No one loves Iraq anymore

This time last year, I was preparing to go home. Just thinking of it now fills me with joy.

Once I paid for the ticket, I started to have sleepless nights and became very anxious. The saddest part though is feeling afraid. I tried hard to dismiss this mood, it is home after all, but how could anyone?

The taxi-driver who drove me from the airport was called Saddam!! Not a very encouraging start I thought. He asked me to sit next to him in order not to raise any suspicions on route! He literally interrogated me all the way, and I could hear my heart throbbing with fear. Could this be my end? In the hands of the Mujahideen? Oh God let me at least see my family first, why did I choose to come alone?

All the worries of the journey disappeared, once I sat a foot in our house.

There were a lot of new etiquettes I had to learn about. It looks like every year is worse than the one before. New regulations in the house were introduced; all revolved around the electricity, water supply and fuel. How to take a shower, when to do the washing, when to cook, when to go out etc.. And still, even with all my mothers’ contingency plans we couldn’t win!

Our kitchen smelt differently, with all the new primitive cooking and water heating gadgets. Only a few days before I left, I managed to grab the old smell, or at least got used to the new one!
Till this day when I cook in here, I use the old methods of my mother and grandmother just to get the magical smell! It somehow makes me feel more confident in my cooking and part of it is probably to torture myself.

The first day I took a long walk with my brother. The main road looked like a market; stalls of all kinds, the noise of the electricity generators was deafening, people walking in masses just to make use of the last rays before the sun sets. I was trying to cross a barrier of barbed wires when I got my skirt trapped in between, and later torn to break loose. I felt so embarrassed, why am I being so clumsy? Why am I behaving like a tourist?

It does hurt me when I feel that I don’t know anymore, the new dialect, the new wit, the new short-cuts and the new agony. When I tried to share with others, I looked like a hypocrite; When I suggested something; it sounded so silly; and I could see the ‘What do you know’ in everyone’s eyes.

My friends came to see me; all looked weary in spite of the efforts they made to look nice and elegant, all covered in hijab. All have surrendered to their new fate. I kept on bringing the past up. I was searching for any glow in their eyes; I could see none. I felt so alone. And yet, who am I to speak, what did I expect?

Two of my closest friends insisted on taking me to Buratha Mosque (attacked by suicide bombers yesterday), ‘I have to drink water from the well in there!’ they said. ‘Why is that?’ ‘To get married of course’ one of them answered back.
We went, and I did drink the water; for a different reason though. I prayed selfishly to whoever is up there to bring me back home and make it a safe place for my sake.
Now it looks like I was a bad omen.

The down town of Baghdad city looked so different to the lively place it used to be. The market parallel to the river was nearly empty. The few goldsmith shops had armed guards outside their doors. The fabric and carpet merchants were more relaxed and I could see their features soften up a bit when speaking nicely to them. But I cannot forget the worried looks they all had.

My city is battered, dirty, full of concrete blocks, no- through roads, closed bridges, chaotic and unsafe. The people I know looked haggard and helpless. I tried to find any traces from the past, I searched all corners; I opened my drawers and looked through my old books and diaries. I stayed awake all night, not to waste any precious moment, I struggled to leave an optimistic impression on my friends and relatives…but in vain.

All the people I met wanted to leave and never come back.


This electric palm tree just few meters from our house captured my heart, maybe because it was full of lights in a very dark city, maybe because the natural palm trees looked so sad to me. I just don’t know.



When my time was up, I behaved like a child who doesn’t want to know, I made a big fuss over silly things, I provoked a fight with my mother, and when everyone was silent trying to absorb my fury. I finally cried.