Work, Life And Dating In An ISIS War Zone

For many young charity workers and journalists posted to cover the war in Mosul there’s only one way to switch off from the horrors of their day jobs. Corinne Redfern spends a night on the town in Iraq.

It’s a Thursday night in Erbil, and I’m being taken on a bar crawl. Or at least, I was supposed to be, but there’s a Kurdish soldier in the way. ‘Your name’s not on the list,’ he says, frowning at my provisional driving licence. I open my mouth to protest – talking my way into things is a CVlisted strength. I once made it into an NME Awards after party by pretending to be Pixie Lott’s mum. Then I spot the guy’s gun. The bouncers at the after-party didn’t have guns.

A friend takes over. He’d put my name down three days ago, he says – well ahead of the 48-hour guest list cut-off. As they switch between languages; English, Arabic and Kurdish merging to form one convincing argument for why I don’t pose a danger, I spot the photographer I’m working with being frisked, intimately. ‘Any bombs on you?’ we’re asked, without irony. Twenty minutes of animated phone calls later, and we’re through to the next round of a rigorous four-step security check that will eventually see us arrive, retying our shoelaces and slightly dishevelled, at Erbil’s United Nations bar. The first thing I see walking through the door is someone passed out, head down on the pool table. It’s only 8pm.