Swimming in Saddam’s Pool: A Forgotten Palace Amidst the Rubble

It was a sweltering day in Baghdad, and our unit found ourselves at one of Saddam Hussein’s former palaces. The building, once a towering symbol of luxury and power, had seen better days. The recent attack on the palace left gaping holes in its walls, remnants of the chaos that had swept through this city. Dust and debris were scattered across the marble floors, and what had once been an opulent fortress now stood as a battered monument to a fallen regime.

Amidst the ruins, however, there was one thing that caught our attention—a pool. But it wasn’t the gleaming, crystal-clear oasis you might imagine. Far from it. The pool was nearly empty, dirty, and in desperate need of attention. It had probably been untouched since the invasion, and definitely wasn’t the sparkling gem it once had been for Saddam’s elite.

After weeks of operations, with the constant dust, heat, and tension of Baghdad weighing on us, a dip in a pool seemed like the escape we all needed. But first, it needed work. We rigged our water filtration trucks, usually reserved for more utilitarian purposes, and began filling the pool back up, slowly restoring what had once been a scene of opulence. As the pool gradually filled, we noticed the damage around us—the crumbling tiles, bullet-riddled palace walls, and the eerie quiet that hung in the air, remnants of the fierce battles fought here not long ago.

The whole situation felt surreal. Here we were, a group of soldiers cleaning and filling up Saddam’s pool, surrounded by remnants of war and destruction. The contrast of it all couldn’t have been sharper: a palace, now hollowed by violence, and us, just looking for a moment of relief in the middle of the chaos.

When the pool was finally ready, we kicked off our boots and slid into the cool, refreshing water. It wasn’t perfect, far from it—chunks of tile were missing, the pool edges were rough, and the surroundings told the story of what had transpired. But at that moment, none of it mattered. We had a brief respite from the war. The weight of our gear was gone, and for just a little while, we were free to float and relax, embracing the fleeting sense of peace.

The palace itself, though filled with holes and damage, still had a sense of grandeur. It stood as a reminder of how the powerful once lived, but now, we were reclaiming this small corner of it. We weren’t lounging on marble chairs or surrounded by gold-plated decorations like Saddam’s inner circle. Instead, we were a group of tired soldiers taking a much-needed break from the grind of war.

For a brief time, swimming in Saddam’s pool was a reminder that even in the most broken places, moments of humanity could shine through. It wasn’t just a swim; it was a symbolic act of resilience, taking a brief pause in the middle of the chaos to restore a bit of ourselves.

As the sun began to set, we reluctantly climbed out of the pool, dried off, and returned to our duties. The holes in the palace walls still loomed over us, and Baghdad’s war-torn streets awaited us once more. But for that one day, we had taken a dip in a dictator’s pool, and for just a few hours, we had reclaimed a piece of calm in a world turned upside down.