Let me tell you -

Hate

Veröffentlicht am 8. Juli 20249. Juli 2024 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

On my way home, a priest was standing next to me on the tram. He was talking in an American accent to another man, whom I couldn’t see from where I was sitting.
I didn’t really pay attention to their conversation until I heard the phrase „I worked for the US Army“.
Now their talk had my full attention. From what I heard, it seemed to me that the man behind me had been in the US Army for some time.
A strange feeling came over me and I thought, what if we had met before in a completely different situation. He, flying a plane full of bombs over Iraq, and I, lying in the bad, holding my children as close as I could, praying that the pilot would not drop bombs on us.
My body began to shake, I had to take a deep breath and I turned around to look at his face. I was relieved. He was too young to have fought in 1991 or even 2003.

This short scene brought back a memory and a feeling I hadn’t felt in years.
I remembered a cold March day when I was sitting on the terrace of my in-laws‘ modest village house, washing our clothes in a plastic washtub. My hands were sore from the cold water. I was in a hurry to finish the laundry because my children were playing in the house and I was afraid that the next air raid would start while I was away from them.
There was a distant plane in the sky. But it seemed to be heading for Baghdad. I followed it with my eyes, calculating the distance, if it would change direction, and the time I would need to run inside to my children.
But it kept moving away.
I wondered how the pilot felt. Coming from a country as far away as the United States, knowing nothing about Iraq except what he thought he knew. And it seems that he believed that every single person under his plane deserved to be killed by the bombs he was about to drop.
He may even have believed that he was a hero. Superman in the sky, killing all the bad people with the push of a magic button.
What would he do if he knew us personally? If he had eaten with us at the same table or danced with us to the same music? What would he do if he knew our names, if he played UNO or backgammon with us? Would he still push the button?

What kind of people does he think we are?
Can he even imagine how we suffered during the years of the embargo?
How broken and depressed we were?
Would he go home and tell everyone, „I did so well. You must be proud of me. I killed about 50 Iraqis a day just by flying my plane and pushing a button. I didn’t care who they were or how old they were. They were the evil ones and they deserved death.“
Everyone around him would be impressed, and they might raise a glass and toast his bravery.

I felt hatred, yes, I hated with all the intensity of that word. I hated this man who crossed the world to drop bombs on us, a man who controls our destiny from above, who could kill my children or make them orphans. I wished his plane would burn up in the sky and turn him to ashes before he could drop a single bomb. I wished he would never return to the United States and be celebrated for killing Iraqi people. My weakness before his power filled me with this ugly feeling of hatred. The worst feeling a human being can have for another human being.
I did not have the power he had, but in my mind I wanted to destroy him as much as he could destroy us.
His plane disappeared from view.
My focus returned to the laundry. I missed my washing machine, the electricity, and our home in Baghdad.
I hung the clothes on the ropes hanging between the palm trees and ran into the house where my children were playing. I sat down on the floor and joined them.

The priest and the young US Army man stopped talking about the Army and the Marines and started arguing about the way and their next tourist spot in Vienna. I stuck my headphones in, turned the music on and started writing this story.

Der Mond hat uns nicht verlassen

Veröffentlicht am 16. Dezember 202316. Dezember 2023 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

Heute habe ich ein Video gesehen, unter dem ein Mann aus Gaza geschrieben hat: “Wenigstens haben wir noch den Mond“.

Das Bild war schwarz. Zuerst dachte ich, beim Laden des Instagram-Posts sei etwas schief gegangen. Aber bald erkannte ich die Umrisse von zerstörten Gebäuden. Eine Männerstimme sagte: “Es ist finster in Gaza. Wir haben weder Strom noch Treibstoff!”

Er drehte die Kamera zum Himmel und fokussierte auf den hellen Vollmond. Er sagte: “Nur der Mond hat uns nicht verlassen. Er spendet uns Licht!”

Mit diesem Satz endete der Post und der nächste Beitrag, den mir der Algorithmus vorschlug, erschien auf dem Handy-Display.

Ich steckte das Handy in meine Manteltasche und stieg in der Josefstädter Straße aus dem Bus. Die Straße war weihnachtlich beleuchtet und der Wind blies mir eiskalt ins Gesicht. Die Wolken zogen schnell über die Stadt und erzeugten zusammen mit dem Vollmond ein Schattenspiel.

