A weekend of bloodshed seemed certain, but how much blood, and whose, nobody knew. And what will happen after the votes are cast and counted, who will take power, how the insurgents will respond - nobody knew that either.

As the promised security lockdown of the country took effect, the capital became a ghost town, the normally congested streets empty and still save occasional gunfire and explosions. People stocked up on food, just as they did on the eve of the US-led invasion two years ago. Borders were sealed, curfews extended and travel banned between provinces and within cities: a country frozen.

For months commentators have warned that holding the first democratic poll in decades was an impossibility, or at best an absurdity, in a climate of daily bombings and shootings. Insurgents vowed to wreak havoc and in the runup to the vote an unrelenting wave of attacks has claimed dozens of lives.

Yet by last night the resistance had not delivered the promised cataclysm and the election appeared to be on course. Kurds in the north and Shias in the south expressed enthusiasm for voting and violence radiating from the so-called Sunni triangle had not totally cowed the centre.

In the town of Hilla yesterday, south of Baghdad, candidates from a range of parties said they had been able to campaign openly. The province's top election official, Esaad Ramadan, ebulliently predicted a 100% turnout, an ill-advised echo of the old days of Saddam Hussein's implausibly well-attended referendums.

Fewer Sunnis are expected to take part in the election because of the security crisis in their regions and a widespread sense of bitterness with the American occupation - an imbalance that, at worst, could propel Iraq into civil war.

It is too early for the United States and the Iraqi authorities to claim success but the fact that the election is - so far - not an obvious failure is due largely to the courage and determination of the candidates themselves. The election here has been like no other, and campaigning in some areas has been surreal.

Take Salamah al-Khafaji.

She has made no public appearances, printed no leaflets, knocked on no doors, and when she casts her ballot she will be in disguise, her candidacy a secret to the vast majority of voters. In most democracies she would stand no chance - but Iraq is not most democracies.

Rule No 1 for any candidate is stay alive. Insurgents failed to silence her with bullets and threats and she is now likely to win a seat and possibly a post in the new government, making her a symbol of resistance to the resistance.

The violence sweeping the country blocked canvassing in her Shia base in the south and around Baghdad, so Ms Khafaji used email to mobilise supporters, and subterfuge to travel around the capital.

"I'm not backing down," she said. "For years we have been prevented from tasting what democracy is and it's important we go through with these elections." That iron resolve has cost her son's life and made targets of other relatives but the 46-year-old, representing the United Iraqi Alliance list, a grouping of big Shia parties which is expected to dominate the poll, is not for turning.

During Saddam's regime she was a prominent advocate of women's and children's rights and, after the dictator fell, she was a member of the US-appointed Iraqi Governing Council until authority was handed to an interim government last summer.

She is a moderate and independent Shia who speaks of reaching out to the restive Sunni minority: "I believe that Islam is against forcing things on people. Islam gives freedom to people to choose with their own will."

Under a complex voting system in which people choose parties, not candidates, she is almost certain to win a place in the 275-seat national assembly.

Most voters are unaware of candidates' identities since the list of names was published only this week on the internet, to which few have access. As a recognisable name Ms Khafaji's inclusion bolsters the credibility of her bloc and the election.

Two weeks ago gunmen dressed as police ambushed her but the bullets missed, thanks largely to a retinue of bodyguards which exceeds 25. Her sister's children were threatened with beheading if she did not withdraw: "I told her to leave her city immediately and go into hiding."

The candidate's eldest son, Ahmed Fadel, was killed last year when insurgents attacked her convoy. No longer able to travel openly, she blitzed supporters in the south with emails, which they printed and distributed, and turned up at ostensibly apolitical women's meetings in Baghdad as a surprise speaker: "I would stay in disguise until I got inside the meeting rooms."

The speeches went down well, she said. "A survey showed I was the most famous woman in Iraq. People recognised me." Openly ambitious, Ms Khafaji said she would accept a post in the new government.