We met Mustafa al-Hiti, a Sunni member of parliament. He motioned for us to sit down. A few feet away, at a nearby table, sat his friend, Mohammed Awad, another politician. Hiti greeted Awad, then returned to our table.

The explosion came at the end of the 25-minute interview. Saad initially thought a mortar shell or a rocket had struck the ceiling. In recent weeks, such attacks had taken place in the Green Zone. Later, Saad described what he saw:

“There were orange flames like the exhaust of a drag racer. Pieces of black paper fell from the ceiling. Dr Mustafa was lying next to you. He was staring at me. I knew that you were having the same problems with your ears. I was shouting at you.” Saad helped me up. The smoke was as thick as giant rain clouds. It was difficult to breathe. Our mouths and noses filled with dust. I felt like I was walking through one of Iraq’s famous sandstorms. Dust covered the carpeting, too, like snow. Hundreds of shoe imprints pointed toward the exit — and illustrated the chaos.

I thought: Are we going the right way? Could there be another bomb?

We walked through the apocalyptic landscape, silent save for the cries of ghostly, dust-covered figures searching for friends and colleagues. I didn’t know it then, but my left eardrum had been perforated. At the bottom of a staircase, an old man writhed in pain. He had somehow worked his way down the steps. He had two more to go, but he seemed to have given up. We didn’t stop.

... contd.