Iraq Archive - Seite 2 von 3

Big Picture

Veröffentlicht am 21. Januar 201827. Januar 2018 von Rana2 Kommentare

Sometimes things happen that you do not understand immediately but suddenly, maybe years later, a piece of the big life puzzle comes to you and everything starts to make sense.

On a Friday morning, when I was about nine years old, I was experimenting with my cassette recorder. I had a blank tape inside and went around the house trying to catch different sounds. In the garden I recorded the sound of the birds and the cats, I went to the kitchen and recorded my mother and grandmother talking about their plans for lunch and then I went to the living room, where my grandfather was sitting with Amo Kamal (Amo is Arabic for uncle), a relative of us, and I recorded their discussion. I didn’t really bother listening to them, their talk was boring for me. Filling my blank tape was my only concern.

I rewound the tape and went to the kitchen to make my mother and grandmother listen to it, but they didn’t pay attention to me, so I went to the living room to present my creative work to my grandfather and his guest. I told them with a big smile on my face: „Look what I did and you didn’t even notice.“ I played the tape and they listened for a short while. I was still smiling proudly but they didn’t laugh, they didn’t even smile, instead they seemed to get angry, especially Amo Kamal. His face turned red, and he almost yelled at me: „You cannot record people’s conversations. Delete this immediately.“ He turned to my grandfather saying: „She could get us in serious trouble. They could put us in jail. Tell her to delete it now.“

My grandfather spoke in a calmer tone but he was very firm: „Delete this now and don’t ever record people while they are talking again. This could end badly.“
„What’s wrong with them?“ I thought „I just wanted to be funny,“ I felt really annoyed because they did not understand my joke. „Fun spoilers“ I thought and deleted their part of the recording. I left the living room and went to my room feeling upset and somehow ashamed about what happed. I couldn’t understand the reason for their strange reaction.

Unfortunately, I grew up to learn that the world is more than just an endless playground. I started hearing stories of people who went to jail or even lost their lives because someone recorded them while they were criticizing the situation in the country or the government.

One of the easiest and most common ways to control people in surveillance states is to make them control each other. When trust and solidarity are kept to a minimum, mass protests and organized oppositions are very unlikely to happen. Eliminating „dangerous“ individuals is much easier than facing the crowd, especially in times before the internet, mobile technology and social media.

Back then, I didn’t connect these stories with the reaction of my grandfather and Amo Kamal, since I didn’t really like to remember that embarrassing situation. But not too many years ago, I was talking with my mother and we remembered Amo Kamal. He was always talking with my grandfather about the bad conditions, the ongoing war, the latest scandals of the politicians, how everything is getting worse and how the prices are rising rapidly.

I recall one conversation they had very often: Amu Kamal would say: „The prices are crazy, and no one is doing anything about it.“ My grandfather would reply: „Yes, that’s so true. Before, the cost of one orange was one fills. That meant I could have bought 1000 oranges for one Dinar.“ Amo Kamal would add: „And today one kilo of oranges is about 3 Dinars and that’s not more than 5 oranges.“ At that point my grandfather would take a deep breath and say a Turkish proverb he used a lot to explain his anger on times: „To what times we stayed!“

Only then the puzzle was complete, and the big picture appeared. I realized what made them so upset. I recorded them talking about the deplorable conditions in the country. A tape like that, if put in the wrong hands, could have brought them behind bars. My „funny“ sound constellation was actually an evidence against them.

I felt sorry but it was too late to apologize. Both of them died before having to witness that the price for one kilo of oranges has reached 1000 Dinar in the Iraq of today.

The best of both worlds

Veröffentlicht am 4. Dezember 201721. Dezember 2018 von Rana2 Kommentare

In the 1980s, there were a lot of foreigners living and working in Iraq. I’m sure it was just the same back in the 70s and before but I can only tell what I remember and my memories of Iraq start with the beginning of 1980.

Anyway….
Since my Austrian mother worked at the West German School in Baghdad, we knew a lot of people from the German speaking community that included German as well as Austrian and Swiss citizens. I had a lot of friends my age and I loved spending time with them at their european styled company complexes. Hanging out with them just felt like being at my grandparents’ place in Austria. I would spend the whole day playing, speaking German and eating German food and sweets.

As any group of people living abroad they arranged their lifestyle in Baghdad to be as close as possible to the life they were used to back home. For example, they knew where to get good fresh pork meat, or even where to hunt wild pigs, ducks and anything else the Iraqi countryside would offer. Moreover, and because at that time the Iraqi market only offered high quality but very restricted number of goods, some companies spoiled their employees by enabling them to order all kinds of European food once or twice a year. We were lucky enough to take advantage of this offer, when my mother was working for one of those companies. The yummy orders would reach Baghdad in big refrigerated „Bofrost“ trucks.

