Farewell Baghdad

(photos by Ceerwan Aziz, award winning photographer and friend, who covered election day in Baghdad)

I left Baghdad today. If not for good, for a long time. I have lived in the city for almost two years, yet I know very little about it. Most of what I know is T-walls. The grey monoliths of poured concrete encased rebar that serve as blast walls. The ones that surround our compound, the U.S. bases, the government ministries-- following this summer's bombing massacres. The T-walls that weave around the outside of the International Zone.

This morning at the checkpoints leading to the air base, we were forced to stop and wait in the line reserved for what they call Third Country Nationals, mostly Filipinos and East Asians and Local Nationals- Iraqis. This checkpoint entails a pat down search, and a retina scan. African guards almost confiscated my phone and pocket knife. Then we waited in a gravel holding pen for about an hour. We drove a mile to the next checkpoint and repeated the process. Another hour.

This is what the Iraqis who work in the IZ and military camps go through every day. It was my first time I was treated like this, and only because I surrendered my badges that say I'm an American contractor before leaving the compound. I know very little about Baghdad.

What I do know is through friends. Iraqi friends who tell me things about life outside. How the Iraqi military tends to drop in on the neighborhood and search house to house. How the politicians are all rotten. How applying for a visa to the U.S. is not an if, it's a when. One friend was recently upset when some local kids broke her cat, Tush Tush's leg. Somehow she got him a cast.

One talented graphic designer said he wanted to vote in the March 7th elections but it wasn't worth the risk. Another friend said she voted for ex-PM Ayad Allawi and if he doesn't win, it's surely because incumbent Nouri Al-Maliki cheated. The count so far shows Maliki in the lead in Shia South and Allawi leading in the mostly Sunni North. The allegations of fraud seem to be more one party accusing another, rather than systemic problems.

These young, English-speaking Iraqis don't hold much faith in their politicians or the political process. But I saw many inked fingers on the compound. There had to have been a reason they risked going out on a day punctuated by mortaring and bombs. Were Iraqis proud to have voted? Some scrubbed their fingers of the purplish ink or covered it with bandaids. Others seemed to proudly show their purple indexes as they talked.