On 30 January, the day of the election, in Amara in the old marsh region of southern Iraq, the sheikh advances and smiles and hugs me and kisses me: once, twice, pauses and, as I am about to step away, a third time. He greets me in Farsi: 'Khubi? Chetori? Hal-e-shoma chetor ast?' He is speaking Farsi rather than Arabic as a joke, I think. The joke is that he and I are both accused by local politicians of being Iranian spies. The sheikh lived in exile in Qom, the theological capital of Iran, for 15 years, and his Farsi is decent. He looks pale and his clerical turban is draped over his head, rather than worn in a tight knot. I have never seen him dressed like that before, though it may have nothing to do with his recent 'accident'.

LRB 31 March 2005 | PDF Download