There even was a lovely German lady pastor working in Baghdad. She held the first and last thanksgiving mass (in German „Erntedankmesse“) I ever attended. In my family we used to celebrate Easter and Christmas in addition to the Islamic feasts but never thanksgiving. Being thankful for the harvest of the year is really something everyone living on fertile ground should do. When the mass started people of different nationalities and religions filled the church. They sat side by side listing to the German prayers that, for sure, a lot of them didn’t understand. At one point the door opened and the little children from the German kindergarten walked in singing while heading to the altar. They carried baskets full of local Iraqi fruit and vegetables crowned with fresh yellow dates. A lovely sight that gave those present goose bumps. At the end of the ceremony, the fruit and vegetables were spread among the people.

My favorite event of the year was definatly the German school’s Christmas market.
The preparations started very early. The first signs of Christmas were the smell of gingerbread that the kindergarten kids baked with a lot of joy and the notes handed out to the parents asking them to collect material for handcrafts. As soon as the school staff had enough material, a month of creative work started. Big boxes would be filled with delicious jars of jam with beautiful toppers, handmade greeting cards, knitted stuff, macramé work, Christmas cookies, cakes and almost everything one can find on a traditional Christmas market in Europe.

When the wooden stalls, decorated with colored crepe paper, were set up in the school yard and filled with all the beautiful things, the Christmas bells rang and the fun began. Soon the place was full of people talking, eating, buying stuff and enjoying the European Christmas atmosphere in the middle of Baghdad. The highlight of the evening was the announcement of the tombola winners, where the first price usually was a flight for two, sponsored by Lufthansa.

The last German Christmas market in Baghdad must have been in the winter of 1989. When all the foreigners left the country, after the invasion of Kuwait by the Iraqi troupes on the 2nd of August 1990, and the bells rang announcing a new era. An era of embargo, war and slow downfall.

It was the combination of cultural events, friendships with locals, gatherings and even love stories that made life in that very different country more than just bearable for the foreign communities. Most of them truly loved living in Iraq and appreciate that the country (in spite of the ongoing war with Iran at that time) was stable, had a strong economy, the citizens were extremely foreigner-friendly and it offered endless interesting historical and natural locations to visite. I miss those times, when I had the best of both worlds on one spot.

I’m not saying, Iraq was perfect then but it was good and had the potential to change towards the better. Sadly the modern history of Iraq showed that things can rapedly change from good to bad and that whenever we say: „It definitely can’t get worse!“ Destiny replies by saying: „Yes, it can.“

Photograph Prohibited

Veröffentlicht am 1. Juli 20172. Juli 2017 von Rana4 Kommentare

Although satellites were up in the sky since the sixties and it was known that observation satellites can identify a coin lying on the ground, the „Photograph Prohibited“ sign, or as we called it “no photo” sign, was a popular one in Iraq. No government building was so unimportant that it wouldn’t deserve its own sign. But the most confusing thing about the no-photo-policy was that even if the sign wasn’t there, taking a photo in a public place could make a suspect out of you in a second. One click, and you would find yourself accused of crimes like: damaging the image of the country, espionage or threatening the national security.

Most people affected by this law, besides the foreigners, were the students of architecture.

One of those students was my sister. I remember the day she and her colleague came home from a visit to Kadhumiya. They were exhausted and upset but also had to laugh a lot while telling my mother and me what an adventures day they had.

They were working on a project for college about modernizing the part of Baghdad they choose. Their choice fell on Kadhumiya, the part of the city with the golden Mosque, which holds the shrine of the Imam Musa Al-Kadhuim, the nearby bazar and the surrounding old residential area.

Aware of the laws, the college used to provide its students with a photographing and data gathering permission for the research and documentation part of such assignments.

Armed with the permission paper they walked through the bazar heading to the mosque, stopping here and there to take photos. My sister had a big canon reflex camera, with a giant zoom. Alone the zoom was enough reason to make her a suspect of espionage. On top of that was their outfit that didn’t really help to appease their suspicious appearance. They wore T-Shirts, Jeans and trainers and over it black traditional Abayas. The Abayas were borrowed and it was obviously for the way they wore it, trying hard to keep them on the heads and shoulders, that they were not familiar with wearing an Abaya.

Well, it didn’t take long. Soon, a man, he said he was a security officer, appeared and told them: „What on earth are you doing here? Don’t you know that it is strictly forbidden to take photos in this area?“

The young ladies tried to explain to him that they are students working on a project and showed him the permission they had from the college. But no matter what they said, the man was unimpressed and he insisted to take them to the main office to clear the matter. He asked them to get into his car, but my sister and her friend refused, since they couldn’t be sure of his identity as a secret service officer. He could be lying just to make them go with him.

The man tried to persuade them to join him in a taxi, but they made it clear that they will not go in any kind of car with him. They suggested walking but he said it was too far to go on foot. Almost losing his patience he had the glorious idea to stop a passing by horse carriage and asked them to get in. They finally agreed. At the end it is easier to jump out from a moving carriage then from a car in motion.

