Backgammon in Baghdad

By Kelly Hayes-Raitt

February 7, Baghdad -- A Voices in the Wilderness volunteer from Kansas held a fundraiser for a children's center. Bowling for Baghdad featured bootleg rum and a bowling match between activists and reporters (reporters won).

I was much more popular as a bartender than as a bowler: I have not the slightest clue about the proportion of rum to coke and apparently erred on the rum side. On the other hand, I guttered twice.

Games are big in Iraq. Every afternoon, young men gather across the street from our hotel for their football (soccer) matches. Every evening, older men gather in coffee houses for their domino and backgammon matches.

Soccer playing fields are sparse and dirty. American bombs hit sewage and waste treatment plants in 1991. Efforts to rebuild have been crippled by the U.N. sanctions, which prevent the importation of chlorine and spare parts for repairs.

Additionally, erratic electricity makes treating sewage and drinking water difficult. Half the sewage treatment plants are inoperable, and another 25p ercent do not meet environmental standards.

Daily, 500,000 tons of raw sewage are dumped into the Tigris and other rivers, contaminating down-stream drinking water sources. Only half the number of garbage trucks operate. Childhood diarrhea has quadrupled since before the Gulf War; typhoid fever has increased from 2,240 cases/year to 27,000 cases/year.

Gone are the public gardens and landscaping and greenery. In its place are brown, decrepit, trash-strewn playgrounds. Yet, the young soccer players clean their field and play with gusto, not missing an opportunity to show off for a strange American woman who is lured to their perimeter by retrieving a stray ball.

By contrast, a woman wandering into a coffee house attracts little attention. Only men gather in these cacophonous rooms where the coffee is as thick as the smoke-filled air. The delicate china teacups are a surprising contrast to the triumphant slamming of dominoes on the tiled tables.

It is in the coffee house across from my hotel that I meet Dhia, a 24-year-old English literature graduate with a strong command of English and a quick sense of humor. Although I am the only woman here at 4:00 in the afternoon, I feel at home. Dhia assures me it is fine for me to be here, writing and drinking coffee as thick as melted chocolate, joking with him and his cohorts and photographing the ancient floor-to-ceiling blue tiled fireplace that serves as the centerpiece of the huge hall.

It is here that George, a photographer and delegation participant from Ithaca, NY, teaches me backgammon. In a remarkable string of luck, I throw repeated doubles and silently pray my luck rubs off and saves this ancient, lively, pedestrian spot from an errant bomb. I feel petty wanting to save a coffee house from demolition. Yet, it is places just like this that I fear will not survive.

The mood on the street changes dramatically after President Bush's "the games are over" speech. The hotel workers tape our windows, people stockpile. I go for one last coffee. Dhia has prepared responses to American letters for us to take back:

My dear friend, I'm very happy to read your letter, because it made me know that there are many people in America [who] don't want this war to happen.

My friend, I lost two of my aunts and many of my friends in the last destructive war (Gulf War) and I don't want to lose any of my family [or] my people in Iraq.

I would like to thank you and all good people in America who love peace and oppose the war.

Thank you very much for caring about my people in Iraq and sharing their suffering.

My name is Dhia. I'm 24 year old. I studied English literature in Baghdad University. I hope I could get my M.A. degree in English literature.

Peace & love,
Dhia

Like many young people around the world, Dhia dreams of continuing his education in the United States - the very country that may literally bomb all his dreams.

Over my last Iraqi coffee, I ask Dhia if he thinks the war could be stopped. "Only Allah can stop this war. President Bush wants to bomb," he answers solemnly. I am struck by the strength of his faith and the futility of his helplessness. I ask one last question: If you could meet President Bush, what would you say to him?

"Just leave us alone."