Just the rind, with a thin reddish layer of pulp on the dug-out inside, which was coated with a slightly thinner layer of dirt. Even if you don't speak their language, they are content to look, smile and giggle. Just like children anywhere. My first night sleeping on the rooftop was restless, hot, and for awhile during the very early morning the breeze died down and the humidity intensified to an almost unbearable point. In the morning I took a seat on the front steps of Nadra's home, coffee in one hand, bottled water in the other, sweat already pouring off me.
Chickens dot the street, pecking at the dirt, a dead mouse, and the edges of the sewer ditch.
A trio of ducks waddle out from the house next door. Two splash into the sewer ditch, one chooses to hop over it. The same day I arrived in Jumhuriya, a family of four moved in next door. They came from a middle class section of Basrah, but the husband, an electrical engineer, has not been able to find work in years. Now they have virtually nothing left to sell in order to maintain their former lifestyle.