Saddam? No. US? Never!

The melancholy wail sailed across the city and pierced the walls of the middle-class Baghdad home. The sleepless family listened in silence ...

The melancholy wail sailed across the city and pierced the walls of the middle-class Baghdad home. The sleepless family listened in silence until the mother, her face lined with fear and pain, shook her head. 8216;8216;Siren,8217;8217; she whispered. Her daughter jumped up and threw open the door. She ran for the windows next, fearful the blast would shatter them. The son sprinted outside, hoping to spot a low-flying cruise missile that would send the family huddling, yet again, in a hallway.

While the outside world has grown accustomed to detached images of fire and fury over Baghdad, this rattled family of five in the middle-class neighbourhood has watched war turn life upside down. 8216;We8217;re in a dark, dark tunnel, and we don8217;t see the light at the end of it,8217;8217; the daughter-in-law said.

The family met on Sunday with a journalist, with a promise that their identities would not be published. Over a lunch of Iraqi dishes 8212; pickled mango, kibbe, kufta, chicken cooked with rice, peanuts and raisins 8212; they expressed anger at the US government, which has promised to liberate them. They criticised President Saddam Hussein and his dictatorial rule, but insisted that pride and patriotism prevent them from putting their destiny in the hands of a foreign power.

They spoke most fervently of a longing for routine 8212; the most mundane rituals of going to work, sharing dinner on a quiet night and sleeping at a set hour. They predicted little of that stability ahead. From a bloody battle for the capital, to lawlessness, to the humiliation of an occupation, they braced for a future that hardly anyone in Baghdad dares predict.

8216;8216;Everything is turned around,8217;8217; the daughter-in-law said. For weeks, she prepare for war. She and her husband hauled a mattress downstairs, setting up their bedroom in the dining room. The family rearranged furniture so they could sprint to open the windows. Sofas and tables were cloaked in dust cloths to protect them from flying glass and debris. Two rifles and bags of ammunition were propped against the wall. Scattered around the two-story house were supplies of a siege. Two tanks, filled with kerosene. Every pan, kettle and thermos filled with water. In bag after bag: flour, sugar, beans, powdered milk, biscuits, jam, cheese, macaroni, wheat, and rice. 8216;8216;These will last three months,8217;8217; the son said. His wife interrupted: one month, no more. 8216;8216;The men in our family have very big appetites,8217;8217; she said.

8216;8216;We have 11,000 years of history. I know it sounds facetious, but it gives you resilience,8217;8217; the father said. His son added, 8216;8216;The bark is worse than the bite.8217;8217; But in private moments Sunday, the suffering was close to the surface. Friends, they said, had fled to Syria in January, only to run out of money before the war started. Others had headed north to the city of Mosul, hoping to endure the war with relatives. Those who stayed struggle to negotiate the uncertainty.

A pregnant friend of the daughter-in-law was supposed to have a Caesarean section within 10 days. But her doctor has vanished. Hospital after hospital, overwhelmed with the task of preparing for the wounded, has refused to admit her. Another friend who is seven months pregnant has begun taking Valium. A neighbour said she stuffed cotton in the ears of her two young children every night. She fretted about finding diapers and milk.

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When it came to the cause of Iraq8217;s predicament, family members pointed to Saddam, describing him as rash. He invaded Iran, trapping them in an eight-year war. He seized Kuwait, bringing on the Persian Gulf War and the devastation of sanctions that largely wiped out Iraq8217;s middle class. But they bitterly denounced the war the US has launched. To this family, the assault is an insult. It is not Saddam under attack, but Iraq, they said.

It is hard to gauge if this is a common sentiment, although it is one heard more often now. 8216;8216;We complain about things, but that doesn8217;t mean cooperating with foreign governments,8217;8217; the father said. 8216;8216;When somebody comes to attack Iraq, we stand up for Iraq. That doesn8217;t mean we love Saddam, but there are priorities.8217;8217;

A friend of the family interrupted. 8216;8216;Bombing for peace?8217;8217; he asked, shaking his head. 8216;8216;I don8217;t even care about the leadership,8217;8217; the daughter-in-law said. 8216;8216;But someone wants to take away what is yours. What gives them the right to change something that8217;s not theirs in the first place? 8217;I don8217;t like your house, so I8217;m going to bomb it and you can rebuild it again the way I want it, with your money8217;? I feel like it8217;s an insult, really.8217;8217; The family members nodded their heads.

Outside, sounds of ordinary life came from the street. A cart passed by, it had come to collect trash and refill kerosene tanks. As the cart passed, the routine it evoked seemed to anger the son. 8216;8216;I should be able to live like other people are living,8217;8217; he said glumly. 8216;8216;I shouldn8217;t fear bombs falling on my head, I shouldn8217;t be hearing sirens8230;8217;8217; Everyone looked to the floor, no one saying a word. LAT-WP