26, 2005
Riverbank Promenade in Basra Pulses Anew With Life
By EDWARD WONG
BASRA, Iraq, June 25 - There is a famous Iraqi folk song called "He Went to Basra and Forgot About Us." It tells of love and broken promises and wounds that cannot be healed.
Abdul Raheem Sultan listened to a tape of it on Thursday as he drove the six dusty hours to Basra, his hometown, from Baghdad. He said he had not been back in 20 years, and he wanted to see it one last time before moving his family to Cairo to escape the war.
The first place he went was the Corniche, the city's riverbank walkway.
If Mr. Sultan had come a year ago - even a few months ago - he might have found nothing but a lonely promenade on the west bank of the Shatt al Arab River, at the head of the Persian Gulf. But in recent weeks, as residents of this southern city have gained the confidence to return to the streets and as the days have grown longer, the Corniche has bloomed again into the center of Basra night life.
Young couples sit quietly on a concrete wall above the water, wooden rental skiffs ferry families around and groups of men smoke water pipes at impromptu sidewalk cafes. There is even the occasional rider on a water scooter. Mr. Sultan, a stout date merchant in a white robe, gazed at the river as he sat eating a fried meat pastry called a sambusa stuffed into a piece of bread. (It is a Basra specialty, and he said he had been thinking about it the entire drive.)
"I haven't seen the Shatt al Arab in a long, long time," Mr. Sultan, 47, said. "I was wounded in the Iran-Iraq war, in my left arm. I have many memories of the Shatt al Arab, but I remember war, only war. There is no peace."
A minute later, though, he shared other memories of the Corniche in the 1980's, when the walkway was lined with statues of military commanders and boats took wedding parties upriver to Sinbad Island. He pointed across the street to the charred shell of the Sheraton Hotel, ravaged during the looting that took place as Basra fell to the British Army in early 2003.
"It pains me just to look at it," he said. "It's not easy putting up with such problems in our country. The entire country is destroyed. People in Europe are planting flowers, and our country is destroyed."
But these days, the Corniche is all about life, not death.
On Thursday, some couples pushed baby strollers along the embankment. Others bought ice cream for their children from bicycle vendors. Just-married couples drove past in their wedding caravans, honking.
A young sidewalk photographer strolled along with a Yashica Electro around his neck.
"I take five or six photos a day and charge $1 for a photo," said the photographer, Ali Malik, 19. "Under Saddam, more people came here because it was more secure. But the freedom is better now. You can take photos wherever you want."
Dusk fell. Shadows crept up. Kebab grillers lighted lanterns next to their stands, and the air grew thicker with the sweet smell of water-pipe tobacco.
"It makes you feel normal," said Abdullah Hussein, 35, a worker for the local oil pipeline company. He was sitting on a bench cradling a daughter in a pink dress. His wife, sheathed in a long black robe, had her arm around another young daughter.
"It's improving day by day," Mr. Hussein said. "It's refreshing. The latest events had stopped people from coming here, but little by little people are coming more."
There was no shortage of policemen. Vehicle checkpoints had been set up on the avenue running past the Corniche. Plainclothes officers prowled the walkway.
One of them asked Mr. Sultan, the road tripper from Baghdad, to open up his cherry-red sport utility vehicle. Mr. Sultan complied. Nothing was inside but his music cassettes.
"He went to Basra and forgot about us.
"He said, 'I'll be back,' but he didn't come back.
"He broke my heart."
Riverbank Promenade in Basra Pulses Anew With Life
By EDWARD WONG
BASRA, Iraq, June 25 - There is a famous Iraqi folk song called "He Went to Basra and Forgot About Us." It tells of love and broken promises and wounds that cannot be healed.
Abdul Raheem Sultan listened to a tape of it on Thursday as he drove the six dusty hours to Basra, his hometown, from Baghdad. He said he had not been back in 20 years, and he wanted to see it one last time before moving his family to Cairo to escape the war.
The first place he went was the Corniche, the city's riverbank walkway.
If Mr. Sultan had come a year ago - even a few months ago - he might have found nothing but a lonely promenade on the west bank of the Shatt al Arab River, at the head of the Persian Gulf. But in recent weeks, as residents of this southern city have gained the confidence to return to the streets and as the days have grown longer, the Corniche has bloomed again into the center of Basra night life.
Young couples sit quietly on a concrete wall above the water, wooden rental skiffs ferry families around and groups of men smoke water pipes at impromptu sidewalk cafes. There is even the occasional rider on a water scooter. Mr. Sultan, a stout date merchant in a white robe, gazed at the river as he sat eating a fried meat pastry called a sambusa stuffed into a piece of bread. (It is a Basra specialty, and he said he had been thinking about it the entire drive.)
"I haven't seen the Shatt al Arab in a long, long time," Mr. Sultan, 47, said. "I was wounded in the Iran-Iraq war, in my left arm. I have many memories of the Shatt al Arab, but I remember war, only war. There is no peace."
A minute later, though, he shared other memories of the Corniche in the 1980's, when the walkway was lined with statues of military commanders and boats took wedding parties upriver to Sinbad Island. He pointed across the street to the charred shell of the Sheraton Hotel, ravaged during the looting that took place as Basra fell to the British Army in early 2003.
"It pains me just to look at it," he said. "It's not easy putting up with such problems in our country. The entire country is destroyed. People in Europe are planting flowers, and our country is destroyed."
But these days, the Corniche is all about life, not death.
On Thursday, some couples pushed baby strollers along the embankment. Others bought ice cream for their children from bicycle vendors. Just-married couples drove past in their wedding caravans, honking.
A young sidewalk photographer strolled along with a Yashica Electro around his neck.
"I take five or six photos a day and charge $1 for a photo," said the photographer, Ali Malik, 19. "Under Saddam, more people came here because it was more secure. But the freedom is better now. You can take photos wherever you want."
Dusk fell. Shadows crept up. Kebab grillers lighted lanterns next to their stands, and the air grew thicker with the sweet smell of water-pipe tobacco.
"It makes you feel normal," said Abdullah Hussein, 35, a worker for the local oil pipeline company. He was sitting on a bench cradling a daughter in a pink dress. His wife, sheathed in a long black robe, had her arm around another young daughter.
"It's improving day by day," Mr. Hussein said. "It's refreshing. The latest events had stopped people from coming here, but little by little people are coming more."
There was no shortage of policemen. Vehicle checkpoints had been set up on the avenue running past the Corniche. Plainclothes officers prowled the walkway.
One of them asked Mr. Sultan, the road tripper from Baghdad, to open up his cherry-red sport utility vehicle. Mr. Sultan complied. Nothing was inside but his music cassettes.
"He went to Basra and forgot about us.
"He said, 'I'll be back,' but he didn't come back.
"He broke my heart."