Once alive with the sounds of children’s laughter --- no more, rides which carried the city’s young to another world--- idle, wearily quiet. This day, little Rtland is the only kid here, her only friend --- her plastic bunny.
“At home, she’s depressed. But here, it seems she can breathe.”
Her family comes seeking respite from the daily violence their child is growing up with, although in Baghdad, respite is hard to find. A gunshot, three-year-old Rtland reacts, she knows what it is.
“Sometimes she gets scared, even when the door slams, she thinks it’s the roadside bomb.”
At an age when children learn nursery rhymes, Rtland is learning the sounds of war.
“She says, Mommy, where did the mortar fall? She knows the difference between a mortar and a rocket and a roadside bomb. ”
We walk around and find life being planted in a place surrounded by death.
“When you are coming here, you forget. You feel more secure, you forget what’s happening outside.”
It may seem a vain effort in a city that is fertile ground for violence. But park employee Ali Eblahim is determined to keep this place alive ---- planting flowers to fight those who plant bombs.
For now, only a handful of people come here: couple sneaking cherished moments; students taking a break.
The girls are telling me that they are here for a change of atmosphere, for the opportunity to be able to laugh ---- even if only for a little.
The Teacups starts up for one ride as if to defy those who keep the crowds away. Rtland's family say they will defy the violence too --- keeping coming back to allow their child to get away from the city’s realities. But they can never truly get away.

More gunshots, Rtland doesn’t even flinch.
R Damen, CNN, Baghdad.