Ich bekam Gänsehaut. Es war derselbe Vollmond, der in dem Video über Gaza schien.

Dieser Gedanke weckte Erinnerungen in mir. Die düstere und traurige Stimmung des Videos kenne ich nur zu gut und auch die Hoffnung, die der Mond ausstrahlt, kann ich fühlen.

Ich hörte die Stimme meiner Oma, die bei jedem Abschied sagte: “Ich werde wieder zum Mond schauen und wenn ihr auch zum Mond schaut, dann sind wir verbunden. Ich sende euch meine Grüße und Gedanken mit ihm. Wenn wir nicht telefonieren oder Briefe schreiben können, dann kommunizieren wir über den Mond”.

Wenn sie das sagte, wurde mir bewusst, dass wir wieder ins Ungewisse reisen würden.

Ich freute mich immer auf die Rückkehr nach Bagdad. Dort war unser Haus, meine Schule, meine Freundinnen und ein großer Teil meiner Familie. Es war das Zuhause und das Leben, das ich kannte. Aber ich wusste auch, dass wir ins Unvorhersehbare zurückkehren würde. Ob wir im nächsten Sommer wieder gehen können, ob ein Krieg zu Ende geht oder ein neuer beginnt, ob es genug Essen, Strom, Medikamente oder überhaupt Geld zum Überleben geben wird. All das stand in den Sternen.

Zurück in Bagdad tauchten wir in das vertraute Chaos ein. Wir lebten mit der Herausforderung wie alle anderen auch. Wir hatten Spaß und lachten, weinten, hatten Wut und trauerten. Machten Witze über den Tod, den Krieg und zerbrachen uns manchmal den Kopf über die aussichtslose Lage. Es war einfach der normale Alltag.

In guten wie in schlechten Zeiten. Wenn die Straßen hell erleuchtet waren oder in den dunklen, stromlosen Kriegsnächten, gab mir der Blick auf den Mond Hoffnung und Geborgenheit. Er sieht uns und er sieht die Oma. Wir sind fern und doch nah. Weit weg in Oberösterreich ist jemand, der für uns betet, damit wir die schweren Zeiten überstehen und die guten Zeiten genießen können.

Wenn ich zum Mond schaute, wusste ich, dass wir den nächsten Luftangriff überleben werden, dass wir in den Ferien wieder zu Oma reisen können, und wenn sie mich dann fest umarmte, war wieder Frieden in meiner Seele.

Renaming the sunflower

Veröffentlicht am 3. September 20233. September 2023 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

To begin my story, you need to know that in Iraq we call the sunflower “Abbad Al-Shams.” Translated to English it means “sun worshiper.”
We ate Abbad Al-Shams seeds, and we used its oil for cooking. We studied the fields of these flowers in Geography, and we learned how to grow them in our gardening classes.
We had no other name for the yellow beauties that bent their heads towards the sun as if they were worshiping it until the day the name has been changed by a presidential decree.

It was after the war of 1991 and during the times of the embargo, poverty, and mass depression when a meeting was broadcasted on TV.
The recording showed the former president Saddam Husain receiving a group of people, mostly men. I do not remember if his guests were representatives from the agricultural or religious field, or maybe they were members of the Revolutionary Command Council.

Anyway, they talked, and their conversation went from politics to religion and ended up with the sunflower.
“Abbad Al-Shams, what a name!” The president said to his fellows.
“Only God can be worshipped, right?”
The guests agreed by clapping and were very enthusiastic about his remark. They continued discussing this topic as if it was the only problem left in Iraq to be solved.

At the end of this meeting, the sun worshiper lost its name and was renamed to “Zahrat Al Shams” (translated to English “sun flower”).

If this event was observed alone, it could have been funny. To see so many important men in suits and uniforms discussing the “sinful” name of a yellow flower and releasing a decree to rename it.

Now, when I look back and see the big picture, I know that it was not a random event. It was one of many actions set by the government after 1991 to drive the Iraqi society into extreme religiosity.

In Iraq, a country that is the home of more than 5 religions, divided into several confessional groups, religion in the wrong hands is a dangerous weapon.

Keeping the people obedient by connecting the love and fear of God with the submissiveness to the leaders is a path that all Iraqi governments followed and are still following since then.

