This news analysis was written for CNN Interactive.

BAGHDAD, Iraq (CNN) -- There's an old saying around these parts: Cairo
writes, Beirut prints, Baghdad reads.

For one who has come to know this country well over the past 10 years,
it is
especially painful to witness what happens every Friday morning on
Mutanabbi
Street in downtown Baghdad.

Here, on what is usually a traffic-clogged lane next to the bustling
office-
supply souq, people gather at first light to begin displaying their
things,
laid out on weathered strips of cardboard that will soon cover the
ancient
pavement.

There's an old saying in Iraq: Cairo writes, Beirut prints, Baghdad
reads.
But many Iraqis have had to sell their possessions to survive almost 10
years of economic sanctions. Now, every Friday, Iraqis come to sell
their
books.
 
Many Iraqis have had to sell everything they own to survive almost 10
years
of crippling United Nations economic sanctions. For some, the first
things
to go are their jewelry and antiques. For others, their furniture and
household goods. And when those were gone, many turned to the merchants
on
Mutanabbi Street.

This is where Iraqis come to sell their books.

The number of books and periodicals on Mutanabbi Steet -- in Arabic and
other tongues -- is a barometer of just how well-educated and
intellectually
curious Iraqis are. And it is sad and somehow even offensive to see
prized
personal libraries that once graced bookshelves now scattered on the
ground.

"It's our life," says Sha'lan Zeidan Khalaf, who Saturday through
Thursday
runs a small bookshop near the Mujamma' al-Udaba,' or Writers'
Compound. "We
have no other choice."

On this day, Khalaf's makeshift stand includes a baffling and eclectic
number of titles:  • "How to Win Friends and Influence People" by Dale
Carnegie; "the 1967 edition of Arthur Frommer's "Europe on 5 Dollars a
Day"; "My Congo" by Patrice Lumumba; a 1959 edition of "The Bobbsey
Twins
Wonderful Secret" by Laura Lee Hope; "Corneal and Retractive Surgery"
by
Kenneth Wright; R.S. Khuri's "A Textbook of Hydraulics"; "Inside Russia
Today," by John Gunther; and "All You Can Sew for Children: 30
Patterns."

I point to a first edition of Seymour Hersh's "The Price of Power:
Kissinger
in the Nixon White House" and ask, "How much?"

"Twelve dollars," he says without missing a beat.

"That's outrageous," I laugh.

"Okay, 10."

"How about three?"

"Ten," he says firmly, knowing only a visiting journalist would pay the
equivalent of what it costs an average Iraqi family to eat for a week.
Perhaps out of guilt, or because I am an author, I don't prolong this
bargaining over written words and fork over the money.

"I'm especially fond of Shakespeare," Khalaf explains as he searches
for a
thin plastic bag for me to haul away Mr. Hersh. "I'm a classical
reader."

"Aside from the economy," I ask, "what effect do the sanctions have on
Iraq's cultural isolation?"

"I think that the English say, 'Seeing is believing.' All you must do
is
look at the faces of people here and you can see how they suffer -- in
every
way."

"Well, I hope life improves. It's tough for the Iraqi people."

"I hope so," he says. "It is tough ... but the sun also rises."

"I'm sorry?"

"'The Sun Also Rises,'" he says softly, as if to convey a secret
message, "a
good novel by Ernest Hemingway."

During a trip to Vietnam a few years back, my colleague Bruce Morton
observed the construction everywhere in Hanoi and remarked wryly, "The
country's national bird could be the crane."

That crane has migrated to Baghdad.

Vast areas of this capital are now under construction. Gone is the once
popular racetrack where Iraqis loved to wager on gallant Arabian
stallions.
In its place will soon be what's being billed as the world's
second-largest
mosque. The largest, I'm informed by my driver, is slated to go up in
another part of town.

Near the Ministry of Information, a long, non-descript building has
been
given a complete makeover -- a motif straight out of "The Arabian
Nights,"
topped by a life-size gilded statue of Iraq's president, looking
confidently
presidential as he straddles the bow of a boat.

Across the street, workmen are putting the finishing touches on a new
wall
with parapets, which will front the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

And in the rich residential neighborhood of Mansour, there is hardly a
street where a new villa is not being built.

Businessmen from France, Italy and around the globe are signing
contracts
with the Iraqi government -- a clear violation of United Nations
resolutions. Today, Iraq's borders are more porous than a colander.
 
Mansour is where the Qatar Embassy recently opened its doors. The
Iraqis
fully expect other Gulf States to follow suit and re-establish
diplomatic
relations soon.

"They will come," a senior Iraqi diplomat told me, "in spite of the
United
States and Great Britain. Even the Gulf States know they can no longer
ignore Iraq. They need Iraq. They need good relations with Iraq."

So, apparently, do the businessmen from France, Italy and around the
globe
who are signing contracts with the government -- a clear violation of
United
Nations resolutions.

"I tell you frankly," said one official here. "The world knows the U.S.
and
British policy is bankrupt. It is not a secret. We [the Iraqi
leadership]
are still here. We have the support of our people.  And we have learned
how
to live with the sanctions. We are bombed again and again, yet we are
still
standing."