Few minutes later they arrived at a small official building. It had a sign saying „District Security Office“ at the entrance. They went in and he asked them to wait in the lobby. It took him a while before he came back an asked the girls to follow him to his supervisor’s office. Their hearts were beating strongly, and their stomachs ached while they walked behind him. They entered the office were a middle-aged man was sitting behind the desk.

He was looking at the college permission lying in front of him, then raised his eyes and gazed at them with a serious expression on his face. He asked them some questions about their project and their studies. He started to tell them how important the national security was and what harm could be caused by photographing sensitive places.

After a long speech, the supervisor, who seemed more open minded than his employee, handed them their permission and wished them good luck for their project. But before they stepped out of his office, he told them with a hardly noticeable smile on this face: „Girls, you are like my daughters, take this advice from me: don’t go around making photos of the city. There are a lot of people out there who could use them to harm our country.”

You can imagine how happy and relieved my mother and I were, hearing that this story ended in such a harmless way.

The birds will fall from the sky

Veröffentlicht am 20. Mai 201720. Mai 2017 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

„There are things that should never ever happen.“ That was my thought, when I heard the terrible news about the use of chemical weapons in Syria a few weeks ago. As usual, my mind took me back to a certain memory of an unforgettable day in Baghdad.

When it became clear that war was coming, we had several information sessions at school on war preparation measures. Usually, those sessions were held in class with a teacher or on Thursdays at the weekly flag ceremony. But a few days before the 17th of January 1991, we had a big gathering in the school theater and a military officer held a presentation about safety measures in relation to the possible weapons that will be used in the war.

At the beginning, he asked us to listen carefully and to spread the information he was about to tell us, among our families and relatives. Then he went on with a speech about the recent situation and why the occupation of Kuwait was the only right decision the Iraqi government could make. He said things like: „bringing back what once belonged to us“, “ bringing the branch back to the tree“, „The Kuwaiti people are happy to be united with Iraq“ and so on, but really neither he nor anyone in the hall seemed to be convinced of what he was saying.

Even we, the teenage school girls, who grew up with the propaganda of the Baath party since our first school day in 1980, were aware that what happened was a terrible mistake and what would follow would be even worse.

Anyway, he finished the mandatory opening speech and started talking about the preparations we should make in the coming days; starting from buying canned food and medicine, storing water and fuel and ending up with setting a safety room in the house in case of the use of chemical weapons in the upcoming war.

This was the longest and most scary part of his presentation. There was a strange silence in the hall, that was full of some hundred girls under 18, who all looked at him with wide eyes as he said: „Every house should arrange a room for that case. The windows and all air circulation gaps should be sealed with big plastic sheets and tape. The room should contain bottled water, medicine, a radio that runs on batteries and canned food.“ He went on explaining that there are two kinds of common chemical weapons: skin burning gases like mustard gas or Nervous-system-destroying gases. In case of an attack with chemical weapons, the siren will repeat the starting signal three times, all people should immediately gather in their safety rooms, seal the door and open the radio to get further instructions. It is advisable to look out of a window to observe the effect of the gas on animals, „At first the birds will die. They will fall from the sky. From the dead birds‘ bodies, you can determine which gas was used; either they would have burns on their bodies or there would be fluids coming out of their body orifices.“ He continued talking about the effects and the ways to stay safe as long as possible.

But his methods didn’t convince me. If this was really going to happen, we would end up dying in one of the most horrible ways to die.

At this point, I remembered what a classmate said to me that morning: „Yesterday my father got a gas mask in the office. The authorities handed out one for each employee.“ She added: „He came home, placed the mask on the table and said ironically: „I got one mask for all six of us. Cheer up! We will survive the war.“
Then he turned to my mother and said: „I know exactly how I will use it. I have enough bullets in my gun to save us from suffering. In case of a chemical attack, I’ll put on the mask and shoot us all.““ Finally she said in a sad voice: „My mother looked really shocked and told him not to talk like that in front of us. Then they went into the kitchen and closed the door. I have never seen my father as depressed as I saw him yesterday.“

Listening to the presentation, I understood what her father meant by saving the family from suffering. I thought of my family. We had neither a mask nor a gun at home. My stomach started aching.

When I came home from school, I found my mother and sister arranging my mother’s sleeping room as a shelter. My sister had a similar information session at the university. I put down my schoolbag and joined them. We covered the windows with plastic sheets, and we talked about what we will do in the room if we are forced to stay in it for a long time.

Somehow, we started joking and having fun taping the windows. We didn’t store food and water in the room, there was still time to do so, but we prepared games like Uno and Ludo, knitting stuff and books. We managed to prepare for a disaster with a happy mood. The stomachache went away and I felt strong, safe and sheltered with my family.

