The Burnt Faces of Saddam

May 16, 2009

We had to beg our way into the citadel today. It was passed closing time and they were getting more strict about sticking to the rules. But they gave in at last, and what did I do to repay their leniency? I broke into the burnt-down antique shop. The shop had burnt down last November, and every since, I've been meaning to explore the ruins of the fire. At last I was there, and it wasn't too difficult to get in. All I had to do was climb over a short, slightly unstable wall of stone bricks blocking the arched entrance. It didn't exactly spell “Do Not Enter”. Okay, it sort of did, but nothing like yellow tape blocking off a crime scene. They make it too easy, it's almost boring.

On the other side of the stone bricks, I straightened up, dusted myself off, and looked around. I had stepped into a black-and-white world of ashes and burnt pages, freed from their ancient binds, charred rugs, their vivid colors dimmed by the fire, broken bits of ancient teapots and other ancient household items,...The normal reaction would have been to be at least somewhat upset that such priceless artifacts had been utterly destroyed in one fell swoop of fire, but initially as I gazed around at my surroundings, all I could think was what a beautiful shot it would have made for my camera, which I had regrettably forgotten to take with me that day. The dominating colors were black and white, which would have made for perfect contrast. The whitewashed pillars and staircases and walls, and other architectural structures were streaked with soot, and with the black, wrought-iron rails, looked haunting. Pieces of the building hung half-broken off edges; a frayed, burnt rug hung down from the  second-floor rail. A pile of broken framed pictures had been stacked against one wall. The floor of one room was scattered with burnt woven shepherd bags.  Loose pages from books containing Arabic script lay scattered and strewn all over the place, yellowed with age and blackened by fire. 

I wandered carefully up the short flight of charred, unstable, white-washed steps leading to a room where months ago, during my very first visit to the citadel, I had found a cool, electric blue dagger adorned with the evil eye, hamsa, and strange scripts. This time, I found nothing but broken tea sets in piles on the floor amongst broken wood planks and other scraps. What a shame. Back out in the main room, I explored the mess on the ground and in a pile of rubble, discovered a wad of old Iraqi dinars with Saddam pictured on the front of every denomination. Wow, these were supposed to be impossible to get a hold of nowadays! I pocketed the wad and left soon afterwards, climbing back over the stone brick wall and dusting off my jeans. Just in time, too, as one of the friendly guards was coming to look for me. I was taking too long and my friends were waiting outside, wondering where I'd gone. This was Citadel Survey #5.