We are on a mission in Sadr City to inspect some of the checkpoints along the newly completed wall. The first part of the mission brings us to the infamous Jamilla Market, an outdoor stretch of shops and home to some of the worst fighting in the entire war. The market suffered heavily and many shop owners are now facing repairs that they could never possibly afford. It has made an impossible situation even worse for many.

The new checkpoint is nothing more than a gap in the wall allowing individuals to pass after being thoroughly searched and often harassed. We watch as one US soldier violently pokes a man with metal detecting wand, asserting his power and control in an inhumane way. One of the soldiers in my platoon comments on how he is out of line and doing a disservice to the Army, but nothing is said or done to stop it and we continue on our way.

Walls and checkpoints are usually a recipe for human rights violations and cruelty, but for the moment the checkpoints at least offer hope for the merchants to recover, and for the residents of Sadr City to purchase necessities such as groceries and other supplies. As usual, the individuals struggling to live their lives in between the two sides at war suffer the most.

photographs and words by Zoriahwww.zoriah.com

photograh by Zoriah

Into the Mouth of Madness

words and photographs by Zoriah

It’s mid afternoon and the sun is struggling to find its way through millions of tiny particles kicked up in today’s sand storm, casting a yellow haze and ominous glow across Baghdad. I am with a platoon of US Army soldiers. We are gathering our flak vests, helmets and protective gear and heading out to a group of armored vehicles.

(click here to read the rest of Zoriah's diary entry)

After nearly a year I have returned to the Baghdad ER, now the US Army 86th Combat Support Hospital.  Still the busiest combat hospital in Iraq, and most likely the world, it is home to some of the military’s best doctors and medics as well as an unending stream of some of the most horrific battle casualties imaginable.

  Working in Baghdad ER requires a constant presence by a military public affairs officer and this year my guide is Captain McKinnie.  One of those people who you instantly like, McKinnie was kind and humorous, and addicted to JellyBelly “butter popcorn” flavored jelly beans.  Stopping every few of minutes to pull a couple out of her pocket, at one point McKinnie picked a dropped jelly bean off of the ER floor, shouting out “THREE SECOND RULE, THREE SECOND RULE!!!!!!” then popped it into her mouth and swallowed.  It takes a lot to shock me, so she deserves some sort of medal.  Unfortunately, the rest of the day was not so amusing and pleasant.
  A flurry of commotion coming from the trauma ward means that something is going on.  We rush in to find a ten-year-old Iraqi boy on a stretcher with his organs hanging out of his stomach, which is severed from his mid-chest down to his pelvis.  He has no pulse and a doctor is administering frenzied, yet deliberate, chest compressions, while five or more other doctors and medics perform different duties.


  After several minutes they are able to stabilize the boy enough to transfer him upstairs to surgery.  We follow along and spend the next hour in the surgery ward as surgeons remove the boy’s organs, setting them aside as they dig large chunks of shrapnel out of the boy’s body.  For the time being they must ignore that fact that one of his hands is also missing and focus on the more pressing injuries.

  Finally he is stabilized and shrapnel is, for the most part, removed.  We find out from the boys uncle, who is obviously quite close to him and visibly distraught, that he had been out playing on the street when he stumbled on a land mine or improvised explosive device (IED.)  The doctor’s efforts were noble and both Captain McKinnie and myself were impressed that they were able to save the boy.  We take a deep breath and head out to get lunch.

  After lunch we return to the ER to find the young boys uncle hanging out of a window screaming, crying and rocking back and forth.  The nurse looks at us and shakes her head…they boy died shortly after the first surgery and they were not able to bring him back.  As everyone stood back, watching the man sob, I put down my camera and held the man as he cried. I sat next to him with my arm around his shoulder, as he spoke in Arabic, rocked back and forth and hit himself in the face.  I could feel the boys dried blood on his shirt…the reality of being back in Iraq had become terribly clear.

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