A lot of things happened in Baghdad since January 1991 but the birds kept flying and the safety rooms were never used.

Years later, a lot of houses still had marks of brown tape around some windows to remind us of a war that should never been given a reason to happen.

Empty Streets

Veröffentlicht am 25. März 201726. März 2017 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

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.

Waving to the Lost Presidents

Veröffentlicht am 4. Januar 201724. Januar 2017 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

It must have been the 15^th or 16^th of February 1989, when I came to school in the morning, as usual, and immediately noticed that we will not take our lessons that day. There were buses waiting outside the school and a couple of students were standing at the school entrance, telling everybody to drop their school backpacks in the classes and gather in the school yard.

It was obvious that we were going to march on a „spontaneous“ demonstration, as they were called by the media. Well, it was spontaneous, wasn’t it?

Soon, the girls of „Al-Qadissiya Middle School“ filled the school yard, as if it was Thursday morning when we used to gather for the weekly flag ceremony. The principal came out and turned on the microphone. The mic made an earsplitting sound, then she knocked on it twice to split our eardrums even more, and finally she started talking: „ahm, ahhhm, good morning girls! Today is an important day; we will have the honor to welcome three great personalities in Baghdad: the king of Jordan, the president of Egypt and the president of North Yemen. I’m sure you have heard about the upcoming event on TV. They are coming to Iraq to sign an agreement to establish the Arab Cooperation Council.“

She talked a lot about the advantages of this agreement and that it was going to be a historical moment and so on, but I didn’t really listen. It was eight in the morning, time for daydreaming in the first lesson, not standing in the fresh morning breeze to listen to political blah blah.

The really important information to us was when she said: „A lot of the students in Baghdad will celebrate this historical event by lining up on the road sides to welcome the arriving guests. The busses will take us now and we should be back to school at noon!“

Any event that kept us from studying was welcome. We didn’t really mind leaving school. We got into a bus and were taken to the main street that led from the airport to the city center.

The whole road was closed off for traffic. The teachers distributed paper flags of the four countries to us and we took our places on the sandy road bank behind the crash barriers. It was still cold in February but it wasn’t very bad since we stood in the sun. At first, we were chatting all the time and looking at the road, waiting excitedly to see the presidents and the king. But after two hours of waiting, we started to get bored, tired, thirsty and our feet started to ache. Then the rumors started going through the rows of students: „The plane of president Mubarak was delayed.“; „They’ve arrived and took another way.“; „We will stay here till late afternoon.“ and a lot more. I always wondered where such rumors came from. We had no mobile phones at that time, nor a Walkie-Talkie. Nothing could possibly bring this information from the airport to us. Was there someone standing somewhere, saying something and enjoying his words traveling through the masses? I never figured it out and I’m afraid this will stay an unsolved mystery for me.

Anyway, the real trouble was that most of us started to get very thirsty, so a teacher went to a house nearby, rang the bell and asked them for water. A woman came out with a bottle of water and a tray of cups. From almost every house of the neighborhood people came out offering us water, food and even asked if we needed to use the toilet or the phone. These gestures made waiting much easier.

I don’t know how long we waited till the motorcade appeared at last. It was led by many police motorcycles, followed by a lot of black Mercedes cars with the security staff, and in the middle, the car carrying president Saddam Hussein and one of the guests. I think the first was king Husain of Jordan. We waved, clapped and we sure called out some slogans that I don’t remember anymore. When that convoy passed, it was clear that only one guest was going to be escorted at a time, which meant more waiting and standing on the road side for us.

Time passed somehow and we waved for Mubarak, the president of Egypt and for Salih, the president of Northern Yemen. After the last guest arrived, the exhausted mass of students returned to the buses and the road was opened for traffic. When I came home I had blisters on my feet and I was starving.

The next day, pictures of that historical meeting of the three presidents and the king were all over the newspapers. The most popular picture was one on which the four of them are seen holding each other’s’ hands and raising them in the air; a photo, that soon became a symbol for the beginning of a new era of unity and peace in the Arab world. At that moment, no one would have thought, that except for king Husain of Jordan, who lived and died as a king, the rest of the members of the Cooperation Council would fall, one after the other in very unfortunate ways.

The light of hope that was lit in Baghdad on the 16^th of February 1989 didn’t last for long. The work of the Arab Cooperation Council was put on ice after Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait in 1990 and was never resumed again.

Apples for Christmas

Veröffentlicht am 15. Dezember 201616. Dezember 2016 von Rana2 Kommentare

In the winter of 1988, my Austrian grandmother came to spend Christmas with us in Baghdad. It was her third and last visit to Baghdad. We went to pick her up from the airport in the evening. There were only few people at the airport, because of the travel ban we had in Iraq since 1982. I’m not quite sure but I think travelling was allowed again sometime in 1989. The Airport, at that time called „Saddam International Airport“, was built between 1979 and 1982 by French and English companies. It was one of the biggest and most modern Airports in the Middle East. Unfortunately not many Iraqis got the chance or had a reason to see this beautiful building at that time.