Yes or yes

Veröffentlicht am 30. Mai 202331. Mai 2023 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

They were hard times for him and for us.
He had lost a war and was betrayed by his family and we were angry and exhausted from the war and embargo, and depressed from the economic recession.
We desperately needed action and he knew exactly what should be done.

It was just a normal day in 1995, when a meeting of the Revolutionary Command Council was broadcasted on TV. Nothing unusual on the evening program, but the announcement at the end was rather unexpected: The Iraqi people will be able to prove to the whole world their love and support to the president by a presidential election.

Wow, what a phrase “presidential election”.
I was surely not the only one in Iraq who never thought of hearing that kind of announcement. We were surprised and started puzzling; “Will there be more than one candidate?”, “Who is that crazy to run against him?”, “Maybe some fake candidates will be assigned just for the show?”, “What if he really allowed others to run for elections and one of them won the election? Would he concede?”, “Is it a planned act to hand over the power to one of his sons?”, “Is he tired and willing to resign?”, “Is it a clever move to get the UN’s attention and end the embargo?”
So many questions on everyone’s mind. Fortunately we did not have to wait for long to get the answers.
Soon the rules of the game were announced. There will be no other candidates than Saddam Husain himself. The election will be on October 15th and the Iraqis will have to answer one question with “yes” or “no”
The question was: “هل توافق على أن يكون الرئيس صدام حسين رئيساً للجمهورية؟”
Which translates into: “Do you agree that President Saddam Hussein be the President of the Republic?”
Not really a lot of options to choose from, but at least we knew he still held on to power and he was not handing it over to one of his two sons. At least not for now.

So, basically it was a referendum rather than an election. I didn’t really know the difference between the two words before that event.

Anyway, the preparation started and the streets were filled with people shouting “yes, yes, to our leader Saddam Husain”.
It was like a competition for who shows the greatest support. Praising songs and poems were broadcasted on the radio and TV the whole day, as well as interviews showing people on the streets promising eternal loyalty to the president.
The members of the Ba’ath party visited each home and registered the residents eligible to vote.
Every Iraqi citizen over 18, in a stable mental health and without criminal record was allowed to vote.
So for our household, all three of us were invited to vote in a voting centre, that was in a primary school nearby.
Before the Ba’ath party men left, one of them said: “of course we are sure you will make the right choice on the voting day”.

Meanwhile rumors about planned manipulation of the referendum started to circulate; stories like: “They will have cameras in the voting booths and “no”-voters will be immediately imprisoned” or “Someone will check every envelope as soon as it’s thrown in the box to identify the people voting “no” and to punish them later” were spread around among the citizens.

Soon, the 15th of October came and it was one big party day in Iraq. Music was playing in front of the voting centres. Some people were showing their loyalty by marking the “yes” space on the paper with a bloody fingerprint instead of making the cross with a pen.

The election officials were very helpful and friendly. I went into the booth, made my cross on „yes“, gave the paper in the envelope and dropped it in the voting box.
Why “yes”? Well, what was the other option?
I really searched for cameras in the booth but didn’t find any. If they were there, they must have been extremely tiny. I doubt we had such technology then, but why play with fire.

I even don’t think anyone had the chance to open the box after each voter, since the people were coming and going continuously, and the committee was never alone.

Everything seemed to match the international standards.
Soon, the counting started, and our district had 100% “yes” votes. The only problem was that I knew at least two in our neighborhood who swore that they had voted “no”.
Manipulating was easier than we thought. The “no’s” were just not counted. No district wanted to have the most negative voters.
One of our relatives was so upset her “no“ was not considered, that she almost reported herself.

The next day, the final count was published. 99.96% voted “yes”. This was the result of the votes of about 8 million Iraqis. In the evening, a song was run on TV that started with the phrase: “ninety nine and ninety six percent …“ this song was played for so long, that I don’t think I would ever forget the result of this referendum.

Saddam showed up on TV happy and satisfied. At least we didn’t disappoint him the way his sons-in-law did. And who knows maybe he really thought the result was out of pure love.

There was one more referendum before 2003, but I don’t have a lot of memories of it, maybe because it wasn’t that spectacular anymore or because the drums of war were beating too loud that I was distracted.

Note: looking up the dates before writing this story, I read the Wikipedia article of the referendum. I noticed two things: first, the Arabic article was very short and had poor information, which surprised me because who, if not Iraqis, should write the full and exact facts about the country.
After reading the terms of editing Wikipedia articles, it was clear that being a time witness is not an acceptable reference. One must write a book first and then refer to it.
Second: in the English article that was quite long and detailed, it was written that: “Saddam himself never appeared in public prior to the election, but paid supporters streamed through the streets, shouting „Naam, naam, Saddam“ („Yes, yes, Saddam“)”
The people were never paid; they were instructed to show support and they did. Mostly the people on the street were school children who were happy to miss class, the district Ba’ath party members and the labor unions.

Looting

Veröffentlicht am 7. März 20237. März 2023 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

Usually, I do not read the newspaper in the morning. I think it is a wise decision, because some weeks ago I read an article in the New York Times, while having my breakfast. The story stuck with me for the whole day. The headline said: “Looting Art Of Ukraine Is an Attack On Identity”. Reading these words made me feel a familiar sadness; it might as well have been a headline about Iraq from 2003. I can relate to the pain of war and loss very much.

I remembered the days that followed the fall of Baghdad. The US army didn’t secure any governmental buildings but stood still watching the frustrated people loot and damage them. In some cases, the US soldiers even participated in the act themselves. The only building they found worthy of immediate protection was the ministry of oil.

The world watched as Iraqis, who had suffered 13 years of embargo and three exhausting wars, rushed into banks, ministries, museums, and other buildings to grab what their hands could reach, while the American soldiers were laughing and shouting “Come in Ali Baba. Yalla, yalla!”

Whilst the plundered items from most of the buildings were mainly furniture, money and documents, the national museum was robbed of irreplaceable pieces of Iraq’s history and human heritage.

In the time I was living in Baghdad, the museum, which was officially opened in 1966, was closed most of the time due to the wars. The artifacts were stored in the basement, to save them from bombings. I only had the chance to visit the museum once. I was fortunate enough to get a special tour from our Austrian archaeologist friend Prof. Helga, when it re-opened between 1989 and 1990. Hearing her description, seeing the beauty of the ancient arts, and being in the middle of 7000 years of human history, made it an unforgettable experience. My visit was crowned by the moment I saw the treasure of Nimrud’s Queens: A breath-taking collection of gold crowns, seals, and more. One of the two pieces I liked most was a delicate marble vase that was so thin, it almost looked transparent. I wondered how it remained preserved, since about 700 BC. The second one was a pendant with a colourful palm tree motive. This treasure was displayed only for a brief time and was later stored in the national bank during the embargo and the years that followed. Fortunately, it survived the lootings.

In April 2003, I had a totally different unforgettable experience. The pictures we saw on TV were both scary and sad. There was a big hole in the beautiful Assyrian gate facade caused by a US tank. In front of it, a sandy and muddy mess instead of what used to be an asphalt street leading to the entrance. A crowd of people was storming into the building and destroying the showcases to take whatever they were able to carry, with no regard to the harm they were causing to their own heritage.

We had friends working at the museum and in the archaeological sector. Their reports were heart breaking and upsetting. They mentioned that employees of the museum asked the American soldiers positioned near the museum to protect the building just a few hours before the looting began, but the soldiers didn’t respond. The looting went on for a whole three days and only a week later the museum got secured, but by then the damage was already done.

As a measure of prevention, most of the valuable pieces were not displayed in the exhibition halls. They were kept in safes before the war started. The looters were able to locate and even access these areas, which is a sign that organised criminals have been among them. They knew exactly what to take and where to find it.

Concerned citizens entered with the looters to save what they could from being stolen. They kept the artifacts at their homes and brought them back after the museum was secured.

Due to the looting of Baghdad being covered by the international media, the US army was forced to protect the buildings and start investigations. In the meantime, archaeological excavation sites were an open playground for thieves and vandals. As a result, most of these sites were robbed and damaged badly. The harm there was even greater. To this day it is not known what was stolen from these sites.

Watching these incidents gave the words “fallen country” a new meaning. A meaning I wish I had never experienced. The obvious disinterest of US forces in securing the country, the rising aggression of the people who had little to nothing and now even lost their jobs (especially after the disbandment of the Iraqi military) and the damaged infrastructure, were yet again proof that the war never truly was about freeing Iraq. It was about ruining the country, controlling the oil, and deleting the identity of Iraq.

A few days after the looting, the museum staff, and a lot of Iraqi and foreign archaeologists, worked day and night to clean up the mess, document the missing artefacts and restore what was left.

Today, almost 20 years after the war, Iraq is showing signs of recovery: Offical reports say, that about 40% of the stolen artifacts were returned to the museum and the international investigations are still ongoing to retrieve all the missing pieces. The museum and a lot of the archaeological sites re-opened for visitors again. And tourists are showing big interest in visiting the country.

It was a long and painful path and there is still a lot that must be done, but hopefully we are witnessing the beginning of a new era of peace and recovery.

Photo: The New York Times (Monday, January 23, 2023) in collaboration with Der Standard. The Looting of the Iraq Museum, Baghdad – ISBN 0-8109-5872-4.

The sound of silence

Veröffentlicht am 28. November 202228. November 2022 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

When I was a child, I often heard my father and his siblings talk about the demonstrations and the strikes they used to join when they were in high school and college. It seemed as if they were talking about a different world. One, that I could not relate to.

They demonstrated against increasing bread prices, against corruption in the government and the high rate of unemployment. It did not stop them that their father had a prominent position in the kingdom that Iraq was at that time. It was only normal for them to go out and express their anger towards the royal family and the government.

For me, these stories felt like parts of a long-gone history. Not more than narratives from our history books at school, where we learned about “some” revolutions that took place in Iraq. They mentioned, among others, the 1920 Iraqi Revolt against the British occupation and the 17^th of July revolution led by the Ba’ath party. The revolution of the 17^th of July 1968 was always described as the final one.

I had a picture in mind of a boiling and angry Iraqi past. But fortunately, I was born at the end of the movie, where all evil was defeated, and “living happily ever after” is the present. Our parents fixed everything for us. We had no reason to go out to the streets and raise our voices. All is great in this country.

Unfortunately, childhood does not last forever, and the veil was lifted slowly. I started seeing fear, oppression and dark clouds covering the sky of Iraq. I saw injustice everywhere, but no sign of anger. The crowds that once condemned the government for the increasing price of bread was silent.

In 1980, a war against our neighbour country, Iran, started. A war, that lasted eight years and ended after the death of a million Iraqis, most of them young men. But no rage was seen. No angry parents asking the leader: “why did you send my son to die?”

Instead, the local television portrayed the families of martyrs as blessed and proud citizens. I remember a musical act named “The mother of the martyred”. It started with a war scene and a woman receiving the coffin of her son. The woman stands silent for a short while, when suddenly she starts ululating and dancing.

I was confused watching her being happy about her martyred son. I asked myself “Why is she not breaking out in tears? Even a cat cries, when losing a kitten. Why should a human mother be ululating over the coffin of her child?”

That musical was a piece of manipulation and provocation. But no one criticised it.

Perhaps the critical voices were in prison or had fled the country.

In 1982, travel was banned for all 13 million Iraqis. The basic human right of free movement was taken away from all the people in the country and again no voices raised against this decision, and no one held a poster with the words: “I don’t agree.”

But who knows, there might have been a sound of anger that never reached our ears?

On the 2^nd of August 1990, after not even two years of peace with Iran, the Iraqi army invaded Kuwait, an Arabic country, a neighbour, a smaller brother.

I was visiting my Austrian grandmother when it happened. I could not believe the international news reports shown on TV. I needed two days to realise it was true and not some misunderstanding. And yes, it was just as bad as it sounded. Nothing could justify the insidious attack. My head was full of question marks “What happened to the Arabic dream we were reading about in school? One big Arab nation from Morocco to Iraq. Where did the words of unity and freedom go? And what about all the slogans that were written all over the country?”

The Iraqi media started a mass brainwashing campaign. Instead of rebelling, people started convincing themselves that it was the right decision to invade Kuwait.

Where was our anger? Why were we hiding it even from ourselves? Why were the parents crying for the loss of their children instead of standing up and saying: “no, enough is enough. No more senseless killing and getting killed”? Why does everybody have this deep fear, that dying from a bomb is easier than going out to the streets and expressing the anger? Questions that stayed unanswered.

