Silence is golden

You never really appreciate something until you lose it.

I never really paid any attention to the bliss of silence, until I lost it.

It’s not that I don’t care for the loss of electricity;

It’s not that I don’t care for the loss of security;

It’s not that I don’t care for the loss family get-togethers, or any of the ordinary things you would take for granted living in the Baghdad of my memories, like taking a walk.

No, all these things I do miss; but silence, I miss most of all.

Every politician drives around in a security convoy, with sirens screaming and weapons gleaming, and there are very many politicians in Iraq today, take my word for it.

Every police car patrols with its siren sounding.

Army and MNF Forces usually use sirens.

It has become common for young men to use sirens and sport weapons, simply as a means to open a route through traffic congestion at check points; no one dares stop or question them for fear of their belonging to “such” or “such” group.

The loss of state-supplied electricity has made private generators a necessity. Every 50-100 homes are supplied with power from a generator, situated “around the corner” or “down the road” from where you live. The noise generated by these machines has contaminated our very lives. (Not to mention the smoke and fumes that are killing us).

They supply us with a little power for six hours only, the rest of the day we have to switch on our own tiny house generators, which are just as noisy and smelly. (Those of us that can afford them)

The noise from explosions and fighting and cocky nobodies shooting live ammunition into the air to satisfy their sick inner hunger for power is just the cream topping on the cake.

How to sleep properly? How to work properly? How to study?? How to rest, think and achieve?

This war is cultivating a very resilient strain here in Iraq. Should we be thankful?

Comments

[Basheert]

Sahar, I cannot imagine that type of noise. We are blessed to live in the desert SW and I wake to bird song and sun every day. Although we are in a city, our desert back yard is quiet and soothing.

I sincerely wish I could share it with you.

[ljm]

Sahar, I'd love to send you some ear plugs to help with the noise if I knew where to send them. When I was in Armenia in 1992 after the end of the Soviet Union, we had electriciy 2 hours a day and you never knew when it would be turned on for your place. It's really unforgivable that your government hasn't been able to get your electric system going again where you live.