Anyway, we went to the arrival area and stood in front of the thick transparent glass wall separating the reception area from the arrival area. On the display we saw that the Austrian airlines plane coming from Vienna had landed, but it took a while till the first passenger appeared. Slowly, the passengers started to fill the hall and at the end of the crowd we saw her, my dear grandmother.

She was wearing an elegant beige trench coat and her short curly hair was white and shiny as usual. I was more than happy to see her. She was following the crowd to the conveyor but her eyes were searching for us. We waved to her but she didn’t spot us through the glass. It must have been reflecting because of the bright lights. She stood at the conveyor waiting for her luggage, while her eyes kept searching for us. Then we noticed that she started to look worried because she couldn’t find us. We went to the arrival exit and stood there waving and even calling out for her, but it was useless. She was too far to hear us.

The security officer standing at the exit was watching the situation. Seeing us jumping and waving while my grandmother was looking in all directions except ours, made him smile. We looked to him hoping he would help us, but he said: „I’m sorry, I cannot leave my place.“ Of course he could not leave his please, no one was allowed to enter the arrival area from that exit unless he was an employee of the airport and he was in charge of that. But his face showed that he was really thinking of a way to help us, and he did. I don’t know who had the idea first, but he told me: „you may get in to help your grandmother.“ We were very grateful. It was a great exception he made and he risked to get in serious trouble. I ran in while my mother and my sister were thanking him for his kindness.

My grandmother was so happy when I came to her and hugged her. At once the puzzling and worried look on her face turned into a big happy smile. I pointed to my waving mother and sister and she finally saw them. We took the bags and headed to the customs. Every bag that enters Baghdad had to be opened and checked by the customs service. The customs officers usually had to be very strict and they also had the bad reputation that they would take things they liked out of the bags. Thinking of the Christmas presents stuffed in my grandmother’s luggage, I became very nervous while heading to the customs desk. The officer standing there was polite and even tried to joke with me. He looked at me smiling and said: „You look angry. Aren’t you happy that your grandmother is here?“ It seemed that my concern showed on my face. I don’t think I smiled back. I just told him: „Of course I am. But my grandma is tired and we want to go home but you want to check the suitcases. She is an old lady. She wouldn’t bring anything forbidden with her!“ I hoped he would tell me: „Ok, just go through.“ But he just said: „Put the small suitcase first.“ We placed it on the desk and I opened it.

I wanted to let him take a quick look and close it immediately but when I saw what was inside, I had to look twice. The bag was full with apples. Shiny red and yellow apples. My grandmother said to me in German: „I had a lot of apples in the garden this year and this is your share! I know my daughter loves them“ I translated it to him and tried to keep my voice happy but hey, I was 14 and apples weren’t number one on my wish list for Christmas.

The officer was even more surprised than I was: „I’ve never seen anyone coming with a bag full of apples! What will you do with them?“ If I had known, at that moment, how good they tasted and that my grandma will soon turn them into delicious apple strudel, crunchy dried apple slices and a lot more, I would have told him or maybe gave him one to taste it. But I didn’t say anything. I just closed the suitcase. We lifted the second suitcase and put it on the desk. This one was the one I was dreaming of. It was full with clothes and packed gifts. That was it. That was the Santa bag, I was sure my grandmother would bring with her. The officer was just trying to take a second look when I closed it. I thought: „No, no, this suitcase is too precious to keep it open!“

He smiled and said: „I told you, little girl, you are very angry today. Take your suitcases and your grandmother and go home to have a good rest!“ Then he looked to my grandmother and said: „Welcome in Iraq madam. El hamdillah ala el salama.“ (That’s Arabic for: „thank God for your safe arrival“). Just then, I felt guilty that I was so impolite to him. He was actually nice, and I don’t think he had the intention to take anything, especially not from the apples!

We left the arriving hall, where my mother and sister were waiting. They hugged and kissed her and we all thanked the kind officer at the exit and left the airport with my dear grandmother, a suitcase full of presents and on top of it all a suitcase full of lovely Austrian apples.

The Christmas of 1988 was one of most beautiful Christmases I had in Baghdad.

Later, whenever my grandmother told the story of her last trip to Iraq, I appeared as the little hero that rescued her from the labyrinth of the huge airport in Baghdad. I loved it.

