Children play near the boat that Bassem Neima captains on the stretch of the Tigris River that runs through Iraq’s capital, Baghdad on August 5, 2016. (Hugh Naylor/The Washington Post)

— This is a story about an extraordinary heat wave and how kids growing up in a war-rattled capital find relief in a great body of water.

Call them the Tigris River boys.

Just about every morning this summer, 16-year-old Mohammed Taqi has dashed to the cool waters of the river, which flows through the heart of Baghdad. That’s when the temperature starts rising and it’s already too warm (and boring) indoors. On most days, he hops into a small boat with 14-year-old Leith Ahmed.

The two are best friends. And perhaps like most kids, they’d prefer playing soccer or basketball together in air-conditioned gyms and sports clubs.

But this is Iraq. They’re from poor families and live in a neighborhood with no such facilities. And just like millions of other people in this country stuck in the throes of conflict, they face hours-long power cuts at their homes each day.

Using The Post's Snapchat account, reporter Hugh Naylor shared pictures and videos from a camp for displaced people in Baghdad where record-shattering temperatures cause suffering. (Hugh Naylor, The Washington Post)

So the boys improvise.

“We catch fish!” Mohammed said, sitting across from Leith in their tiny craft.

Sometimes, if they land a big-enough carp, they sell it on the street for about $10, he said. But not before the heat tapers off at about sundown.

That’s because Baghdad’s streets are empty during the day as high temperatures across the region break records. Parents mostly seem to spend their time sweating at home. But their kids can be seen blowing off steam in the Tigris, which roughly splits this city of 7 million down the middle.

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The 1,150-mile-long river, along with the nearby Euphrates, gave sustenance to ancient Mesopotamians here. Back then, kids probably also saw the river as a kind of giant water park during the summer.

And modern-day activities probably aren’t all that different from thousands of years ago — exploring shoals for submerged treasures, playing hide-and-seek in reeds and racing from bank to bank, a swim hundreds of feet long that is not for the faint of heart.

“Home is boring!” yelled Khaled Leith, a portly 15-year-old who seemed to enjoy body-slamming friends in the shallower areas of the river on a recent day.

He said he’d rather not spend time with his parents during the daylight hours. That’s when the adults watch television news (if there’s electricity, that is) about all the bad stuff happening in their country, such as religious strife and suicide bombings carried by Islamic State extremists.

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Essam Abbas, a scrawny 17-year-old, also prefers avoiding home from sunup to sundown. He stood on the shore quietly watching a gaggle of kids playing nearby. He seemed timid and even afraid to join in the horseplay.

Then, suddenly, he dashed into the river and came out clutching his prize: a small fish.

“Look! Look!” he yelled as the creature squirmed in his hand. The others seemed impressed with his show of skills.

Some, however, seem slightly annoyed by it all.

Bassem Neima, 35 and wearing a cowboy hat, is the captain of a small vessel that shuttles people from bank to bank. Not only does he have to contend with heat, which causes him to perspire profusely while he works, he said. He also has to keep an eye out for kids swimming in the path of his boat.

He hasn’t hit anyone, he said, but there have been close calls.

“They’re everywhere in the water. They just suddenly pop up in front of you,” Neima said. As he powered his vessel, groups of children tread water nearby, their heads bobbing up and down. Their laughter echoed far and wide, but they were difficult to spot.

The garbage here certainly isn’t. The river is full of it. Discarded pop cans. Soggy cardboard boxes. Shoes and socks.

Boys from wealthier parts of town generally avoid swimming in the river, probably because of the potential health hazards. The Tigris has a reputation for being polluted. During the civil-war years after the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003, the stretch flowing through the capital even became a dumping ground for bodies, which often bore signs of torture.

Nowadays, though, the river is about the only place that friends like Mohammed and Leith have to pass the time in this hellish heat. And pass it here they do — every day, from morning to dusk, together.

“We are always here!” Mohammed exclaimed from the boat. Then he and Leith paddled off in search of fish.

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Today’s coverage from Post correspondents around the world

Mustafa Salim contributed to this report.