By Gabriel Gatehouse
BBC News, Baghdad
**During the past six tumultuous years, Iraqis have seen their country invaded, and then nearly torn apart by sectarian and ethnic violence. But there have been significant improvements in security over recent months.**US forces have withdrawn from towns and cities in preparation for a full military departure by the end of 2011. Many Iraqis now hope they are witnessing a return to normal life. But in Iraq, “normal” is relative concept.
Watching hip-hop group Rap and Justice on stage, you might be forgiven for thinking you were in the heart of urban America, with the the baggy trousers and gold medallions.
This was, in fact, one of the first ever performances of home-grown Iraqi rap, at the National Theatre in central Baghdad. The US military may be pulling out of urban areas, but urban American culture is taking root.
“At first the audience found the music odd,” said group leader Hisham, aka Royal Passion. “But then they started to like it.”
The audience was a mixture: many teen-age boys with baseball caps on backwards and basketball shirts reaching down to their knees; but there were also families with small children, and more traditionally dressed women wearing headscarves.
The theatre, with its tiered, red-velvet seats, might seem an incongruous venue. But at least it’s relatively secure, not an insignificant factor in people’s choice of entertainment.
“It’s fantastic,” 13-year-old Dina enthused. “The situation in Baghdad is a little bad. There are not so many concerts like this.”
For security reasons, Rap and Justice were performing in the middle of the day, when there is less chance of attack. But, according to some concert-goers, the recent drop in violence has had a direct and positive impact on social life.
“Before it was really, really dangerous,” one young man said. “But now I go to parties, and we have fun with our guys, we rap and all that stuff. It’s cool.”
Lucky escape
Across town, Abu Noor has a bakery. From early morning, he and his staff are busy feeding small diamond-shaped loaves at high speed into their wood fired oven.
Equally fast, ready baked loves come shooting out, and into a tub at the end of a counter.
Customers stop on their way to work, to pick up a bag of bread and have a chat.
This is normal life. But, just the other day, Abu Noor discovered an improvised explosive device (IED) in a bag outside his shop.
“The bag was only a few meters away,” he said. “If it had gone off, people in the bakery, in the restaurant next door, would have been hurt.”
Was he shocked to find a bomb on his doorstep He wasn’t. Iraqis have learned to expect the threat of random violence. But Abu Noor was emphatic: this was not normal life.
“Normal life is when I can walk around without any problems,” he said.
Busy streets
But on the streets of Baghdad, it’s obvious life is returning to normal. In the evenings, shops and stalls do brisk trade, selling everything from clothes to electronics, from fruit juices to tea.
Tea shops are one of the surest barometers of people’s sense of security. Six months ago, they would be empty by early evening.
Today the pavements are full of men, sitting around talking, drinking hot sweat tea and smoking water pipes.
“Before it was dangerous,” Muhannad said, offering me a chair. “There were suicide bombs, car bombs. Now there is a big difference.”
Muhannad is an engineer who works in the heavily fortified International Zone (formerly known as the Green Zone). He started coming back to his favourite cafe at the beginning of 2009. Now he pops in every evening after work.
“Thank God it was just a normal day. If it had been a Thursday or Friday, the place would have been packed.”
Ahmed, owner of bombed pool hall
But he does not go out unprepared, always carrying pistol in his waistband. He pulled it out to show the Arabic inscription on the barrel: “A gift from the Prime Minister of Iraq”.
I suggested the gun wouldn’t be much use against a car bomb. Muhannad laughed. “Yes, I cannot protect myself from that.”
A few hours after our conversation, just around the corner from the same cafe, a double bombing at a billiard hall killed one man and wounded a number of others.
Inside, the ceiling was torn to shreds, pieces hanging from the metal girders. Pool tables were littered with dust and splinters; the floor was covered in rubble and ball-bearings, the contents of one of the home-made bombs.
“Thank God it was just a normal day,” said Ahmed, the proprietor. “If it had been a Thursday or Friday, the place would have been packed.”
The pool hall clientele were just ordinary people, passing an evening in the same way people do in towns and cities across the world.
In Iraq, a story like this struggles to make it into the news bulletins. But that does not mean Iraqis have accepted daily violence as a permanent feature of normal life.