I find the personal accounts deviod of the Hubris to be the most profound statements of the reality in Iraq. Hangloose.
The cold winter winds sweep over Baghdad and the refugee camps strewn about the city. Date palms sway as dust blows down the clogged streets where people huddle in their cars while waiting in petrol lines several miles long. The cost of fuel now in the black market is 10 times what it normally is, and people either pay it or wait for eight hours in a gas line, with no guarantee that the station of their choice won't run dry before they get a chance to fill their tank.
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Everywhere I go, the signs of a society in decline abound. Even at a clinic where I had to go in order to obtain an HIV test to extend my visa, there is a telling event.
A doctor walks in and asks the nurse who is taking my blood what she does with the used needles. "We sterilize them after use, then they are incinerated," she replies. He waves his hand back and forth while telling her, "No more. We are now instructed by the Ministry of Environment there are no facilities for this, so we are to sterilize them and reuse them."
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Apache helicopters rumble low over the city, their "whumping" blades leaving wakes of car alarms through the streets.
Back at my hotel, I indulge my daily ritual of asking the owner if I have hot water yet. The cold showers are getting old now that the temperature has dropped and it remains chilly.
This morning, I was awakened by the usual 7:00 a.m. gun battles nearby. They usually coincide with the morning mortar ritual of blasts hitting the so-called Green Zone.
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