Walk to work under curfew reminds lifelong Baghdad resident of early days of war

EDITOR'S NOTE — Associated Press reporter Hamid Ahmed, a lifelong Baghdad resident, walked to work Saturday because a round-the-clock curfew kept civilian vehicles from the streets. These are his impressions.

By HAMID AHMED

Associated Press Writer

BAGHDAD (AP) — I felt a sense of sad familiarity while walking to work Saturday on the largely deserted streets of Baghdad on Day 2 of a curfew imposed after a new burst of Shiite militia violence.

A white cloth fluttered from the antenna of a car to signal the two men inside were noncombatants. Heavy machine-gun fire resounded in the distance.

It reminded me of the early days of the U.S.-led war, now in its sixth year. I had hoped such days were over.

Iraqi authorities clamped a curfew on the capital late Thursday as clashes spread between security forces and militia fighters angry over a crackdown in the southern oil port of Basra.

That didn't leave people much time to prepare and I was eager to get to the office and give my colleagues a hand.

It was a beautiful spring day but most people remained holed up in their homes amid the tensions, venturing out only to buy bread and other necessities in the few stores that were open.

Even the normally bustling commercial district of Karradah had the feeling of a city under siege. A group of neighbors played dominoes on a table in front of a house and boys kicked a soccer ball around the empty street.

I had to turn back during my first attempt to venture out after Mahdi Army gunmen crossed my path.

During a later try, police and soldiers manning checkpoints at major intersections and side streets gazed at me suspiciously but I avoided their eyes and kept walking. I planned to spend the night at the office but didn't pack a bag to avoid attracting attention.

The troops inspected the few cars that were out but seemed to be leaving pedestrians alone.

A gunbattle raged in New Baghdad, a stronghold of the Mahdi Army militia that is loyal to radical cleric Muqtada al-Sadr. White smoke rose from the area.

Uniformed Iraqi police commandos sped toward the eastern neighborhood in 12 pickups with machine guns mounted in the back, whizzing past me as I crossed a bridge. A volley of mortars fell somewhere on the east side of the Tigris River that bisects the capital.

I was surprised to see two cars with women inside and guessed they must be about to have a baby or face another medical emergency to risk being out despite the ban, which was to end Sunday morning.

Otherwise traffic was limited to a few ambulances.

It was a grim feeling after months of relative calm in Baghdad with a decline in violence attributed to an influx of American troops, a Sunni revolt against al-Qaida in Iraq and a cease-fire by al-Sadr that now appears in jeopardy.

Just weeks ago I took my children to the Baghdad zoo for the first time in two years; now they were once again forced to stay inside.