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To get to Abu Ghraib, I hitch a ride with an Iraqi military patrol. We start in Baghdad, where the convoy of battered Humvees weaves through heavy traffic. But as we head out west of the capital, the roads empty and we hardly see any civilian cars.

Mushtaq Talib, a soldier, is driving. He's been serving around Abu Ghraib for four years now. As we pass a low gray building, he points out the town's prison, which first gained notoriety as the place where Saddam Hussein locked up his opponents. After Saddam was toppled, American soldiers abused detainees there a decade ago. Now the prison is empty because the Islamic State freed the prisoners.

The Islamic State has been advancing from the west throughout much of this year, capturing a large part of Anbar, where many of Iraq's Sunni Muslims live.

"There's secure places and there are areas of unrest," Talib says of the region. It's worse a little farther west, near Fallujah. Most of that city and surrounding areas fell to the self-declared Islamic State (also called ISIS or ISIL) and its supporters early this year. He says morale there is low among the remaining Iraqi soldiers, who are short of food and ammunition.

And there are insurgents everywhere.

We visit a huge reinforced checkpoint in the Hamid Chaban neighborhood on the edge of Abu Ghraib. A watchtower looms. Soldiers check cars — only people who live here are allowed in and out.

Lt. Col. Issam Mohammed Ali says they've beefed up these checkpoints as security has deteriorated. He and other officials are keen to blame all the violence on the Islamic State's militants, citing their thousands of foreign fighters.

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Iraqi security forces rest on a sidewalk following clashes with militants last month in Ramadi, the capital of Anbar province. So far, the Iraqi forces have not been able to recapture cities and towns in western Iraq that the Islamic State seized earlier this year. Azhar Shallal/AFP/Getty Images hide caption

itoggle caption Azhar Shallal/AFP/Getty Images

Iraqi security forces rest on a sidewalk following clashes with militants last month in Ramadi, the capital of Anbar province. So far, the Iraqi forces have not been able to recapture cities and towns in western Iraq that the Islamic State seized earlier this year.

Azhar Shallal/AFP/Getty Images

But traveling around Abu Ghraib is a reminder that the Islamic State is not the only source of the violence and that this insurgency has deep roots.

Way back in 2008, a spate of attacks against American troops in this neighborhood were blamed on a local extremist group.

Back in the Humvee, Talib, the driver, says there aren't really Islamic State fighters here in Abu Ghraib. It's local tribal rebels, who are supported by the Islamic State and may be sympathetic to them, he says.

But he reckons they're really fighting because the mostly Sunni people in western Iraq have been marginalized for years by Shiite-led governments.

That certainly doesn't mean everyone here likes the Islamic State.

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In a flyblown market in Abu Ghraib, with just a few tattered stalls open, few people are around. Some are buying fruit and vegetables, and a small number of merchants are wheeling carts around or selling clothes.

"We're afraid, we don't know what's going to happen," says Ali Mohammad, who works close by. He and his friends tell me Abu Ghraib is teeming with displaced people from Anbar province. Most every house has four or five families, he says.

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The Islamic State may be unpopular among many local residents, but so too is the Iraqi army. The Iraqi military is being supported by the United States, but it's not winning over all the local people.

"They put military garrisons among us, they stormed our house in the night. Who gave them permission?" says a furious Khadouja Sihel, a local resident.

Her daughter is with her, carrying a tray of eggs.

Ignoring the soldiers standing a few feet away, Sihel says, "I've got seven daughters, and they harass them in a filthy way. Why are they doing this? Aren't we Iraqis like them?"

Iraq's new government has been discussing ways to bring marginalized Sunnis, like her, back on board.

Even the soldiers in the Hummer agree. As Talib drives along, he says that if the residents felt they had more sway in government, they could drive out the Islamic State tomorrow. But as things stand, no one thinks that's going to happen anytime soon.

Alice Fordham, who is based in Beirut, has reported extensively from Iraq. Follow her @AliceFordham.

Working in Ebola hotspots is old hat for NPR. We've had reporters and photographers at the epidemic since April. Our global health correspondent Jason Beaubien has been to West Africa three times during the crisis.

This week it's my turn.

