The Pink Death: The Iraq Poison Grain Disaster For Want of a Nail

The children are hungry, clamouring around their mother in the hot, dusty home. Their mother dusts her hands with flour and begins to flatten out the dough, pressing it into discs with her strong fingers before opening the tannour to press them against the hot, clay walls. A few minutes later she pulls the steaming bread from the oven, and the children squeal in delight as she hands out the fresh loaves. It's the pink bread, the bread made with the special flour their father brought hom...