ABSTRACT
I grew up on the fringes of the marshes of southern Iraq. My father, who was the district irrigation and flood engineer, used to take me into the marshes in the early spring. His mission was ostensibly to inspect flood control structures in preparation for the coming spring floods, but in reality he was just finding an excuse to go duck hunting. Given my father’s busy schedule, I loved to go with him as I had him all to myself in the boat, save for the boatman. We meandered in these small canals, surrounded with reeds that towered to the sky. The water was so clear you could see the fish scrambling away from the bow of the boat. Every now and then we would come to a large lake where the breeze hits your face and birds would fly into the sky shying from the noise of the boat engine.
