Nurses are digging graves in front of the Al Mansour Hospital. Baghdad
University is a smoking ruin. Other disasters loom, as the Red Cross warns
that Baghdad's medical system is in complete collapse, and the millions of
Iraqis dependent on the old Oil-for-Food program wait for rations that are
no longer being delivered . "Water first, and then freedom," said one
Iraqi man on a BBC report this morning.
Two musicians, Majid Al-Ghazali and Hisham Sharaf, came to our Hotel four
days ago, hoping to call relatives outside Iraq on a satellite
phone. Hisham's home was badly damaged during the war. "One month ago, I
was the director of the Baghdad Symphony Orchestra," Hisham said with an
ironic smile. "Now, what am I?"
We joked that he could direct the telephone exchange as he tinkered with
our satellite phone's solar powered battery. I told Majid we had some
sheet music and a guitar for him. "What are notes?" he said, "We don't
even remember."
Majid had a particularly rough experience. During the first week of
bombing, a neighbor called the secret police and turned him in for
