

The Americans' new Sunni allies are restoring confidence, but for now a vital link remains shut
An Iraqi army soldier patrols the al-Aima bridge in Baghdad, Iraq
An Iraqi army soldier patrols the al-Aima bridge in Baghdad, Iraq. Photograph: Karib Sahib/AFP/Getty images Karib Sahib/AFP

Mohammed Abdul Qadir and the small group of armed men under his command were waiting for the moment the US army foot patrol passed close to the abandoned clothing store in the Sunni-dominated enclave of Adhamiya.

"I have something to show them," chuckled the former Iraqi army captain, as he peered out through the gaps in a bank of metal shelving that had been propped up against the bombed-out windows.

A year ago, an advancing American patrol would have stirred up a flurry of activity among local insurgents - himself included - as they scrambled to assess the potential for an ambush or a sniper attack. But now Abdul Qadir, who heads the local Sahwa ("Awakening") neighbourhood security unit, wanted to invite the soldiers of the 3rd squadron, 7th cavalry to an impromptu fashion show.

Ten minutes and many handshakes later the soldiers, bulked up with body armour and weaponry, perched on the flimsy plastic chairs in Abdul Qadir's office at the back of the store and sipped tea. "Where is Omar? Tell him to put on his uniform and come in now," barked the Sahwa commander.

A nervous looking young man walked into the narrow room, plastered with posters of Mecca and pictures of "martyred" Sahwa members, and approached Abdul Qadir's desk. He clicked his heels, saluted, and then welcomed the soldiers.

"You see he is very smart," Abdul Qadir told Lieutenant Colonel Jeff Broadwater, the senior US officer in the old Adhamiya area. "I have designed the uniform myself. Is it not stylish?"

The outfit would have won few design awards, but the beige jacket and trousers, with brown pockets and shoulder pads, had a certain utilitarian nattiness about it. Abdul Qadir said he hoped it would give the young men under his charge a sense of belonging.

Most of them stood sentinel at the multitude of checkpoints in Adhamiya clad only in T-shirt and jeans. Only the occasional reflective belt and ubiquitous Kalashnikov marked them out from the general populace. Besides, Abdul Qadir told the colonel: "I have a brother who has a clothing factory. If you give me the money, then I can have 300 of these uniforms made in one week. It is hard-wearing and the design will be good for the Sahwa people all across Baghdad."

The American soldiers laughed. "Why the rush?" asked one. The Sahwa commander replied that he wanted to be ready to stage a parade on the day that Baghdad's famous al-Aima bridge - the bridge of the imams - just a few hundred metres from his office, was officially reopened. "That is something that everyone here in Adhamiya hopes will happen very soon," he said. "It will mean something real for reconciliation and be the beginning of the end to this bad experiment in isolation."

The US officers shifted uncomfortably in their seats. "Everyone is working towards that goal," assured Capt Frank O'Connor, "but the bridge will open only when the time is right. Opening it too soon could cause problems for you. The [Shia] militias may take advantage."

The distant rumble of an explosion, followed by bursts of gunfire, seemed to prove the officer's point. For despite the new-found calm in Adhamiya, this former Saddam stronghold - and later the base of powerful Sunni insurgent groups including al-Qaida in Iraq - remains surrounded by districts where Shia militias still hold sway and are still fighting.

Security gains are fragile. A year ago, after months of kidnappings and attacks against Sunni Arabs in Adhamiya, US forces erected a security barrier along the eastern boundaries of old Adhamiya, effectively sealing it off from the surrounding Shia areas. The three-mile-long, 3.5-metre-high "great wall" of Adhamiya was a test case for the US army's policy of creating "gated" communities in Baghdad, ostensibly to protect populations from the waves of sectarian attrition. The tactic has since been repeated in areas across Baghdad, most recently in Sadr City.

In Adhamiya, residents told the Guardian that there had been a marked drop in attacks in the year since the wall was built. But opinion was divided over whether the barrier had helped Adhamiya recover its self-confidence, or whether isolation merely enshrined the capital's new sectarian order. While the wall had reduced the movement of armed gangs and suicide bombers, it had also disrupted trade and raised the price of goods.

Captain Hisham Hussein, of the new Iraqi army's public affairs unit, said: "We don't like the thought of it, we just like some of its short-term results."

Moreover, the wall is only part of the story. In his office at combat outpost Apache, Broadwater charts the dramatic decline in attacks since the Sahwa took to the streets last November. "In terms of improved security, the wall has been a major factor," he said. "But there is no doubt that the Sons of Iraq [as the US call the Sahwa groups] have made a huge difference. Attacks went from averaging 15 a week to about three almost overnight."

But some liken life in Adhamiya to an open prison, where the guards (the Sahwa) are the same people who terrorised the district before they swapped their allegiance to join the US-backed networks fighting al-Qaida. "Who can trust them?" asked Ashraf Qadil, a student.

The wall may remain for some time, said Hisham. In the meantime, "we are concentrating our hopes on the al-Aima bridge".

It may seem odd that the 300-metre bridge bears the hopes of a war-weary population. But for the communities either side of the bridge, a reopening would speak volumes for the confidence that the security improvements of the past few months are sustainable.

Al-Aima bridge used to link Sunni Adhamiya on the mainly Shia east bank and the Shia district of Khadimiya on the mainly Sunni western side of the capital. But it has been closed since September 2005, after about 1,000 Shia pilgrims on their way to a shrine in Khadimiya died in the Tigris river after jumping from the imams' bridge as fears of a suicide bomber in their midst caused mass panic.

Its four lanes remain blocked by concrete barriers, barbed wire and Iraqi army checkpoints. "The only living things that cross this bridge are pigeons and rats," said Omar Qadir, a stall holder in the Abu Hanifa market in Adhamiya.

But day by day, the chances of reopening are increasing, said locals. Residents, officials and tribal and religious figures from both sides of the divide have held meetings to build confidence. Shia and Sunni clerics have staged joint prayer meetings in Adhamiya and several hundred Shia families have been allowed to move back to their homes in the Sunni enclave.

The mainly Shia army in the area is commanded by a Sunni general from Mosul. Yet there is nothing to suggest that Adhamiya's distrust of the country's Shia leaders has diminished. Many Sunnis still regard Iraqi Shia leaders as Iranian stooges. Locals have been heartened, however, by the prime minister Nouri al-Maliki's decision to take on the Shia militias. And the imminent return to the government of national unity of the mainstream Sunni alliance ahead of provincial elections set for October "may help to ease their sense of marginalisation, and bring in fresh funds", said Broadwater.

In the meantime, Adhamiya's fortunes appear to rest with men such as Abdul Qadir. In the shop next door, Ahmed Dulaimi, a shoe seller, pondered his neighbourhood's prospects. "As long as they [the Sahwa] concern themselves with maintaining security and the look of their uniforms, I think we are safe," he joked. "But what happens here when the American money runs out, or the troops leave. Who will protect us then?"

· This article was amended on Monday April 28 2008. In the above article we mistakenly called Lieutenant Colonel Jeff Broadwater, Bridgewater. This has been changed.