Baghdad Equestrian Club

Veröffentlicht am 30. Juni 201610. November 2016 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

Between 1985 and 2003, I lived with my family in Al-Mansour district in Baghdad, near the equestrian club or the „Races“ as everybody used to call it. The club was built in the 1920’s at the time when Iraq was under the British Administration. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays were horse racing days. On these days the area was full of all kinds of people. If you are now thinking of a horse race like those in England, then I have to disappoint you. The horse races in Baghdad were nothing like that. At least not in my time. No dress code, no high society and not a single woman.
When I came home from school, the school bus dropped me in front of the main door of the races. I didn’t like those days because many gamblers were upset after the race, and sometimes they even started a fight, so my strategy was to look down to the ground, cross the street and run home as fast as I could. But this was not always helpful.
One day I missed the school bus and I was walking along the street on the opposite side of the races. I saw a man in a dishdasha (Arab garment) heading towards a young man in jeans and asking him „Where is my money?“. From his angry voice I sensed that this will escalate, so I started to walk faster. The young man answered „I had bad luck today. Give me another week.“ They started shouting to each other and I didn’t understand what they were saying anymore. Suddenly the dishdasha clad man took out a gun. I didn’t even know that it was possible to carry a gun in a dishdasha’s pocket, but it seems it was. In that same moment a policeman standing close by took out his gun and shouted as loud as he could: „stand where you are and don’t move.“ To that time I was running but when he cried out: „don’t move,“ everybody on the street stopped for a second, including me. I didn’t look back as I ran into our side street and into our garden. I stayed for a minute in the garden to hear if there were shots but there was nothing, and my legs were shivering so I went into the house.
The second time I saw a fight near the races was without guns but one of the men fighting took a cola bottle and smashed it on the wall and ran after the other one. This time a lot of people gathered and separated the two fighting men from each other. I will never forget the smashed bottle with its sharp edges. It was even scarier than the gun. Thanks God moral courage was common in Baghdad and it was very usual that strangers interfere when two argued in public to stop the fight. I always admired that.

I didn’t like the idea of being among audience of the races but I wished to be able to go and watch the race. Sometimes, on Fridays, I went up on our roof and watched it from there. I could hear the commentator, and I knew the horses were coming when the sand cloud arrived. I think what I managed to see was end line. It was hard to see the horses, but I could make out their heads and I saw the jockeys in their colorful outfits. When the race ended the audience mass mixed with the horses and the jockeys and they ended up in a big human, horse and sand mass.

Sometime in the nineties a new racing arena was built in the suburbs of Baghdad and the races in Al-Mansour was closed. I don’t think anyone missed the racing days in our district.
In 1999 a project for building a giant mosque in place of the races was started. This giant construction stands unfinished till today. Sometimes when I feel homesick, I visit my Baghdad through Google Earth. The giant construction makes it easy find my home on the map. The view of this unfinished structure is just like a symbol for the Iraq I left: one giant unfinished project that is slowly falling into pieces.

Reading and Writing

Veröffentlicht am 24. Mai 201619. Februar 2021 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

Sometimes a certain situation brings back a memory you didn’t even know that it still existed in the depths of your mind.
This is what happened to me a few days ago, when my daughter asked me about adult education in Iraq, a program in the seventies for the eradication of illiteracy, she read about. She told me that the program reduced female illiteracy in Iraq from 70% to 30% within just a few years.
Wow, the last time I read, heard or thought about the campaign to eradicate illiteracy in Iraq must have been about 30 years ago. I didn’t really know that it was such a big success. Talking with my daughter about it brought back a memory of my time in the kindergarten in Baghdad. And after so many years, the purpose of one of my favorite activities in kindergarten was clear for me.
When I was 5 going to 6, I visited Al-Mansour al-Tasisia kindergarten in Baghdad. Part of our kg program was playing short sketches in class. I loved getting dressed up and I wanted so much to get the chance to wear these miniature traditional Iraqi clothes. The white dress and head cover (dishdasha and yashmagh) for the men or the black body cover (abaya) for the women. Unfortunately I never got to play the role of an adult. In the two times I participated, I played the daughter and this role didn’t need a custom. Anyway, the teacher used to pick five or four of us and train them on the role, while the rest of the children drew or played. Then they started to act and we all watched.
I remember two stories that we played, the first was about illiteracy and the second was about children vaccinations.
This is the one we played about illiteracy:
An illiterate woman, wearing the black abaya, is sitting at home while her husband is at work and her child is at school. The bell rings and she opens the door. The postman gives her an envelope and leaves. She opens the envelope to find a paper with red text written on it. She starts to talk to herself: „Oh my God. Something bad must have happened. Why is the text in red? It must be something really bad.“ She holds the paper, looking at the red letters and starts crying. „Oh, God help me. I hope my child and my husband are safe. Why is it red? Maybe my husband had an accident at work. Maybe he is in the hospital.“
For those of us who were watching the play, this was the funniest part. We laughed with tears, looking at her holding the paper and crying.
Then her daughter or son (depending on the actor) comes home from school and finds her/his mother crying and shouting: „What happened? Oh my God, what happened?“
She/he takes the paper and reads: „Electricity bill for December 1979“
The mother stops crying and looks embarrassed. In that moment the father comes home and the daughter/son tells him what happened. The father turns to his wife and tells her: „You see my wife, reading is important to everyone. Not only for those who work. I will take you tomorrow to register you in the literacy center.“
The wife replies: „Yes, I must go to school and learn how to read. Reading and writing is very important and I don’t want to cry again because of an electricity bill.“
The daughter/son gets very excited and says: „My mother will go to school and learn, just like me.“
When the play ended and we clapped for the cast, the teacher started questioning around: „Who has someone illiterate in his family?“
Then she would ask those who raised their hands, who the illiterate person they knew was. Some said it was their mother or father but mostly it was their grandmother. The teacher then told them to go home and tell their parents or grandparents to register at one of the literacy centers, “because reading and writing is very important for everyone.”
I was always sad because we had no illiterate person in our family so I couldn’t raise my hand nor get the mission to tell someone in my family to go to the literacy center.