When I left the U.S. last week, I brought a list of tips from veteran Ebola reporters for keeping myself safe. Many of them are proving to be quite useful:

Wash your hands every chance you get: This isn't difficult. Shops, bars, restaurants and businesses all have "Ebola" buckets sitting outside their doors. The buckets are filled with a mix of water and bleach and have a little spigot at the bottom . You wash going into the shop. Sometimes you wash going out.

It all adds up to about a dozen hand washings each day. The result is the cleanest hands I've ever had. Seriously, my nails are gleaming white, and my skin is starting to dry out. But my hands are Ebola-free.

Don't touch your face, especially not those eyes: Man, this one took me a while to get used to. But I think it's an important one. Ebola spreads through direct contact of your bodily fluids with an infected person's fluids — and there are a lot of fluids in your eyes.

I've done a good job of keeping my face "hands free" while walking around Monrovia or interviewing health workers. My colleagues Jon Hamilton and Rolando Arrieta even remind me.

But those eyes can itch! So when I get back to the hotel, I wash my hands and itch as much as I want.

No shaking hands, no hugs: Monrovians have this down. Each time you meet someone new, they never put out their hand. If you go to pat a shoulder or accidentally brush up against someone, you'll hear a gentle warning: "No touching." Even kids reprimand you.

Keep the spit off the equipment: In radio reporting, we get pretty close to people. And we do a lot of talking. So this can involve another bodily fluid: saliva.

We haven't talked to or been near anyone who might have Ebola. But, out of an abundance of caution, we wipe down all our equipment (hands) after doing each interview with Clorox wipes. We also give our phones and computers a quick wipe.

Booting up: One safety tip, I'm having a hard time following: Wear big, brown rubber boots everywhere.

We even wore the eyesores to report at a church service. Rubber boots in church! I was embarrassed. Everyone else was dressed impeccably. Women were wearing bright yellow, red and blue dresses. And the men were in perfectly tailored suits.

The idea behind the boots is great. The rubber protects your feet from any bodily fluids on the ground.

Plus, they're easy to clean. Many shops and business have shoe-cleaning stations out front. And the bleach doesn't hurt the rubber.

But man, wearing these boots, pulled up knee high, makes me feel crazy while walking around Monrovia. Everyone else is wearing sandals, flip flops or fresh, white sneakers. They're have on little sundresses, colorful polo shirts and cute shorts. And I'm wearing long selves, long pants and ... giant, brown boots. People stare at my feet. Many just give me the strangest look.

Rightfully so. Monrovia is close to the equator. It's 90 degrees Fahrenheit outside with 100 percent humidity. My feet are sweating in these rubber boots. And my feet are getting more and more stinky by the minute. (Thank goodness for those Clorox wipes).

I understand wearing the boots at hospitals or places where there might be people with Ebola. But at the market or a government building? Nobody else seems to be worried about getting Ebola on their feet.

rubber boots

hand washing

ebola

It's easy to slip into gloating mode, now that TLC has finally canceled a show so many of us critics have hated for so long: Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.

Unfortunately, the cancellation comes following a horrifying moment; gossip site TMZ reported Thursday that June "Mama June" Shannon, the mother of child beauty pageant contestant Alana "Honey Boo Boo" Thompson, has resumed dating an old boyfriend who was convicted of molesting an 8-year-old related to Shannon.

Shannon has denied the allegations, saying in a video on her Facebook page that "I have not seen that person in 10 years." But TMZ posted a photo it says depicts Thompson and the man, 53-year-old Mark McDaniel, recently hanging out with friends in a hotel room.

TLC on Friday issued a statement without addressing the allegations directly: "TLC has cancelled the series HERE COMES HONEY BOO BOO and ended all activities around the series, effective immediately. Supporting the health and welfare of these remarkable children is our only priority. TLC is faithfully committed to the children's ongoing comfort and well-being."

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This is where you would typically insert lots of commentary referencing early questions of whether the show exploits its young star (it was developed as a spinoff of the child beauty pageant series Toddlers and Tiaras). Or you could note how such "hicksploitation TV" shows stereotype rural, Southern families with little regard for the impact of turning their lives into national punchlines.

And you could comment on how all the justifications from Mama June insisting participation in the show wouldn't seriously damage her daughter — echoed by TLC as it raked in the ratings, of course — feels bitterly hollow now.

But this is something we've seen in a less alarming way before. When Duck Dynasty star Phil Robertson let his inner homophobe fly in a GQ magazine interview, A&E suspended him, then unsuspended him and saw ratings plummet nearly 50 percent from the show's heights.

