Thameer Jabar doesn't know if he's grateful or angry for the US invasion of Iraq. He was elated when Saddam Hussein's regime fell, and imagined a better future. But now all he's certain of is that this is the hardest winter in memory. Prices have never been so high, life so hand-to-mouth, or fears for his three children so great.

"We don't know who to blame,'' says Jabar, who at 34 looks a good decade older and whose father was executed by Mr. Hussein's regime in 1989 for membership in a Shiite political party. "The problem started with Saddam - he kept the country at war for my whole life. But now we're in the American era, and life has never been so dangerous. I don't want him back, but sometimes I think it was a better time."

Iraq's bleak winter has always been the toughest time for the country's poor. There is less construction work for the legions of day laborers like Mr. Jabar and kerosene heating costs are heaped onto daily expenses. But this winter, prices have surged as distribution of subsidized oil products has collapsed under the weight of insurgent attacks. The country's roads have grown more dangerous and the border with Syria - which exports vegetables to Iraq - has been closed since early November.

As the country turns toward elections on Jan. 30, tough economic conditions have left millions of Iraqis uncertain about the future. But while most say they worry about prices and unemployment, they provide a single, one-word answer when asked about their biggest concern: security.

"I'd accept this situation if only some leader comes in who can stop the violence,'' says Jabar. "Security is the only thing we need."

Jabar's wife Hannah Jassim says the price of potatoes has doubled in the past two months, and the price of tomatoes has tripled. A can of cooking gas, which is officially available at the subsidized price of 250 dinars (20 cents), now costs 10,000 dinars ($9) from a black market that has grown as US and Iraqi forces have been diverted away from basic security to fighting insurgents.

Kneeling on the straw mat that covers the cold concrete floor of his family home, Mr. Jabar says there's little construction work these days, and he's happy to get two jobs a week. The family is fortunate because Mrs. Jabar has a job at the Transportation Ministry that brings in $100 a month. Even so, she's considered quitting. "I worry about the suicide bombs - every morning I make sure to kiss the children when I leave because I'm afraid I won't see them again."

While that may sound melodramatic, there have been three suicide bombings on the roads near their house in the past two months. A short way up the road, blackened engine parts are evidence of the most recent attack, a Jan. 2 suicide bombing that killed four foreign contractors.

And the family itself has been touched by tragedy. Mrs. Jabar's policeman brother was murdered in September. A black BMW pulled up alongside his car and riddled it with bullets. "He looked for work for months, but couldn't find anything safer, so he joined the police,'' says Mrs. Jabar. "He'd promised me he was quitting at the end of September. He was just holding on for a 100,000 dinar ($70) bonus due at the end of the month."

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