"He's entirely correct," an international diplomat said during dinner.
"Look, my government sent me here with one brief -- to erode the
sanctions.
Not to violate them, but to erode them. We want to do business."

Today, Iraq's borders are more porous than a colander. Although the
consignments Iraq orders under the oil-for food program are subject to
scrutiny, there is no international mechanism for regulating or
inspecting
other cross-border traffic. And the United Nations knows it.

"Only one in 20 trucks at Trebil [near the Jordanian border] is
searched," a
local U.N. official admitted. "And at Zakho [near the Turkish border],
only
one in 200 is ever looked at."

"So what's the point, when the government is importing everything it
wants?
I mean, is New York aware of this?" I ask, referring to U.N.
headquarters.

"Sure they know. Everyone knows."

Well, not everyone. There are many people in Iraq who know little about
international politics or the diplomatic chess game in which many
observers
regard them as pawns.

Cherine turned pro a year ago.

If you drive down 28th of April Street (a reference to President
Hussein's
birthday) toward the Al-Rasheed bridge, before making a U-turn that
leads to
the Ministry of Information, you will find her.

When I first met young Cherine, she was timid, rarely approaching the
cars
idling at the traffic light. Then she came to approach cars and to
beseech
occupants to roll down their windows and give. These days, she
sometimes
sells sticks of incense, but she makes more by simply batting her
lashes and
using her innocent beauty.
 
She is a lovely doe-eyed, 8-year-old Kurdish girl who, on my watch, has
been
begging for the past three years.

When I first met Cherine, she was timid, rarely approaching the cars
idling
at the traffic light. She would stand on the median, smiling sweetly
and
meekly, silently beckoning for a handout.

She was there daily, from sunrise to sunset, next to a wizened old man
in a
soiled black and white kafiyyah who sold cigarettes not by the pack,
but by
the smoke.

As the months passed, Cherine became more assertive, approaching cars,
tapping the vehicles, beseeching occupants to roll down their windows
and
give. Once she had a younger brother in tow, but she soon learned she
was
quicker and better at it on her own.

And on her own she is, apparently the principal breadwinner of her
family.
Cherine reports earning 3,000 to 4,000 dinars (about $2) a day, more
than
her father -- apparently an alcoholic -- could ever earn. She no longer
attends school -- that is, a school with a classroom.

These days, Cherine sometimes sells sticks of incense. But she makes
more by
simply batting her lashes and using her innocent beauty. The other day
I was
convinced she was wearing makeup, but Cherine says her mother will not
permit it. For now.

August 2, next week, will mark the 10th anniversary of Iraq's invasion
of
Kuwait. Next January, a decade will have passed since the Persian Gulf
War
itself.

Iraq no longer permits U.N. weapons inspectors to work here and some
former
inspectors admit, even if they spent a lifetime digging up the desert,
they
would never find everything they seek.

Iraq says it has given the U.N. all the information it can to comply
with
Security Council resolutions, and will give no more. Veteran diplomats
and
seasoned observers here believe the regime would probably allow
long-term
monitoring of its weapons program in return for a lifting of sanctions.

But the United States and Great Britain, whose warplanes continue to
bomb
Iraq almost daily, will not accept that.

"We know we can't shoot down their planes," explained an Iraqi
official.
"They fly too high and too fast, but still we shoot at them. It is our
way
of saying we still resist."

So the trucks continue to cross Iraq's borders, unfettered.
Businessmen
come and go, striking deals. Malnourished infants and children still
die at
alarming rates. And the United States and the U.N. struggle to come up
with
a solution acceptable to Baghdad and all members of the Security
Council.

At the corner of Mutanabbi and Qushla Street, just around the block
from
Sha'lan Zeidan Khalaf's piece of turf, is the Shabander coffee bar.

It was built in 1907 to house a printing press but was taken over in
1917 by
the Shabander family, who began serving coffee and tea.  Today it is
the
oldest coffee bar in Baghdad, frequented mostly by writers and
historians.

I recently asked the waiter if Iraq's president ever stopped in.

"No," he replied, "but he did walk down Mutanabbi Street to look at the
books."

"But why didn't he stop in here?" I asked. "It's such a historic place.
Perhaps he couldn't afford the price of your tea."

The waiter and others within earshot doubled over with laughter.

Despite the hardships and repression, Iraqis still enjoy a good laugh.
And
that made me feel good as I left the coffee bar and headed down
Mutanabbi
Street.

A few yards down the street, a series of "Teach Yourself" books were
displayed on a cardboard mat. The titles claimed the books could help
you
teach yourself many things.

There was "Teach Yourself -- The Slide Rule" and "Teach Yourself --
Stamp
Collecting." I thought of one "Teach Yourself" book that was not in the
series, but if it were, no one in Iraq would need to buy it. They
already
knew.

"Teach Yourself -- To Survive."

Robert Wiener led CNN's coverage in Baghdad for six months prior to and
during the opening days of the Gulf War. He has made more than 30 trips
to
Iraq since 1991 and is author of "Live from Baghdad: Gathering News at
Ground Zero."