From Nebuchadnezzar to Saddam Hussein, Babylon is rising again

Veröffentlicht am 7. Februar 201610. November 2016 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

I remember the discussions of the people all over the country, sometime in 1985 or 1986, when former president Saddam Hussein ordered under the slogan: „From Nebuchadnezzar to Saddam Hussein, Babylon is rising again“ to rebuild Babylon. The arguments went from: „He is ruining our history.“ to „Building over the ancient walls is the best way to save them for the future.“

Well, no one asked us anyway and since most of the original Babylonian monuments were standing in museums all over the world, Babylon was for normal people (I mean not archeologists) a sight with more holes than ruins. So when the city was restored, one was able to get a feeling of how mighty Babylon must have been thousands of years ago. Moreover it offered a wonderful scene for an international festival, like the ones we knew from Verona in Italy and Jerash in Jordan.

This festival was the biggest cultural event in Iraq. Artistic groups, singers and musicians from different nationalities were invited to show their acts on one of three historic theatres in the ancient city.
Since the festival started in 1987, we used to go to see at least two shows every year. We saw Italian Operas, like: Le nozze di Figaro, la traviata and Il barbiere di Siviglia, breathtaking Russian ballet: the 12th night and 1001 nights as well as colorful and loud Spanish flamenco group shows. In 1992 we even had the chance to attend Kazem Al-Saher’s concert, who was and still is the most popular Iraqi and Arab singer.

We never had the chance to see the opening nor the closing ceremony because the tickets were only for invited guests. That’s why I was very excited when our Austrian friend, gave us four invitations for the closing ceremony because she and her group had to go back to Austria earlier than expected.
Although our car was in service and there was no one else who could take us, my mother, my two friends and I decided to go. The friend who gave us the tickets said that she had read on the leaflet they handed her out, that there were shuttle busses taking the foreign guests from the Al-Mansour Melia hotel to Babylon.
As we arrived at Al-Mansour Melia hotel on the morning of the closing ceremony, the lobby was full with people from all nations, the hotel staff and security staff.

We asked at the reception for the shuttle bus going to Babylon and it seemed to be a big puzzle. The receptionist went to ask another lady at the reception and then she went to the back office and came out in the company of a young man, who asked my mother what exactly she meant by a shuttle bus and who gave her this information. At last we ended up at a desk of a security officer, who had a badge with the text: „In charge of the delegations“ on it. The lady who took us to him, told him: „this foreign lady and her three daughters want to take a bus to Babylon. They have invitations for today’s evening show.“

The man looked at us with a big smile and said: „Who told you that we have busses going to Babylon?“ My mother explained to him how we got the tickets and who told us about the bus. „Well“ he said „We have busses for the delegations but not for locals. Each bus is dedicated to a group and has a translator and a security office on board. You cannot go with them.“

When he ended the last sentence, he saw our disappointed faces and I think he felt sorry for us. So he added: „but I’ll arrange for you to go with the bus of the Iraqi TV staff.“ He called one of the security men standing close by and talked to him. We thanked him and followed the man, he just instructed, to the bus. He told the driver: „Take the foreign lady and her three daughters with you.“ We accepted that they thought we were sisters and didn’t bother to explain.
At last we were on the bus in the parking of the hotel. The bus was almost empty but slowly it got filled with the TV staff. Cameramen, sound technicians and 2 TV-hosts we knew from the daily news.

While we were waiting in the Bus, something wonderful and unexpected happened. A Silver Mercedes drove into the parking, stopped near the bus and out came Kazem Al-Saher. It was him! the most popular Arab singer, standing just a few meters from us. My friends and I ran out of the bus saying to each other: „It’s Kazem! it’s really him!“ I don’t know which one of us had the paper and the pen in her bag but we went to him and shook his hand. We introduced ourselves and asked him for an autograph. He was very nice and welcoming and wrote a personal autograph for each one of us. Years later I was silly enough to give my very personal autograph to a relative of mine. She was crazy about Kazem Al-Saher, but today I really regret it.
Full with joy, we got back on the bus and waited for it to move. Shortly before the bus started, a man we saw in the lobby before, jumped in and sat near the driver.

