Saturday 6 March: Basra Police Station, Basra Central Court, Basra street market in Ashar district

After filming armed gangs at the mosque yesterday, we want to find out more about the official system of law and order and what's going wrong.

The Iraqi police are struggling to command respect on the streets

We stop outside a main police station, next to Basra Central Court, where several youths in blue police shirts are hanging around together outside, smoking cigarettes, chatting and waving guns.

Many are barely out of their teens and eager to be filmed. They crowd round us, grinning and posing with their guns.

The junior officer with them, a jolly, informal man in his late twenties, tells us life is better now than under Saddam Hussein.

By now about 20 young officers have come out to join in the fun, as if they have nothing else to do.

Next they suggest searching some cars for us. A ludicrous display follows, as the policemen scatter into the traffic, putting up their hands to make the cars stop, being ignored, then chasing after the cars as they drive away.

They finally corner a taxi, force the driver to a halt and search his vehicle as he laughs and jokes with them.

There's little sense of discipline or public respect.

Gangs

The mood changes when a lean senior officer emerges from the police station. The youngsters slink away and put on their caps.

It's the job of every Iraqi to keep law and order, not just the police force Senior police officer Colonel Ali Kherallah

He says he's Colonel Ali Kherallah and has been in the force for 20 years. "Things are better now," he says.

Under Saddam Hussein, they were forced to do "wrong things".

He is earning around ten times what he earned under Saddam, but he grumbles that now all policemen are paid the same, without increments for seniority or experience.

I ask him about the existence of unofficial armed gangs keeping the peace.

"Yes, he says, it's the job of every Iraqi to keep law and order, not just the police force. We work with these security forces."

So he's not worried about gangs with illegal arms patrolling the streets?

"There aren't any illegally armed gangs," he says, only official ones.

Colonel Kherallah says the police have enough equipment, but need new cars so they can chase after criminals and also a new police station.

We see his point when we go inside. The police station building is ruined and its contents stripped bare, all looted after the fall of Saddam.

More crime

We proceed to Basra Central Court, described in the English phrase painted on the outside wall as "House of Justice".

On the pavement outside, two clerks of the court sit at rusty metal booths. Business is brisk, one of them tells me.

They have a lot of divorces and marital disputes but also robbery, car theft, kidnapping, murder and rape, many more than under Saddam.

Inside the dingy two-storey building we're introduced to Abed Ali Nefawa, the most senior judge at the court who agrees to allow us to film the proceedings.

He has a gentle, thoughtful air and is well dressed, with jet black hair and a neat moustache.

He puts on flowing black judicial robes with embroidered borders when he enters the courtroom and takes his seat between two other judges at a long wooden table.

The courtroom is like a classroom, with strip fluorescent tube lights and white washed walls, filled with members of the public connected with the case and police officers.

The defendant, a youth of 21, is led in by a police officer in handcuffs and stands facing the judges while they read the charges and hear evidence.

He's accused of a burglary committed six months ago. The prosecution says he was caught red-handed in a woman's bedroom, taking cash hidden inside her wardrobe.

The young man listens impassively, dressed in a baggy T-shirt and sandals. He pleads not guilty.

The judges say they'll pass verdict at the end of the morning session. The youth is led out and the next defendant, accused of possessing an illegal weapon, led in.

Targets

The basic court proceedings inside the courtroom are continuing much as they did under the old regime, the judges told us, although there has been a return to earlier statutory provisions, on the death penalty for example, since the coalition took control.

Some cases don't come to court because people involved are too afraid about what might happen to them Judge Khazael Dabul Kasim

Khazael Dabul Kasim, one of the judges sitting alongside Abed Ali Nefawa, speaks English and is eager to express his views to us.

"There's no security. It's a big problem. Some cases don't come to court because people involved are too afraid about what might happen to them.

"The British forces should provide security," he says, "only then can the judges and the courts deliver real justice."

Some lawyers have also told me privately that they're avoiding taking on sensitive criminal cases because they're frightened they might be targeted themselves.

I speak to one female lawyer outside court, her head covered with a patterned oatmeal hijab.

Her client, in a black burqa, has just filed papers relating to a marriage dispute. The lawyer says she does mostly marriage-related work at the moment but adds that there are a lot more criminal cases around now.

Three hours later, as we prepare to leave, we hear news that the judges have just announced the verdict on our suspected burglar: guilty and sentenced to five years and one month in prison.

'Thank you Bush'

In the early evening we visit Basra's main street market, in Kuwait Street and Restaurant Street in the district of Ashar.

It's thick with people, a rowdy, lively crowd which makes our translator uneasy.

Almost everything seems available, much of it imported from China, Indonesia or other parts of the Arab world.

Business is good, one stallholder tells me, beaming and shaking my hand.

Then a man with only a few words of English comes across to say: "I want to say thank you Mr Bush, thank you Mr Blair."

The police say local militia are working with the police

Further down the street, a fat man, Hussein Almaihi, is buying a brand new television with his wife.

They look excited. He's a school headmaster, he tells me, and earns twice what he used to.

They bought a satellite dish two months ago and now, with their new TV, they look forward to watching the Arabic news on the satellite channels.

Most people say the same. They're glad Saddam is gone, but they worry about general security and crime in their neighbourhoods.

As darkness falls, we drive on to a smarter Basra neighbourhood, al-Jazaar Street, a wide multi-lane avenue with a central reservation which is thick with traffic.

It's dark but the street is still teeming with people, and the mood is relaxed and festive. Shops are selling kebabs, ice cream, pipes, clothes and television sets.

Two modern looking women in western clothes are strolling together without a male escort.

One even has her head uncovered, an unusual sight now.

The street kids hanging round us, begging and tugging our sleeves for attention, are finally chased away by the older stall holders.

Read previous diary instalments: