Playing Atari with Saddam Hussein: Chapters 5–7

But this was very different from the war with Iran. Back then, after a night of fighting we might find a hole in a building or rubble on the road. I didn’t want to imagine what it was like outside now.

How do you explain state propaganda to a six-year-old? Saddam is famous for spinning the news to make himself look good.

Back then, Iraq was peaceful and thriving. Baba told us that people were happy and having a wonderful time.

We are silent, somber, on a mission.

In an area of the city that is mostly downtrodden and dusty, sand hued and sun parched, the market, with its chaos of colors and smells, has always been our oasis.

In an area of the city that is mostly downtrodden and dusty, sand hued and sun parched, the market, with its chaos of colors and smells, has always been our oasis.

In an area of the city that is mostly downtrodden and dusty, sand hued and sun parched, the market, with its chaos of colors and smells, has always been our oasis.

In an area of the city that is mostly downtrodden and dusty, sand hued and sun parched, the market, with its chaos of colors and smells, has always been our oasis.

Fast food vendors selling shawarma wraps, kebabs, and falafel! Yogurt beverages and soda pops! The air filled with the smell of spices and smoke and the sounds of bargaining and arguing and laughter.

Fast food vendors selling shawarma wraps, kebabs, and falafel! Yogurt beverages and soda pops! The air filled with the smell of spices and smoke and the sounds of bargaining and arguing and laughter.

We join the frenzied circle of shoppers who surround the lone cart.

“Keep moving,” I tell my sister brusquely, and grab her hand.

When I wasn’t playing outside during the last war, I could often be found bunkered under the back hall staircase, hiding from the Iranian infantry ground force.

Mustafa’s grandmother ruled their household and was notoriously overprotective.

Mustafa is hyperactive and clumsy—a combination that exasperates teachers at school and his family at home.

“Well, glad you made it out,” I tell him, and we do our ritual hand slap.

Umar gets Shirzad into a headlock and they grapple for a minute, but skinny Shirzad is no match for the brutish twin.

Umar gets Shirzad into a headlock and they grapple for a minute, but skinny Shirzad is no match for the brutish twin.

I wake to the call for prayer. It streams through the neighborhood three times a day, every day, from a loudspeaker at the Shiite mosque.

La ilaha ill Allah
(There is no deity but God)

I have friends who are Muslims and Christians and atheists.

The announcer is spouting off about “our great leader!” And how we are “destined for victory!”

The Voice of America resumes: “The bombing of Iraq is captured by nightvision video cameras. The missiles show up as glowing dots of light, arcing against a background of greenish Iraqi skies. Some have dubbed this ‘the video game war,’ because that’s what it looks like.”

My brother frowns, then runs out of the room. He’s going to scour the streets for spent shells or pieces of bombs.

I mean, I could be going to school right now dressed in my school uniform—white shirt, dark blue or gray pants and a red cravat.

I usually ride my bike to school, crossing the narrow part of the river on the pedestrian bridge that links our nice neighborhood and the ancestral town.

I usually ride my bike to school, crossing the narrow part of the river on the pedestrian bridge that links our nice neighborhood and the ancestral town.

But middle school and high school are completely segregated. I miss glancing over at a cute girl. I wonder if the girls miss us? Probably not.

Anyway, earlier this winter, President Bush gave Saddam’s regime a January 15 deadline for withdrawing from Kuwait.

In the weeks leading up to that day, no one could talk about anything but imminent war.