Iraq Gunfire Answers Reporter's Question

[warpedskydiver 0]

Iraq Gunfire Answers Reporter's Question
Monday, February 19, 2007 5:48 PM EST
The Associated Press
By KIM GAMEL

SAMARRA, Iraq (AP) — The Humvees set out from the forward operating base, forcing cars and trucks to the side of the road to avoid car bombs. We head south to Samarra.

We rolled past men wearing dishdashas, traditional Arab robes, staring quietly from storefronts — where everything from wedding gowns to tires to bananas, cauliflower and radishes were on display.

It was Saturday — market day — and the streets were bustling. I felt an urge to ask the driver to pull over so I could check out some deep red rugs with intricate traditional patterns. Western reporters in Iraq are largely confined to heavily guarded compounds and armored cars, and rarely venture out onto the street.

But we were on a schedule. So I settled for leaning back — at least as far as my body armor would let me — and taking in the sights of this ancient city in the Sunni heartland north of Baghdad.

We drove past ducks paddling around a marshy pond. Then we crossed a bridge spanning the Tigris River, on top of one of two dams that help irrigate one of the country's main agricultural regions. The dam was protected by heavy security.

On our left was the concrete shell of a former private hospital. It's off a short secured stretch of road that the U.S. troops here call the Green Zone — after its larger and more famous namesake, the heavily fortified area in Baghdad that houses the Iraqi government and the American embassy.

The commander, who acted as our tour guide, told me over my headphones to look forward. We were approaching the ruins of the Askariya shrine, one of Shiite Islam's holiest places. It was bombed a year ago, reducing its glorious golden dome to a pile of rubble.

That attack dramatically escalated the daily retaliatory violence between Sunni and Shiites, the bombings and death-squad murders that have claimed thousands of lives.

A second blue-and-gold dome at the site was untouched. It, and a golden minaret, still sparkled against the blue sky. The compound is surrounded by a high tiled wall.

Lt. Col. Viet X. Luong, the commander of the 2nd Battalion, 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment, offered to lend me his interpreter so I could talk with some Iraqis on the street. I eagerly climbed out of the tan armored vehicle to follow them into a convenience store: here was my chance to spend a few minutes outside my cocoon of armor and security.

But talking to ordinary Iraqis on the street is no simple task.

We approached the shop's cashier. But he politely declined to answer questions, putting his hand to his chest in apology and saying that he didn't want to be seen associating with Americans. That, he explained, would make him a target for the insurgents hiding on the outskirts of the city.

It told him, through the interpreter, that I understood the situation and didn't want to cause him any problems.

A tall man wearing a black traditional Arab robe and a red-and-white checkered headdress stopped outside the store and agreed to talk to us. I asked him about the situation in Samarra, 60 miles north of Baghdad.

As he started to answer, we heard a burst of machine gun fire. A bullet from a sniper struck a pile of bricks in front of us. We all ran back into the store.

After about 10 minutes of sporadic fire, the shooting finally stopped.

A little girl playing in the street nearby was lightly wounded by the gunfire — there was blood on her pink jumpsuit. The soldiers gave her first aid along with a stuffed animal and candy to cheer her up.

It was a minor attack, the kind that seldom finds its way into the news. But it's an example of the violence Iraqis face every day.

Before we left, I glanced back at the man I almost got to interview about life in Samarra.

He nodded and gave me a sardonic smile, as if to say: You have your answer.