Thom Westcott
A street market in Baghdad uncovers a nice surprise
Over a decade ago, a friend borrowed my Lightweight for a couple of weeks, during which time he managed to lose the in-car cigarette lighter. I was fond of that lighter, with its quirky old-fashioned image of a burning cigarette, and was terribly impressed it still worked. Being quietly furious with his carelessness did nothing to bring back the lost lighter and I have tried not to let resentment fester.
Initially, I searched for a replacement on ebay but it was a nightmare trawling through the hundreds of car lighters, searching for an image to match which was in my head. I speculated on a couple, all of which were just slightly too big. I even reverted to asking Land Rover mechanics if they had a replacement but none could oblige. That lighter socket has now stood empty for more than ten years.
Walking through a busy market street in downtown Baghdad with my friend Abdul hakam, we pause to get takeaway teas from a roadside stand. While Abdul hakam buys the tea, I peruse the wares of the nearest stall, partly to avoid making eye-contact with the many men who are all doubtless staring at me, since it’s hardly common to see a western woman in this street market, which appears to be for everything car-related.
The ground is lined with cardboard boxes filled with various car parts, one of which contains literally hundreds of car lighters. Mostly modern, there is one old one which I recognise like a long-lost friend. It sports the same silly image of a cigarette with thick dual plumes of smoke rising from it, and has the same, slightly mushroomy shape as the Lightweight’s lost lighter. Like a hawk diving for a mouse, I grab it and ask the stall holder how much it is.
He asks where I’m from and, when I say England, he not only refuses to take any money for the lighter but also insists on paying for our tea. This generous and welcoming Iraq is just one charming aspect of an unfairly vilified country that you don’t see on the news.
Much of the Middle East has a nice time-saving system of having all shops relating to specific things in the same area. So, if you can’t find what you’re looking for in one shop, you only have to walk a few metres to the next, instead of having to drive somewhere else entirely, which is more often the case in England.
Sipping our tea, we pause at another stall selling car stickers. There is an extraordinary car sticker I’ve seen pasted on several minibuses around Baghdad and have been on the lookout for, thinking it would make an original, if probably unusable, present for some of my English friends. Above the phrase “Don’t touch my car”, it features an image of a figure holding a pistol, executioner-style, to the head of another, kneeling, figure, It’s just about the most un-pc and socially-unacceptable car sticker I’ve ever seen.
It also presents a stereotype about Iraqis that is neither fair nor representational. Although they are brave and accomplished fighters and passionate people who can be swift to impressive outbursts of anger, they are also surprisingly easy-going with regard to the daily scenarios of things going wrong, which in the West we often view as catastrophic. Along with most everything else, road traffic accidents are often brushed casually aside as part of Allah’s greater plan, and a minor incident usually passes with nothing more than an animated verbal exchange culminating in an eventual shoulder shrug.
But, because there’s no car insurance, things are little more complex when cars are totalled or people killed or seriously injured through the fault of another driver, according to my friend Abdulrachman. The victim’s family may be offered a replacement vehicle or money by way of compensation (in a system not so different from pay-offs offered in England to avoid losing one’s no-claims bonus) but occasionally this can be turned down and verbal forgiveness given instead. “The thought of having to pay for damages or compensation actually makes Iraqis better drivers and much more careful on the road,” he says. “From what I’ve seen in other Middle Eastern countries, Iraqis are among the best drivers.”
Having said all that, in keeping with traditional tribal customs which are still sometimes upheld, if a person is killed, revenge may be taken in the form of killing either the perpetrator or a member of his family. But that is an extreme scenario and I certainly can’t imagine any Iraqi brandishing a handgun around if someone merely touched their car. That evening, interviewing an Iraqi historian about something entirely unrelated, he suddenly starts talking about these very car stickers, saying he wants to know who’s making and importing them, since they seemed deliberately intended to negatively affect civilian Iraqi society. I squirm in my seat, shamefaced that I supported the industry by buying four this morning. The historian insists nothing like these stickers had ever been seen in Iraq until a couple of months ago and said this kind of imagery was detrimental to the fabric of society as it presents unacceptable behavioural patterns as a norm. I must say, I have always rather felt the same about Eastenders.
I doubt any of my mates will have the guts to adhere one of those stickers to their vehicles, although I might, just as a message to Torbay Council. And finding a replacement lighter for my favourite vehicle, after a decade, in one of my favourite countries in the world has a nice synergy.
“It’s the most un-PC and socially unacceptable car sticker I’ve seen”