Eyewitness: Baghdad under curfew

By Hugh Sykes
BBC News, Baghdad

Police checkpoints have been set up at the main intersections

The streets were so empty and quiet that I heard birds singing as I and a colleague walked along, instead of the usual cacophony of Baghdad traffic.

Long, wide, dusty avenues were quiet and still - the silence broken by the sound of generators here and there, a few children chattering past on bicycles, and the occasional car.

The police were using their discretion and allowing essential trips - to hospitals, or to buy food.

There were static police checkpoints at the main intersections. A friendly policeman wandered over to check us out - we shook hands, and he said there were a few stores open down Amar Bin Yasir Street.

Defending Saddam

A rudimentary kiosk was open. Issam, a 12-year-old boy in a grubby Zinedine Zidane football shirt, was selling chocolate bars, washing powder, soft drinks and cheap plastic razors.

The bottled gas seller in Ali Baba Square, usually choked with traffic

Most of the shops that I walked past had their grilles or shutters closed and locked.

One was open - a stationery shop. The manager, a Shia Muslim who didn't want me to give her name, passionately defended Saddam Hussein, and pleaded: "God Protect Him!"

She saw how surprised I was to hear this from someone whose community were treated so contemptuously and violently by Saddam Hussein.

Furiously she demanded: "What is better now? What security do I have? What future do I have with bombs and killing? We need a strong leader."

Busy bakery

Further down the street, next to a kebab stall alongside one plastic table and four chairs, two men discussed Saddam Hussein and the likely aftermath of his death, if he is ever executed.

One said hanging him would change nothing, and might even bring more danger because the ex-Baathists are so well-armed and organised.

His friend disagreed. "His support will disappear if he dies. It's like a car - if you disconnect the battery, the car can't go," he said.

As we walk on, an enticing smell of fresh bread wafts across the street. The local bakery is open and busy.

We buy a dozen hot samoon - like pitta bread, but with pointed ends - and head back to the office to eat it before it gets cold.

It's a cool quiet evening in Baghdad. Thunder is rumbling, and rain is starting to fall.

And everyone here is wondering what will happen when the curfew is fully lifted and "normal" life returns to the city for the first time since Saddam Hussein stood in the dock and heard that he had been sentenced to death by hanging.