From the chapter: Zaids dreams

I find a shady corner of the garden and start to write some notes. Suddenly somebody taps me on the shoulder from behind. I turn round and find myself looking at Zaid's face. "You wanted to talk to me," he says quietly and a little shyly.

Zaid is wearing blue jeans, a washed-out red T-shirt and imitation Adidas trainers. In his left hand he is holding and hiding, rather like a schoolboy, a packet of Gauloises made in Syria. When Al-Qaeda were on the rampage in Ramadi, smoking was prohibited and even dangerous.

Zaid set off at six o'clock from his home in the Al-Sufia neighourhood. To get to Al-Jazeera used to take 15 minutes, now it takes two-and-a-half hours, because of all the roadblocks and checkpoints. Zaid has talked to his father. And the father has given him permission to tell me his story. Slowly and quietly, Zaid begins to do just that.

He was born in 1986 during the Iraq-Iran war. His father Mohammed and his mother Amira own a small grocery store in Al-Sufia. They managed to get by under very difficult conditions during the war and then during the sanctions regime. They always had food, even if it was sometimes only bread.

Times got much harder after the Gulf War following Iraq's invasion of Kuwait. Iraq lost the war in 1991 to a multinational force led by the United States. The economic sanctions made life very difficult. Zaid's parents could rarely find vegetables or meat for their family of seven.

Zaid recalls that his parents suffered much more than their three sons and two daughters. Whenever they found something good to eat, they gave it to their children. They had to work twice as hard to keep their family’s heads above water. Zaid says a number of young children in the neighborhood died of malnutrition and poor medical care, because the health service in Iraq collapsed as a result of the sanctions imposed by the United Nations Security Council. 

On September 11, 2001, when Al-Qaeda terrorists fly two airplanes into the World Trade Center, Zaid is a boy of 15. A few weeks later, the first speculation over a connection between Iraq and Al-Qaeda are aired on television. There are discussions about the possibility of the United States waging war not only against Afghanistan, but also against Iraq.

Zaid thinks that is rubbish. He does not know anybody in his small world who even knows what Al-Qaeda is.

He thinks it is absurd propaganda by the United States to claim that Iraq has weapons of mass destruction, given the economic sanctions and years of United Nations inspections. How could Iraq have produced weapons of mass destruction? In 2001 it was "the most closely observed country in the world," Zaid says. How could one believe anything so stupid? Even in the West no one really believes that. People can't be that stupid or malicious. That could never be a reason to go to war! There must be some justice in the world, even for Iraq.

When the war does indeed start, in March 2003, Zaid is sure Iraq will win. He believes Saddam Hussein, who has often said the United States doesn't stand a chance against Iraq. Zaid attends the daily prayers at which the people of Ramadi ask for God's help. He sits with his friends in front of the television for hour upon hour, watching the news about the war.

When a big sandstorm halts the Americans' advance for a few days, Zaid thinks the tide has turned. At least God is on the side of the Iraqis. And when the information minister, Mohammad Said al-Sahhaf, says: "Bush, Blair and Rumsfeld. They are the funny trio" and "God will roast their stomachs in hell at the hands of Iraqis," Zaid believes every word.

Even with American tanks in the centre of Baghdad, Al-Sahhaf still declares grandly, before the world's journalists, "I triple guarantee you, there are no American soldiers in Baghdad; … they are retreating on all fronts; … their infidels are committing suicide by the hundreds on the gates of Baghdad." Zaid says now he knows that people in the West laughed themselves silly listening to Al-Sahhaf, but in Iraq people were clinging desperately to his words; what he said was their last hope. But eventually defeat could not be concealed any longer, and for Zaid, who was now 17, the world fell apart.

American tanks first appear in Ramadi at the end of April 2003. They are met with a hail of sandals, stones and vegetables. Nobody is afraid of them, but nobody cheers or welcomes the Americans either.

The occupation of Ramadi proceeded in stages: US troops first secured the major crossroads, then the most important buildings, then they closed some roads, and finally they divided up the city into various zones cut off from each other.

The Iraqi troops simply went home, Zaid continues, and hid their uniforms. All the members of the armed forces and security services were dismissed by the Americans and became unemployed overnight. Many joined the resistance, bringing with them their experience and their weapons. Others fled the country.

Life for the people of Ramadi became harder by the day. American planes bombed alleged pockets of resistance and killed entire families in the process. American sharpshooters posted on roofs across the city shot at anything they thought was suspicious. They usually hit innocent people. Most resistance fighters know how to elude sharpshooters, Zaid tells me.

In June 2004, Zaid gets his high school diploma, with pretty good grades. He is now 18. His plan is to study history at Ramadi's Anbar University, like his uncle Abu Saeed did, starting in the fall and then to become a teacher. Zaid knows all the tricks mischievous youngsters get up to, because he used to be one himself. His students won't be able to fool him; he wants to educate young people to become capable, confident citizens and show them that life is worth living. He is really looking forward to his future career.

That is why he has not taken an active role in the resistance, Zaid says. He is not really interested in military matters, but in history. And he did not want to endanger his family. His two brothers Haroun and Karim felt the same way. There is no military tradition in their family.

And then in June 2006, fate catches up with his small family. Zaid runs his left hand over his eyes to conceal his emotions. With his right hand, he helplessly begins to hit the grass.