The Al Kut Livestock Market

Over the last several weeks as we've passed through the outskirts of Al Kut on our way to scheduled stops out in the province we noticed a bustle of activity that piqued our interest. We found out that it was the Al Kut livestock market, where sheep and cows are traded. After a bit of reluctance on the part of the Army based on security concerns, we were told we could go.

First, it is necessary to understand how important sheep and other livestock are to Iraqi farmers. One of my colleagues describes them as "biological bank accounts." Simply put, in the absence of a properly functioning banking system, it is a way for people to accumulate equity. This equity can be easily liquidated to provide cash to maintain daily living or for critical expenses that may emerge suddenly. The "interest" from this livestock -- the milk, lambs, and calves -- also provides a source of income.

Second, at least here in Wasit, the extensive irrigation system is not functioning properly and there are large tracts of land (75-80% of the arable land here by some reports) where the salt concentration in the soil is too high to grow crops. As a result, there are vast areas of fallow land that are unproductive and only scrubby vegetation grows. In the absence of crop production, the only alternative for these farmers is to graze livestock. With the ongoing drought, even once productive farmland has become rangeland that has been given over to grazing.

Without a doubt, sheep are most important. Iraqi sheep are widely esteemed in the region and the locally adapted breeds appear robust and hardy (and tasty I might add). Most flocks we have seen are about 100 animals, with some goats and a few cows mixed in. We have also seen water buffalo and even a few herds of camels!

So, back to the livestock market....

The market is located in an area with rough crumbling houses, the hulks of wrecked cars, drifts of wind-blown trash, and puddles of oily-black water. Despite the obvious poverty of the neighborhood, nearly every house had a small satellite dish, sprouting like mushrooms after a spring rain from the mud-brick houses.

Our army escorts were concerned about our safety in the area and we were careful to plan our movements there. First, we approached with our vehicles from a back entrance and parked well away from the center of activity. Then one of our BBA/translators went with a couple of soldiers to engage a few of the people in the market to gauge the situation. Once it was determined that our presence would not be too disruptive we dismounted and stayed close together as a group and move along the market periphery. Of course, the Iraqis were curious about our presence, were not deterred by armed US soldiers and came right up to us to find out what we were looking for.

We attracted quite a crowd, including some rather rambunctious kids who appeared to be living some kind of marginal existence from the crumbs that fell from the table of market transactions. Our security detail formed a tight bubble around us facing outward, with us and those Iraqis curious enough to come inside. It was a rather chaotic scene and we did not stay too long, but we did feel comfortable enough to move around and talk with livestock sellers, buyers, and butchers.

Some of the livestock was not in very good condition, an obvious manifestation of the drought. Several sellers repeated the phrase "Alef maku! Alef maku!" (No feed! No feed!), complaining bitterly about government subsidies that have dried up along with their grazing lands. Another hoarse-voiced man came up to me and asked if I could help him fix his throat. I could only turn up my hands in helplessness.

Just before leaving, as I watched bargaining come to completion and cash exchange hands in one transaction, I felt as though I was being transported back in time, that this was a scene dating back 50, 100, 500, maybe 1,000 years. I could feel the sweep of the long history of this region writ small through the seemingly endless repetition of this market scene. It was a dizzying moment of near vertigo that quickly passed when a soldier tapped me on the shoulder and told me that it was time to go.