Bravo's Real Housewives franchise just saw two of its stars, Joe and Teresa Giudice, sent to jail on conspiracy and bankruptcy fraud charges, leading some critics to wonder if such activities were connected to maintaining the wealthy lifestyle showcased on the program. (Bravo, of course, turned a post-sentencing interview into a TV special).

Too often, it seems reality TV producers have been in business of handing worldwide platforms to dubious people in questionable circumstances. They shrug off criticisms of their high-wire TV acts and cross their fingers, hopeful that their "stars" won't implode until — like the bitter divorce between Jon and Kate Plus 8 stars Jon and Kate Gosselin — their shows are already in decline. (Honey Boo Boo's recent ratings have also been lower than previous highs)

According to TMZ, the cable channel TLC has a season's worth of Honey Boo Boo episodes it is shelving. But the website also reported that Thompson was sneaking off during filming to spend time with McDaniel, raising questions about what the cable channel knew and whether it should have called off the series before allegations about this relationship were made public.

Often, the consequences for creating these kinds of shows TV shows can seem ephemeral and academic. But even if Thompson's denials about dating McDaniel are true, the entire episode has become national news in the most brutal way — possibly leaving vulnerable children and a fractured family in its wake.

Wonder if anyone will think of this when the next exploitative TV concept comes up?

Tobacco growers are about to face a completely free market. This month, they'll receive their last checks from a government program meant to ease them out of a Depression-era tobacco price fixing system.

That has left Stanley Smith, who grows about 60 acres of tobacco on his farm not far from Winston-Salem, N.C., feeling a little unsettled.

"I've farmed all my life," Smith says. "I think the best way to sum it up is our safety net now is gone."

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The safety net is the Transitional Tobacco Payment Program, also known as the buyout. Since the 1930s, the government regulated the tobacco market with a quota system. It limited how much a farmer could grow in order to control supply and demand and farmers profited. That ended in 2004 with the $9.6 billion buyout program that paid growers yearly sums to help them adapt to the free market.

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"Twenty-five, 30, 40 years ago tobacco was clearly the most profitable thing you could do on the farm," says Tim Hambrick with the agricultural extension office in Winston-Salem. He says back then farmers could get $1,000 an acre. Now it's more like $200. So they have to grow more tobacco to make the same money. Farms get bigger, or they get squeezed out. And everyone is trying new things.

"You see guys invest heavier into the grain market. You see guys put up chicken houses. You see guys retire and just get out of the business. They look for other things to do. They encourage their kids to look for other things to do," Hambrick says.

But tobacco is still big business. The U.S. tobacco crop has been steadily bringing in about $1.5 billion a year and may even grow, given the global nature of the market. Blake Brown, an agricultural economist at North Carolina State University, says even though Americans are smoking less, overseas markets are promising. And there's still demand for the highly prized North Carolina leaf.

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Marvin Eaton owns a farm in Belew's Creek, N.C., where he grows 200 acres of tobacco. He bought the farm from his grandfather and plans to pass it down to his son. Emily McCord/WFDD hide caption

itoggle caption Emily McCord/WFDD

Marvin Eaton owns a farm in Belew's Creek, N.C., where he grows 200 acres of tobacco. He bought the farm from his grandfather and plans to pass it down to his son.

Emily McCord/WFDD

"So I think for the next five years, demand for U.S. tobacco may be stable and could actually increase a little bit because of the export demand, but we don't know exactly whether the growth in China will offset the decline in demand in the U.S. and Europe," Brown says.

And another unknown: how e-cigarettes will affect the demand for tobacco leaf.

It's the growers at larger farms that have a little more breathing room. Marvin Eaton grows 200 acres of tobacco, along with grain and strawberries, in Belew's Creek, N.C. He has a contract with Phillip Morris and R.J. Reynolds. Right now, that's paying Marvin Eaton's bills.

"The companies, they're in control, and if they don't want Marvin Eaton raising tobacco and I can't make a living on what they say they're going to pay me for, then I, Marvin Eaton needs to get him something else he enjoys doing," Eaton says.

For now, Eaton is hopeful. He points to his son, who's finished college and is back home to help his dad and learn the family business. Buck Eaton stands watch over a giant conveyer belt that's sorting tobacco leaves. Someday this farm will be his.

tobacco

Winston Salem

North Carolina