there is no last goodbye for hassoun rassan. man's body and wrap him in a simple cloth. for the most devout, this is a fate worse than death. instead, his funeral is left to strangers in the desert night. praying the stigma of illness, quarantine, runs deep here. baghdad is in partial lockdown. it's ramadan. the city is quiet, but hardly at peace. few here want to admit having the disease or even get a test. at baghdad's ibn al—khatib hospital, this doctor hasn't been home to his family since the end of february. few of his patients came willingly. this 72—year—old is now recovering from the disease, but she is still fragile. the doctor's workload is heavy, but iraq's official covid count is low, fewer than 100 deaths in a country of 38 million people. but few trust those figures. hassoun rassan is finally laid to rest, buried in a pit five metres deep. far from generations of his ancestors and without his descendants at his graveside. for years, iraq has been ravaged by death, but with coronavirus, nothing is sacred. few famili