, good and bad, but the most striking things are the physical changes (and in some cases, lack thereof) in Baghdad as the war drags on through its fifth year.

A hot summer, even for Baghdad.
The Tigris drops. Sea grass under the bridges.
'Are you a river?' asked Al-Sayyab, 'or a forest of tears?'

They only found 83 bodies last week.

Rebar and concrete husks punched through by rockets.
Facades wrapped around hot air and broken furniture.
A hundred miles of concrete, and the wooden stock, warn smooth under his hand.