Where Things Stand

SAMANTHA APPELTON FOR TIME/AURORA
Sabri Nama, a foreman at the Amarah Paper Mill

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The two men glare at each other, but when it is pointed out to them that whatever their differences, they could never have had this argument under Saddam, both smile sheepishly and agree.

Like Kut, Amarah, about 100 miles farther south, is a bustling provincial city, now under British control. In the central market, merchants can't remember a time when business was better. The main reason is the dramatic rise in disposable income now that the coalition is paying public employees $60 to $180 a month. Before the war, teachers earned $5 to $10, policemen $20. Sabri Nama, 54, is a foreman at the Amarah Paper Mill outside town. He is happy about his increase in monthly pay from $25 to $180 but says he would rather be earning it. Because there is still not enough electricity in Amarah to supply the town and the factory, the paper mill, which shut down during the fighting, has still not reopened. "The British are too slow," Nama complains. "They only make promises, never finish anything."

Some 70 miles to the southwest, Nasiriyah General Hospital strains to keep up with demand. The city's other hospitalused as a base by Iraqi militiamen during the fightingis in ruins. Still, Hassan Mahmoud, father of a 9-year-old boy who suffered head injuries from a fall from a second-floor window, is grateful for one thing. In the past, he says, one had to bribe doctors, nurses and administrators to get hospital care. "Now you don't need money to get a doctor. Now the doctors are honest," he says.

In the teahouses of Nasiriyah, as elsewhere in Iraq, price increases are a big source of complaint. In Saddam's day, the cost of food was regulated. With such regulations no longer in force, and with the infusion of American dollars fueling inflation, tomatoes have gone from 3(cent) to 19(cent) per lb. in Karbala. A house in Kirkuk that rented for $12.50 a month before the regime fell now fetches $50. In Hillah farmers are reeling from a threefold increase in the cost of fertilizer. Jarallah Ali, a patron at a Nasiriyah cafe, complains that he can no longer afford his brand of soap because the price has doubled.

In the south, where the Tigris and Euphrates join, sits Basra, headquarters of the British. The city saw some of the worst looting immediately after the fighting, but with more than 4,000 Iraqi police officers now on the streets, the city is mostly peaceful. Shi'ite Muslims, who were persecuted across the south by Saddam for their 1991 uprising, find themselves free to practice their religion without interference, which has conferred a feel-good bonus on the whole region. Parallel to religious freedom is a new freedom of information. Iraqis are crowding into Internet cafes to get Web access, which was tightly restricted by Saddam's security services. Self-taught computer experts Haider Kadhim, 22, and his brother Mohammed, 25, have established themselves as Internet-cafe consultants, earning $500 fees from each of eight businessmen so far. "The best thing about life now is freedom," says Kadhim. "You can say anything, go anywhere."

Freedom has its dark side. With all the goods coming off the ships from Dubai and the trucks driving up from Kuwait, the roads outside Basra have become notorious for banditry. Murder has increased as people settle scores against former members of the regime. And over the summer Shi'ite extremists firebombed liquor stores belonging to Christians.

Still, says Hani al-Saadi, 29, a former medical student who sells mobile phones in the center of Basra, "we know every birth requires pain." Al-Saadi and his family, who had been living in Jordan, returned to their hometown of Basra after Saddam's fall to try to make the best of new opportunities. Their example reflects the sense of hope that a great number of Iraqis share. Though many told our reporters that certain aspects of their lives were worse today than before the regime's collapse, a majority said they were optimistic about the long term. Even in Baghdad one can find elements of this faith. The change of regime came at a significant cost for Ayad Abdul Kareem Muhssin, an engineer there. During the stress of the U.S. bombing campaign, his wife, pregnant with their fourth child, went into premature labor. Their newborn daughter lived only a few hours. "We made a sacrifice for this freedom," says Muhssin, without bitterness. How long will the freedom last? "Forever, I think. And it'll be better after a month, and after a year, much better. I think so."

With reporting by Hassan Fattah/Duluiyah and by ABC's Jim Sciutto/ Kirkuk, Bob Woodruff/Nasiriyah and David Wright/ Baghdad