A VISIT WITH THE SHEIKH
[I'm typing this from the British military base at Basrah Airport, where the internet access is somewhat restricted. I will continue to post as opportunities present themselves.]
Dear Lisa,
"You will find my brother-in-law interesting," Layla promises, as her driver Ali turns down a narrow lane of Basra Qadimah, or Old Basrah. "I have to warn you, though, he is a very talkative sheikh and sometimes says foolish things."
"That's fine," I reply. "We journalists love talkative people who say foolish things."
Ali winds along the bumpy, barely paved streets of the ancient quarter. Soon, we're embraced in a seeming maze of sagging, sand-colored structures, each surrounded by high stucco walls and rusting metal gates. Above, extend the gray-green branches of palm trees, shading enclosed wooden balconies with slatted windows and intricate carvings--the fabled chenoshile style of old Iraq. Meanwhile, passing by us are donkey carts, women in ankle-length abiyas, nebk trees, barefoot kids, a canal actually filled with water and not trash...
Wearing a white dishdasha and Arab headress, Sheikh Y., a tall, lean, gray-complexioned man with a white moustache and scraggly white beard, stands at the wooden gateway to his mosque. Disembarking from the car, Layla instructs Ali to wait for her call to pick us up, then turns to greet her brother-in-law, motioning to me at the same time to quickly enter the gate. As I pass, I nod to the Sheikh, who presses his hand to his chest and murmurs, "You are most well-come."
He leads us across the inner courtyard of the tranquil mosque, its roof brushed by the leaves of an enormous palm, and into his office, a narrow room lit by two high windows. We sit on a sofa beside the Sheikh's desk, which is cluttered with books and papers; behind him, framed posters of Koranic scripture hang on the wall.
Layla introduces me--a sahafee Amriki, here to write about Basra--and after dispensing with some family business, gestures to me to begin the questions, which she will translate. I start by asking the Sheikh how he feels being a Sunni cleric in a predominately Shia city. "Oh no," he replies, fingering his wooden prayer beads, each about a quarter's width in diameter, "Basrah is nearly half Sunni. Many Sunnis who fled from the city into Kuwait and Saudi Arabia are now returning."
Y. has lived in Basra his entire 52 years, so I ask him to describe the city in the "old days." His wan and watchful face breaks into a smile. "It was wonderful. People felt a responsibility for Basra then. They kept the streets clean, the canals clean, the municipal services were excellent. Turkish engineers designed a sewage system that poured waste into the Shatt-al-Arab and not in the streets. W e could never maintain that system," he adds, "because Saddam shot all the Iraqi engineers."
Basra's fortunes began to decline when General Qasem overthrew the Monarchy in 1958, Y. continues. "The military tone of the Qasem regime introduced a sense of agressiveness and anger into Iraqis, who up until then were calm and tranquil people." The Ba'athist were even worse. "They brought us racism, sectariansm, they set Sunnis and Shias, divided families. Basra itself was administered by people in Baghdad and Tikrit who knew and cared nothing for our needs. Gradually, the condition of the city declined until it started looking like a cow pasture."
I venture questions about the Iran-Iraq War. I expect him to tell me how Basra was rocketed, shelled and emptied of population as people fled from the Iranian armies which seemed certain to take the city, but the Sheikh wrenches the conversation in a different direction. "By starting the Iran-Iraq War," Y. declares, "Saddam Hussan served the interests of America and Israel, and when they were through with him they discarded him just as they used and discarded the Shah." Oh oh, I think, here we go...
And indeed, a kind of inner floogate opens, and the Sheikh, still speaking in a calm, seemingly rational manner, lets me know the truth about the country I call home. Yes, Saddam was a U.S. agent; yes, the U.S. manipulated him into invading Iran--and Kuwait, too. Moreover, today, the U.S. is providing aid to Iran to infiltrate southern Iraq and meddle in Basran affairs.
Within Iraq itself, the U.S. is exploiting tensions between Sunnis and Shias, further separating them into hostile camps. "It is the old colonial trick, divided and conquer," Y. declares. "Before 2003, Sunni and Shias lived together in peace. We never discussed our differences. During Ashura [the great Shia religious holiday], we all celebrated in harmony." (Although the Sheikh here contradicts his earlier statement about Saddam dividing the sects, I have to give him some credit: he did marry Layla's Shia sister.)
"The U.S. is turning Iraqis into angry, nasty people--America seeks to turn us into slaves," he goes on, adding that the nation's newly-elected government is a "failure," set in place by Washington. "This is why whom you call the 'insurgents' are in truth patriots fighting to free their country." When I observe that these "patriots" kill far more Iraqi civillians than foreign troops, the Sheikh gives me a placid look and responds, "Sometime in war innocent people must die." When I press him further about the indiscriminate carnage in and around Baghdad, he admits that some "freedom fighters" might actually be terrorists who do not have Iraq's best interests in mind, but they are--yes, you guessed it--U.S. agents.
"Al-Zarqawi is a fiction, imaginary," asserts the Sheikh. "A ghost created by America to justify its repressive actions against the Iraqi people." Trying not to display my increasing irritation, I ask him what kind of goverment he would prefer in Iraq. "The Monarchy," he answers, revealing something, I think, about the Sunni mindset. "The Monarchy was best for our country, until America undermined it."
It's getting near the time for late afternoon prayers, and I'm running short of patience anyway. But I can't resist one last question. "You blame America for everything--Saddam, the wars, terrorism, even the aggressive attitudes of the Iraqi people. Don't you think Iraqis must share some responsibility for these problems?"
"No, not at all," the Sheikh says blandly, prayer beads slipping between his thumb and forefinger. "Everything is America's fault, Iraqis have no responsibility in the matters. Before America, Iraqis were a quiet, peaceful people."
I close my notebook, Layla and I rise from the sofa. As he escorts us across the courtyard, Sheikh Y. asks me to make sure I convey his words "to the American people"--oh, don't worry about that, my friend, I think..Bidding fimaanilla to Layla's relative, we step outside the mosque, only to find that Ali the driver is not present. Layla can't raise him on her cell, either--yipes, we're stranded! "We must take taxi," Layla concludes. "Now remember, Steve, keep quiet, and pleae, for once keep your mouth shut."
We walk down a narrow path toward main thoroughfair, the dusky sunlight picking up the sand in the air to filter the entire scene through a kind of russet hue, as if I were walking into a faded 19th century photograph of aging chenoshile facades, hejab'd women, crumbling stucco houses and tiny shops whose Arabic signs time and the elements have long rendered illegible. The very inaccessibility of my surroundings adds to the allure--for me, this is something out of Arabian Nights; for Layla its a gauntlet we must pass before getting me to my hotel and safety--and my frustration is unbearable. I want to wander the lanes of Basrah Qadima, to lose myself in its mysteries, the age-old dream of the Western traveler searching for some insights into the mind and culture of the East. But there are too many ways to lose oneself in Basra these days, ways I do not want to contemplate--and so, when Layla hails a cab and motions for me to enter, I do not hesitate, keeping silent until we reach our destination. Some day, some time, when all this "anger and aggression" is past, I will return to Old Basah as a most welcome guest, insha'allah.
May 12, 2005