Baghdad diary.

• Author: Kelly, Kathy

March 18

This afternoon, I went to see Karima, who has eight children. Karima was away when I first got there. The eleven-year-old twins, Duha and Hibbe, told me that tonight or tomorrow Bush would hit Iraq. Then Karima arrived, and she began to cry as she told us that all but two of her new neighbors had packed up provisions and left the city. Now she has no one to rely on. Her best option, once bombing begins, she says, is to grab blankets, water, and some food and move the family to the first floor of a building under construction, near the river.

"Near the river?" I asked Mohammed, her second-oldest son. "Is that wise?" I worry that they'll be harmed or killed by bombs aimed at likely targets on the other side of the river. "Yes," said Mohammed somberly. "Better than here."

Karima's eldest son, Ali, is in the military. He has been on a brief vacation and now must return to Mosul, where he is stationed.

Martin Edwards, who recently joined our peace team, quickly recognized that our emergency preparations hadn't included procuring equipment to dig ourselves or others out of rubble. Setting out on a shopping expedition, Martin reached a side street lined with hardware stores. The shopkeepers were shutting down and had already moved many of their wares into storage areas, lest looting break out if war begins. But within minutes, several merchants dispatched runners to fetch items they thought Martin would need. After loading him up with crowbars, pliers, a shovel, plastic safety construction helmets, and buckets, they insisted, "No, Mister, no need to pay money." He couldn't convince them to accept a single dinar for their help.

I felt a bit guilty for not setting my alarm to wake up and hear President Bush's speech, but I knew that Neville Watson, a barrister and minister from Perth, Australia, would tune in. Neville awakens for daily meditation at 3:30 a.m. every morning. Last night, he received twelve phone calls from Australian news agencies, eager to know what he thought about the President's speech. Neville nearly always chooses his words carefully, and he has a distinguished yet engaging way of expressing himself. But his response to the President's speech was summed up in one little phrase. After listening to a few minutes of predictable cliches, he merely groaned, "Ah, shut up."

A jovial hotel worker who heard a summary of the speech had a similarly laconic response. "Mr. Bush, shit," he muttered.

March 19

What can we possibly say...