Thursday 4 March: Basra Internet caf� and central street market

Today is a second day of mourning for victims of the Karbala and Baghdad attacks. The city is again quiet as many people stay at home. Schools, public and government offices are all closed.

Anything can be bought in Basra now, but security is still a big worry (Photograph by Paul Grant)

We visit one of the city's new privately-owned internet caf�s in an affluent suburb of broad roads and palm trees.

The building used to be a kindergarten which has been re-fitted with squeaky new office chairs, a plush new reception desk and small partitioned booths with computers and curtains for privacy.

The area is dominated by a large TV set with satellite link which shows news on the Arabic channel, al-Arabiya.

Mohammed Tawfeq, 19, is a medical student. His father owns this and a string of other businesses and he's managing the caf� during his university holidays.

He's a chirpy, energetic young man. "Business is booming," he says. "We have about 50 customers a day, all sorts of people. Students, teachers doing research and academics. And a lot come to read the international news."

Their busiest time was right after the fall of Saddam, when they opened in July. So many people wanted to get in touch with their relatives overseas to reassure them they were alright.

Opening up

The idea of an internet caf� is new here. Under Saddam there was only one place in Basra where people could go and use the internet, run by the ministry of education. It was a closely-controlled network with only a few authorised websites.

All e-mails had to pass through a central computer system. Many were checked and read and could take weeks to arrive. This is one of a series of new privately-run internet cafes. Anyone can surf the web for about 1$ an hour.

It's mid morning and business is slow but steady. Manal Naji, 26, an unmarried biology graduate who lives with her brothers and parents, works for the ministry of youth and sport.

I used to go out in the evening but now I don't fee safe. I'm frightened of terrorism and being kidnapped Manal Naji

She wears light face powder and lipstick as well as a tight headscarf and black abaya.

"Economically, things are much better than before," she tells me. She's better paid. "I've bought a computer, and gold," she says, motioning to her throat and wrists.

"Psychologically things are better too," she adds. "Now we've opened up to the outside world through the internet. There's more freedom."

But there are problems too. "I used to go out in the evenings but now I don't feel safe," she says. "I'm frightened of terrorism and of being kidnapped."

Afraid of strangers

Further down, Basma al-Hwaz, a teacher at a secondary school for girls has come for the first time to learn how to send emails.

She wants to keep in touch with friends overseas, she says, and to teach her children through the internet.

"Life is different now," she tells me, "but not better. There's no security, no peace. Teachers get more money but no safety. There are many thieves. My neighbours were burgled four days ago. That never happened before."

Today she's dressed conservatively with no make-up or jewellery, in loose traditional clothing and a hijab.

"I dress like this for safety. I don't want to take a risk. There are strangers in the city, foreigners. We don't know who they are but they look like murderers and thieves."

Excitement

In the next booth sits an older man, Dr Nadham Kadham Mahdi, 50, wearing a western jacket and tie and corduroy trousers, with a neat moustache and glasses.

He's a lecturer in the college of medicine at Basra University and seems very excited about the internet.

"Before if I wrote a medical paper, I had to send it by mail. It took weeks and often got lost. Now I just send it by e-mail in an instant."

Food is more plentiful and cheaper at Basra market now (Photograph by Paul Grant)

He looks delighted and seems totally absorbed in his academic work. Was his life different otherwise? He shrugs.

"Not really," he says. "If you weren't involved in politics, it wasn't so bad before."

In the next booth, three youths, aged about 14 to 17, are excitedly squeezed around a computer. They've half-drawn the booth curtain round them.

We catch a glimpse of the pictures of topless women they've found on the internet. They start giggling when we talk to them.

They come here to chat online to friends, they say, mostly female friends.

Are they looking at sites that perhaps they shouldn't look at, we ask? They nod, giggling, and agree, pointing to each other to shift the blame.

Better and worse

The last customer is Genan Ahmad, 27, a Phd student of toxicology, dressed conservatively in abaya and hijab, carrying a battered satchel.

She says she comes here to read the news, especially eager to know what Western newspapers are saying about Iraq.

"In some ways, life is better since Saddam," she tells me, "and in some ways worse. We're afraid now. Our parents or brothers have to go everywhere with us.

"We have mobile phones, satellite television and the internet but have to go three days at a time without water. We want things to be a lot better than this."

We visit the street market in central Basra, a bustling colourful explosion of noise and chaos.

Fatima, 49, who works for Iraqi Airways, says the market is cheaper now.

"And you can buy everything, not like before. Life is very good," she beams. "Before we disliked everything, especially President Saddam Hussein. Now no-one asks us what we're doing or where we're going."

Before when the British invaded Iraq, they built institutions here. This time they're doing nothing for us Iftikhar

A feisty matronly woman of about 60 called Iftikhar is eager to tell me what she thinks of the new Iraq.

"I'm very happy the British and American forces have come," she says.

"But there's no security, no sleep. All night it's tak-tak, shooting. Before, when the British invaded Iraq, they built institutions here. This time they're doing nothing for us."

Several people have complained to me about the filthy condition of the streets now, since Saddam.

The market area is a classic example, set alongside a canal deep in litter.

The air is thick with decay and the stench of decomposing rubbish.

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