IRAQ: Home sweet home

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As I headed home recently for the first time in more than a year, all I could think about was my last visit.

That was in September 2006. I had been scared to go home. Working for a newspaper, you become more aware of the violence lurking around. I was convinced that a bomb might go off or a stray bullet might hit me. The escalating sectarian violence convinced me we had reached the point of no return.

The streets were empty. Houses were deserted. People in their cars looked anxious like me. I reached the entrance to my neighborhood and held my breath. It was like a ghost town. The few remaining shops were closed and the whole neighborhood was shrouded in darkness, except for a few houses lit up with their own generators. When I got home, I ran inside with my bags and hugged my mom and sister.

I felt nothing but numbness. ‘Your face is yellow, Saif. Are you alright, son?’ my mother asked. I nodded so she would think I was OK. A few candles lit the dark house. Old memories flashed inside my head. The house seemed empty without my father and brother, friends and neighbors. I rushed downstairs and sat with my family, barely speaking. I couldn’t wait for the night to end — and for the next day, when I would leave for Syria for my annual vacation.

So it was with uncertainty that I ventured home in December for Eid — more than a year later — after hearing about improved safety in Baghdad. My family had also recently returned from Syria. As I approached the neighborhood, I immediately noticed the difference. U.S.-backed security forces, Concerned Local Citizens, stood guard at the entrance to the neighborhood. The Iraqi army was also there. Shops – even a few new ones – had opened. Children played in bright-colored clothes and the main road had been re-paved. The street was alive again.

“Happy Eid!” I said with a big smile. My mother hugged me. My little sister jumped up and down, and kissed me. Friends were already there, waiting for my arrival. I had not seen them in more than a year. “Saif, long times no see!’ said my uncle, who later made a surprise visit with his family for the first time in more than a year.

When my sister and mom left the house for a couple of hours, my buddies and I cranked up the speakers and played the Call of Duty 4 video game. We played in the cold. It felt so fun and right. Later, the guys and I drove toward “Crispy,” a restaurant downtown. Young couples and groups of friends were standing, waiting to be seated. Waiters rushed here and there. It was may be the only time I’ve been happy to see this scene in a restaurant. We left by 8 p.m. because, even with improved security, it’s still dangerous out there. My brother and the boys returned to the video games, but I went to the living room.

I lounged on the couch, wrapped myself in a blanket like a worm as my sister and mother watched Oprah’s “Favorite Things” holiday episode. It didn’t matter that I was freezing, watching a cheesy show during one of the rare hours of electricity, on an uncomfortable sofa. I slept like a baby.

By the next morning, though, the cold and lack of electricity were already wearing on me. I hurried my trip back to the comforts of the generator-driven, L.A. Times compound, leaving hastily — the same way I had arrived — so my neighbors wouldn’t ask where I’d been. By mid-January, my mother had had enough, too. She hated the traffic jams, the curfews, sporadic car bombs, shopping daily because the refrigerator wasn’t powered. Security might be a little better, but life is nowhere near normal. She went back to Syria.

Once again, my house is empty, except for my brother.

— Saif Hameed in Baghdad