Iraq: A year after Baghdad's capture by US forces, life there is far from normal, reports Lara Marlowe
Kassim, a travel agent whose office was destroyed in a car bombing last autumn, is obsessed by the fear that his children will be kidnapped. Schoolmates of three of his five children have been taken. All were released after their parents paid ransom.
You can still buy a gun in the street for less than $50, and unemployment stands at 50 per cent. So it's not surprising that kidnapping has developed into a thriving cottage industry.
The tales that go around are reminiscent of old Hollywood movies: the family who receive their boy's finger in an envelope, with the warning that his head will soon follow; the unbearable brat whose captors start by demanding tens of thousands of dollars only to abandon him.
"If my children get kidnapped, I'll blame Paul Bremer," Kassim says, referring to the US administrator who rules Iraq. "I saw him on TV last night, in a discussion with law students. There was one girl who was really brave. She said: 'You came here for your own interest, for oil. You promised to rebuild our country after you destroyed it, and you're going to use Iraqi money to do it'."
Mr Bremer told the female law student that US taxpayers, not Iraqi money, would pay for reconstruction. The problem is that there is very little reconstruction in evidence. Electrical power has just reverted to three-hours-on, three-hours-off, after a blissful period when Iraqis received four hours of power at one go.
The bombed-out buildings that litter Baghdad have not been touched. There is no rubbish collection, and the capital is further scarred by piles of stinking, burning garbage.
"Bremer told the students, 'You can talk with me, but you couldn't talk to Saddam Hussein'," Kassim continues. "I don't need to talk to Paul Bremer. I need security and my job back. This is the freedom they brought us?"
One year after the fall of the regime, Iraq feels paralysed. Gridlock affects the traffic, telephones, reconstruction and aid efforts and especially peoples' minds. Those who can afford it often have four different telephones, which rarely succeed in connecting. At fault is the much-vaunted Orascom mobile phone system, a contract awarded to an Egyptian company which was close to a leading member of the US-appointed Governing Council.
A couple of days ago, Mr Mahmoud Ghandour, the head of the Iraqi branch of one of Saudi Arabia's biggest construction companies, was finally summoned to the protected Green Zone by Bechtel, the US giant with close ties to the Bush administration with overall responsibility for rebuilding Iraq.
Mr Ghandour was delighted - he'd been waiting three months to pre-qualify for Bechtel's list. But when the distinguished-looking, middle-aged businessman arrived at the first of four checkpoints to enter the convention centre opposite the Al-Rashid hotel, US soldiers would not let him enter - not even when a Bechtel employee came to fetch him. "Do not move forward or deadly force will be used against you," warns a sign at the entrance.
When Mr Ghandour took out his cellphone to try to cancel the meeting, a soldier threatened him because mobile phones are often used as bomb-detonators.
The same sort of paralysis hampers aid efforts. Help, from Germany, is a non-governmental organisation doing water sanitation and defusing unexploded ordnance.
"In every country, you have to co-ordinate with the government, the UN and other NGOs," says Ms Heide Feldmann, Help's head of mission. "But here, you have the Coalition Provisional Authority, coalition forces and private contractors to deal with as well. By the time you assess the need and get your funding, you discover that somebody else is on the same project."
The oil industry, protected by South African mercenaries, is the only thing that seems to be working - up to a point. Iraq will soon reach its pre-invasion level of exporting 2.1 million barrels per day. But fuel is still rationed at petrol stations, with motorists required to buy on odd or even days, according to their license numbers. Armed guards watch over petrol queues to stop fights breaking out.
US forces have stepped up house-to-house weapons searches. But it seems they can do nothing right: Baghdadis complain that the soldiers are rude. They arrive late at night and confine the family to one room while they search the house, accompanied by Iraqi policemen.
"They played rock music on a loudspeaker from their Humvee," a resident of Palestine Street complained. "They should respect our society. This shouldn't be allowed."
The other profitable business - aside from kidnapping - is providing four-metre high cement slabs to protect hotels from car-bombs. The slabs are made in the Kurdish town of Erbil, allegedly by a firm belonging to a member of the Governing Council.