We had a good time on the bus. We laughed a lot and enjoyed listening to the stories of the TV staff.

One of the TV hosts was saying to the man sitting near him: „The singer who sang yesterday in Babylon was very stupid“

The other one asked: „Why? I like Basim.“

„I like his songs too, but he was on the stage and told the people: „I’ll sing a new song.“ and when the music started and the people began clapping he said: „sing, sing.“ holding the microphone to the audience. How can they sing if the song was a new song?“ they burst into laughter.

Listening to such stories, the hour and fifteen minutes we needed to arrive to Babylon went by very fast.
We reached the parking of the city. We memorized the place of the bus so we can find it when we got back and started our way to the arena.

The sun was still shining on the ancient city. There was one color dominating the scene. Except for the turquoise replica of the Ishtar Gate and some palm trees, everything had the color of the yellow sand. The ground, the buildings and even the pale blue sky was covered by a sand veil.

After the security check we entered the big theater. I couldn’t see anyone from the people who were with us on the bus, except that man who came in shortly before we left. He sat a few rows behind us.

When it got dark the show finally started. First we had to listen to some speeches of the minister of culture and information, the organizer of the festival and some personalities I don’t remember anymore. After that boring part, the final show finally began. It was a colorful fashion show by the Iraqi house of fashion. The show took us through the history of Iraq and Iraqi fashion. It started with the imaginative wedding of the Tigris and the Euphrates and moved through ages. The stage was full of lovely men and female models in stunning, colorful costumes. Joined by the sound of two speakers, a man and a woman, who told the story in Arabic and in English with music, light and sound effects.

The whole arena, holding thousands of people, was silent; everyone was caught up in the magical world on the stage and then, suddenly, when the show reached the Akkadian Empire, something exploded on the stage. We heard a loud blast that almost damaged our ears, some pieces went through the air and the smell of gunpowder and a dark smoke cloud filled the arena.

When the cloud was almost gone, we were able to see again. We saw that there was a hole in the middle of the stage. The artists were gone, the minister was standing surrounded by security and bodyguards and an incredible number of security officers were standing all over the theater, as if they came out of the ground. No one made a sound; only the security officers were moving and talking. Then fifteen minutes later the minister sat down again and the security officers started to disappear. The music started again and four men models came out carrying a big white piece of cloth, with which they covered the hole in the stage and the show went on. Nothing reminded of the explosion, except that the models had to change the path and walk on the side of the stage instead of the middle to avoid falling into the hole.
It wasn’t till the next day that we got to know what happened. It was a problem with the pyrotechnics effects, and sadly one of the pyrotechnicians lost his arm while we were enjoying the show.

The show reached the end with the fashion of the current time, a big firework and a song in praise of Iraq and the government.

It was almost eleven thirty when we left the arena. The show was very nice but the explosion left a bad feeling that we couldn’t ignore. We went to the parking to take our bus but when we tried to get in, the driver told us: „sorry, you can’t come back with me. I’m taking the Russian delegation back.“

My mother told him: „This must be a joke. You can’t leave us here! How are we going to go back?“

The driver made it clear that it was our problem and it didn’t concern him. He just added: „I’m not allowed to take anyone except the Russians.“

The bus left and we were standing in the parking like a herd of lost sheep. We didn’t have a plan. Suddenly the man who was with us on the bus, the last one that joined us, came and said: „Oh good, I found you. I was looking for you. I lost you when you left the theater. Follow me.“

We were really happy to see a familiar face and we had no better option than to follow him. He took us to an old bus and asked us to get on it. He sat in the front and we took the empty places in the middle. Most of the people on the bus were young men but there were also two women with maybe two or three children, who were sleeping. I still don’t know if they were in Babylon to watch the show or if they were employees who worked for the festival. When we reached Baghdad, the man came back to us and asked my mother about our address. He went to the driver and talked to him and then came back to us again and said: „The driver will take you to your house.“ Then he smiled and said: „You know you gave me a hard time today. At the hotel my boss told me ‘Keep your eyes on the foreign lady and her three daughters and don’t leave them unless you are sure they get home safe.’ He worried about you. I’m so happy my duty is over. This morning I didn’t think I’ll be spending my day in Babylon watching the closing ceremony. I wish you a good night.“

We were surprised, touched and grateful that this man spent most of his day looking after us and at the end even saved us from a very bad situation. We thanked him a lot and left the bus.
The next day I wrote down all what happened on that special day because I didn’t want to forget anything. It was the first, and I’m sure, last time in my life that I had an almost personal security guard.