Warning: idiot on board

I headed out with an interpreter to drive not far from our home/office in a neighborhood safe enough to work on a feature story that would require talking to boys playing sandlot soccer.

I took along my somewhat bulky camera, because pictures of the kids kicking the ball around would help the story.

As long as we were out seeing the real world, I shot a few pictures of scenes on the street -- it seemed mostly that people were fixing something, a cart, a car, a motor, a bombed out house -- on the hopes the shots might illustrate some future story.


The translator warned, or at least I thought, not to take pictures of the various security forces. I thought other pictures would be OK if I wasn't too conspicuous. (The consensus later was that is that you check with the cops in an area to photograph anything.)


As we passed one corner I took some shots of a corner market. There were men sitting around talking and the bananas and apples on display added a dash of color to the otherwise sepia landscape. No problem.


But as we passed the same place again on our return the shopkeeper yelled at some cops in the intersection to stop us. For all he knew, I was scouting a spot to bomb.


We spent an anxious half hour while my driver and translator talked with the cops, at high volume. Being hauled in would have been disastrous. An expensive hassle at the least, real danger at the worst. But our guys handled the cops and we were on our way.


Two days into town, this didn't endear me to the drivers. They feared their cars would now draw more attention. And they had reason to believe cluelessness would mean trouble some time in the future.


No more pictures, I promise. Absolutely no more. The staff was forgiving. Everybody goofs up here, they said. The cops were being jerks. It passed. Let it go.

It's Iraq, they said, everything's hard.