Counting the cost of UN sanctions; People eke out a living
in Baghdad, a city of power cuts, sweltering heat and spiralling
poverty

By Nadia Hijab in Baghdad

The road to Baghdad was completed just before the 1990-91 Gulf war.
Today, not a scratch mars the 340-mile highway from the Jordanian
border to the capital of Iraq, a country which has been living under
sanctions for a decade.

Baghdad is a sprawling, flat city. The absence of high-rise buildings
is partly explained by 20 years of conflict (first with Iran, then
with Britain, the United States and their allies following the
invasion of Kuwait).

The hotel balcony overlooks a landscape of green trees and
dun-coloured homes - and of United Nations flags atop many buildings.

The UN plays a complex role in this country: part sanctions-manager,
part provider of humanitarian aid in an attempt to alleviate the
consequences of the sanctions for 22m Iraqis.

Saddam, sanctions and suffering seem to be all the news fit to print.
Yet there are other stories, of ordinary people getting on with life,
of writers and artists changing the shape of their world.

It is not easy being an intellectual in Iraq. Many writers have sold
their libraries to survive. A street in the Souq used to be full of
antique books. It is now occupied by stationery stores. It is not
clear who can afford the stationery - certainly not government
departments, where everyone carefully conserves and uses the other
side of printed pages.

Close by, Al Mutannabi Street hosts an open-air book market every
Friday. Old books and magazines line the pavements. You can see where
the clock has stopped. There are few books from the 1990s.

But the sense of humour that helps Iraqis cope is never far from the
surface.

Many personal libraries sold over the past decade included books
dedicated by authors to their friends. Authors often stumble across
signed copies of their books on sale on Al Mutannabi Street, and then
take their friends to task.

One Iraqi bought a large number of signed copies from the market and
organised an exhibition: 'Books Dedicated and Sold'.

There is a serious debate about development in Iraq. At a workshop
convened last month by the Beitul Hikma thinktank, economists and
social scientists discussed the indices used by the UN's annual global
human development report, which measures progress and poverty.

In 1990, Iraq ranked 55th out of 130 countries on the human
development index (HDI). By 1995, it had slipped to 106th, and by 1999
it had plummeted to 125th, behind Bolivia, Mongolia, Egypt, and Gabon.

According to the HDI, an Iraqi born in 1987 could expect to live 65
years. But whereas neighbouring Jordanians saw their life expectancy
improve from 67 years in 1987 to 70 years in 1997, life expectancy in
Iraq dropped to 62.4.

Whereas Jordan saw its literacy rate rise from 75% in 1985 to 87.2% in
1997, Iraq's dropped from 89% to 58%.

In the 1990 HDI, Iraq ranked three places above Jordan. By 1999, it
ranked 31 places below.

A few days after the Beitul Hikma workshop, experts from the planning
commission discussed an Iraqi human development report.

But discussions in Iraq are regularly interrupted by power cuts. The
government provides power to Baghdadis according to a strict rota -
three hours on, six hours off.

In outlying areas and the provinces, the power cuts are longer. People
plan their lives according to the rota - work, laundry, cooking,
haircuts. A lucky few, including UN staff, have generators.

Soon, temperatures will soar to 50C (122F). During the summer, few
people sleep at night, and children get sick. Repairs to the national
grid proceed at a snail's pace; more than pounds 320m worth of
contracts are currently held up at the UN sanctions committee.

Deprivation has made recycling a thriving business, and families can
earn a living collecting plastic and glass. Women are particularly
enterprising at devising new ways to earn a living - becoming
landscape gardeners, caterers, taxi drivers, nursery managers or
wedding consultants. Apparently, people still want to get married, and
want to do things right.

In fact, a few families can be spotted at one of the restaurants
beside the River Tigris. The scene is unexpectedly serene: a few
motorboats ply the Tigris carrying customers from the restaurant; the
girls' hair streams out behind them.

The Tigris is lower than ever because of the Turkish dams upstream,
according to every Iraqi who raises the subject. They all do: the
siege mentality has many dimensions here.

But the low waters provide an opportunity to repair the riverbanks.
The bridges damaged by bombing have long since been rebuilt.