The road out of Baghdad was long and busy. It was early, but the sun was already hot, and I was glad Saad’s green Toyota had air conditioning. He didn’t use it all the time, as it would be expensive to replace; but this was a special occasion, and the fact that he had it would give him more authority if we were stopped by any checkpoint guards. As we struggled down the congested streets, flustered pedestrians looked hopefully at Saad. In Baghdad there were lots of official taxis, but never enough to satisfy demand at the busy times of day. Today I saw only the occasional familiar sight of the white and orange taxis, the battered TEX’E signs on their roofs—as if the gaudy coloring were not enough to make it clear that they were for hire. Some of them were decorated with garlands and religious symbols in the same fashion as the taxi that had brought me up from the south. Others had a photograph of Saddam fastened to the dashboard—either an expression of the drivers’ Ba’athist sympathies or the result of a threatening word from a passenger who had happened to be part of the security services.
What do You think about Escape From Saddam (2008)?
