The people of Baghdad know war is coming. This weekend, they started tostockpile. Tim Judah reports from a city that can do little nowbut await its fate
The dream is over. For weeks Baghdadis have been saying that, come what may, life continues as normal and will continue do so "because," they say, "we are used to this".
They point out that from 1980 to 1988 Iraq was at war with Iran and, following its invasion of Kuwait in 1990, fought the Gulf War in 1991 and has been crippled by sanctions ever since. However, something changed over the weekend.
Even though Sunday is a working day here many shops remained shuttered and bolted. Off the main Rashid shopping street men could be seen hauling huge sacks of shoes.
Many shopkeepers have finally lost their nerve. Stock is being piled into cars and lorries and taken home for safekeeping.
In quiet back streets vans can be seen unloading goods, either of stocks of food which families are hording or goods that shopkeepers want to keep out of harm's way.
While everyone is frightened of bombing, they are more afraid of the looting in its aftermath.
"All my friends have been urging to me to get a gun," said one man, "but I don't want to. If they come and want my car, I'll just say 'take it'. I could get a pistol, but they'd have bigger guns than I would, or I could get a machine- gun, but then they'd have more ammunition than me."
Yesterday, traffic swirled through the city centre as Baghdadis, or rather those who could afford to do so, laid in provisions of water, tinned and dried foods, candles and fuel. Those with the means have also been despatching their families to the provinces or Jordan or Syria.
But Jordan has almost closed its doors now - a fact which has been greeted with some considerable bitterness here because Iraq has been supporting the Jordanian economy to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars of free or subsidised oil every year.
Members of President Saddam Hussein's Ba'ath Party have been armed, and are on the streets, dressed in uniform. Men without uniforms, who are armed, can also be seen out and about.
On Saturday, tens of thousands of people paraded through Baghdad in a tightly organised show of support for President Saddam.
Paunchy and middle-aged, mustachioed, armed and sweating Ba'ath party members led the crowds in chants of undying love for the President, while sturdy pistol-packing matrons carried bazookas on their shoulders and with considerable vigour stamped on burning effigies of President Bush.
Thousands of schoolchildren and students marched by carrying their books, as though they had not been forewarned of a change in the day's timetable.
"This group are religious ones," said an official government minder (all journalists are supposed to have one), as a group led by long-haired sword- wielding Sufi Dervishes marched past. "We will give our blood and soul for Saddam," they chanted, eyes swivelling as one, as they passed a lorry on which a particularly curvaceous female correspondent, with a US television network, said her piece to camera.
How many will give their blood and soul for Saddam is hard to gauge and is, of course, one of the questions that everyone wants to know the answer to. We will not have to wait long to find out.
"You know," said one grave young man, "many people here really do love Saddam."
On the sidelines of the march Yusuf, a driver, said: "George Bush is a bad man and will kill civilians, so I will do the same. Believe me if any Iraqi civilians are killed by Americans, or British or Spanish I will try and kill first, their soldiers, but, if I can't find any, then their civilians will do, now or in the future - even in 10 years."
Some take this language seriously. Others, when asked if many will fight for President Saddam, simply snort derisively. However, they are careful to add that of course they will.
Yesterday children from Baghdad's Sparrow's Meet kindergarten were visiting the capital's museum dedicated to the life of President Saddam.
When translated to English it carries the uncomfortable title of the Triumph Leader Museum. The name aptly sums up the aim of the institution.
The youngest of the Sparrow's Meet children were two-and-a-half years old. "Don't touch!" said the school-mistresses as the slightly frightened or perhaps bewildered-looking children shuffled past the exhibits in single file. Highly disciplined, they all had placed both hands on the back of the child in front of them.
Cabinet upon cabinet is filled with gifts to President Saddam, ranging from gold-plated machine-guns to fountain pens, to pipes and pictures.
"I try to explain to them about the life of the President and how he has such a lot of presents because the people love him," said form-mistress Muntaha Abid Mohammed.
"I like the clocks, because they are big," said Mohammed Hassan, aged four. Asked what he thought of "Father Saddam" as the teachers call him, young Mohammed pointed to a picture of him and said only: "That is his picture there."
The prize among the exhibits is a giant map of the Middle East with a digital scorecard and tiny lights which show where Scud missiles fell on Israel and Saudi Arabia in 1991.
Asked if her charges were nervous about the coming war, Mrs Mohammed said "of course", pointing out that in her form she had only 11 children with her.
"Normally I have 40," she said, "but since last week parents have been keeping their children at home and some are travelling." By this she meant they had been sent out of Baghdad and even abroad.
In one section of the museum is a series of pictures of President Saddam with world leaders. Many, such as Nicolae Ceausescu of Romania, Tito of Yugoslavia or Leonid Brezhnev of the Soviet Union have long since passed from the scene, as indeed have their countries.
Some have not. In a picture from 1976, President Saddam looks on as a youthful Jacques Chirac takes a drink proffered to him by a young girl. Twenty-seven years later, both men are facing their moment of truth.