The sunny, but still cold, spring weather we had the last few days in Vienna, brought back memories of the sunny winter days in Baghdad. I was thinking of one particular Friday morning in 1995, which stayed in my mind as if it was yesterday. That morning, it must have been at the end of February, I drove my car to my relative’s house in Waziriyah to have lunch. The weather was still cold but the sun rays warmed up the spots they fell on. I loved driving on Fridays, with the streets almost empty, my mind could run free.
During that time, Iraq was still trying to recover from the severe damages of the war in 1991. A lot of rebuilding and construction work was going on all over the country and people had somehow learned to adapt their lives to the ongoing embargo and the isolation from the rest of the world.
On my way from Mansour to Waziriyah I passed by the „Baghdad International Fairground“. Seeing the long line of flagpoles made me think about the big difference in the number of exhibiting countries before and after 1990. The number of participating countries decreased so much that the name „International“ wasn’t really suitable anymore. The gloomy feeling that joined this thought was wiped away, when I turned right into Al-Zaitoon Street (in English Olive street). This broad way surrounded by olive trees and date palms had a calming effect on me. I could drive for hours and hours on this road. However, because of the light Friday traffic, I left this street very soon and passed by Al-Rasheed Hotel, the hotel with one of the best brunch buffets in Baghdad; although this was not the reason for the hotel’s international reputation. It came under the spotlight when a mosaic of George Bush Senior was installed on the floor of its lobby. The drive stayed smooth when I crossed the Jumhuriya Bridge, over the Tigris, to the Liberation Square and took the Muhammad Al-Qasim Expressway that led me, a few minutes later, to the road of Al-Mustansiriya University and to my destination.
It was a small lunch gathering with a lot of delicious Iraqi food. We talked about the usual things, like the unstable electricity, the sky-rocketing prices, the lack of work opportunities and the increasing poverty related to it. But the main subject among the students and graduates at the time was the future. The two senior medical students were talking about their plans for leaving Iraq after graduation. At that time, there was a travel ban on all doctors, engineers and people with higher education degrees. Leaving the country was only possible with fake documents, which meant a great risk. Being caught on the borders with a false passport could cost the person’s life. But it was more than understandable that they wanted to complete their studies abroad, just as their parents did in the 60s and as it was common among ambitious students till the 90s. Studying abroad, before 1991, didn’t mean leaving the country forever. Most of the students got their higher degrees and came back to work in Iraq. After the ban this changed, because once leaving the country with false documents a way back was not possible anymore; and of course, the low quality of life after the embargo was one reason more not to come back. Listing to their plans made me worry. What if they get caught? What if we will never meet again? A lot of „What ifs“ went through my mind. They weren’t the only persons I knew talking about leaving. My friend at college just told me a few days before that she will leave this summer, as soon as she gets her BSc. and two of my friends had already left last summer, one to the UAE and one to the U.K.
I left in the afternoon and decided to drive through Adamiya on my way home. I passed the new car spare parts shop, run by my cousin. I parked my car and went in to say hello and to congratulate him on his shop. He was happy and surprised to see me. He offered me a seat in his small shop. I told him: „Congratulations. It’s a good location and, for a spare parts shop, it is really nice and organized.“ He laughed and said: „Well, it’s not my dream to have this shop. It’s sure better than nothing. But I didn’t study engineering to sit in a shop.“ Of course, I knew what he meant. When he started studying in 1989, the situation in Iraq looked completely different. He thought he would graduate then work for one of the many international companies that were commissioned to do a huge number of projects after the long war with Iran. He started studying in times of peace and hope, but graduated in the times of embargo and despair. He, too, talked about his plans of travelling aboard. He told me that he was trying to apply for jobs in the UAE and Malaysia. I just said: „Wow! Malaysia. That is really far!“ but the „What ifs“ started to fill my head again.
I stepped out of his shop and went back to the car. Suddenly I imagined a big spaceship was moving toward the country sucking up one person after the other on its way. Sooner or later, everyone I know will leave, seeking a better life. The emptiness of the Friday streets that I enjoyed in the morning, now, made me feel lonely and melancholic. I remembered an article I had read when I was in Jordan which mentioned that the middle class was leaving Iraq and that the consequence of such a migration has a dramatic effect on the community. I drove my car back home and noticed that, in almost every neighborhood I passed through, there was a house of someone I knew who had left Iraq for good.
