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Bardad Memories,

what the first few months of the US occupation felt like to an Iraqi,

written and read by Raith Abdelahat.

On 9 April 2003, I stood on the roof of my building in Bardad,

looking at the clear sky.

The city was quiet, the Americans had stopped their bombing early that morning.

In the distance, I saw a helicopter hanging low over the houses.

Unlike the Chubby Russian ones that we were used to,

which swayed left and right like giant flying rams,

this one was nimble like an angry wasp.

35 years of Saddam Hussein's rule had dissolved overnight,

collapsing without a trace.

Bardad, that city of fear and oppression, was free for an hour,

suspended between the departure of the dictator and the arrival of the occupiers.

In the years preceding the war had been living in a small room,

barely large enough to hold a single bed, a writing table and a trunk.

I nook at one end how's the sink, the stove and the toilet.

...