IRAQ: Microbuses and mortars

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By Usama Redha in Baghdad

For three days, things were actually quiet in the office — no major attacks, just a few incidents here and there and no significant casualties.

I was listening to my fellow translator Raheem talking to an old colleague who is now outside the country. He was telling her how his phone used to ring several times a day with news about explosions and assassinations.

‘I got nothing today,’ he told her. ‘Things are getting better.’

After finishing work, I left the office and headed home. One van-like microbus delivered me to the main terminal, where I boarded a second microbus that would take me home. The vehicle started moving, bringing a welcome cooling breeze to the stuffy interior.

Suddenly, BOOM!

A sound like a thunderclap shook the microbus.

I instinctively turned my head in the direction of blast; it was apparently a mortar round that landed in the old Muthana airport downtown — currently home to a joint US-Iraqi military base.

The passengers started to talk, displaying a knowledge that only comes from years of war and insurgency.

‘Oh, it’s a mortar; 120-millimeter round,’ said one person.
Another smiled and said, ‘That’s why we can’t use the roofs to sleep.’
A third person claimed it was merely the result of a routine training exercise by the soldiers at the base.

I was afraid to ask people who they thought had launched the shell, because residents here are often wary of laying blame on one organization or militia.

But a young passenger who was holding a CD computer game said,’ I think it is from Iskan or Hurriya’ -- both neighborhoods controlled by the Mahdi Army.

The passenger next to him murmured to him, ‘This is ridiculous, when they will stop doing that?’

Another passenger smiled and said, ‘They will soon be finished like Al Qaeda. The areas that sheltered them will rise up against them. Their end is imminent.’

I wanted to keep talking about the explosion, but the conversation among the passengers trailed off. The rest of the ride home was mostly silent.

No one expressed sorrow or fear, because they had all witnessed much worse.