And maybe there were voices against the invasion, but they have been silenced before being heard.

The 1991 war ended, and it seemed like “peace” prevailed in Baghdad. But the rumours told a different story. There were demonstrations all over the country. People woke up and wanted change. The rumours became louder, and the local media had to react. On TV they called the demonstrators a mob willing to destroy the country.

The whole act soon went from angry people raising their voices against their government to a massacre in which more than one country got involved. Opposing militant groups, stationed in the neighbouring countries took the chance and started arming the angry people.

There was only one rule for the government troops: Killing as many and with any method needed till the crowd is silenced.

The rage ended after tens of thousands were killed, the marshes (Iraq’s largest wetland ecosystem) was almost completely drained, and the marsh Arabs forcefully relocated. The northern regions that were supported by the US, gained a federal government, and were separated from the rest of Iraq.

An extremely brutal video that showed the torturing and killing of the rebels and their families (men, women and even children), was spread among the people, to show what happens to the ones who dare to raise their voices.

It was then that my teenage mind understood that the silence we experienced was not the outcome of disregard or utter satisfaction, it was the result of extreme fear.

Today I know more about what happened back then and what is still happening in Iraq and many other countries.

People will be intimidated when the punishment is by far greater than the crime, when raising your voice does not harm you alone but will harm your family and beloved once, and when getting killed is not the worst thing that could happen to you.

In Memory of Dr. Helga

Veröffentlicht am 19. August 20228. November 2022 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

Among the highlights of my time living in Baghdad, were Dr. Helga’s regular visits.

Dr. Helga was a professor of ancient orientalism at the university of Innsbruck in Austria. She worked in different historical sites in Iraq since 1978.

From 1980 till 2003 she was one of two team leaders of the excavation team at Borsippa, a Sumerian archaeological site in the province of Babylon. Its importance leads back to the preserved ruins of the Ziggurat and temple of Nabu.

The team’s research was based on the international renowned project “Comparative studies Babylon-Borsippa”.

The group visited Iraq twice a year and stayed for about two to four weeks.

We first met Dr. Helga in 1986, when a friend told my mother that an Austrian lady was looking for a place to stay in Baghdad for a few days and my mother immediately offered to host her at our house. As soon as we got to know her, the guest room turned into an open home for Dr. Helga, whenever she was in Baghdad. The Austrian lady became a close friend and part of the family.

She loved Iraq and knew about the history and the geography of the country more than most of us Iraqis. She could talk endlessly about the beauty of the country, the ancient history, the kindness of Iraqi people. Speaking with her was enriching.

Every time she arrived in Baghdad and came to stay at our house, it felt like Christmas. She brought a lot of Austrian specialities, that we couldn’t get in Baghdad, like smoked cheese, Mozart Kugels, Haribo gold bears and Manner wafers, as well as gifts and letters from my Austrian grandmother.

She spent a few days at our place, but most of the time she was with her team in Babylon near the archaeological site. They stayed in a house sponsored by the Iraqi ministry of culture and information that was built under the supervision of Dr. Helga.

I remember the time when the house was under construction. She was very happy that it was planned according to the old regional construction methods, using bricks, clay and straw, and a special air circulation system that regulated the temperature of the building.

Sometimes dealing with the young students was a bit of a challenge. For example, she told them not to underestimate the heat of the direct sun, when working on the site. They should use sunscreen, wear a shirt with long sleeves, trousers instead of shorts and cover their heads. The temperatures in June could reach 45°C in the shadow. Unfortunately it was not seldom that one of the students thought they knew better and went to the site in an “Austrian summer outfit“ to end up with a heat stroke that kept them in bed for the rest of the trip.

She would say: “We give them a list of instructions before travelling and I tell them again when we arrive, but those who don’t listen have to feel!”

It became a tradition that we invite the whole delegation once or twice upon their stay to our place. We mostly made Austrian food for them. They appreciated it a lot, especially at the end of the trip, when the young students were feeling homesick.

I remember one of those invitations very well.

The delegation came back from a two-week stay at the excavation site and was about to travel back to Austria. Dr. Helga asked me to surprise the students with Gulasch and Spaetzle. A famous Austrian dish. I was happy to do so and didn’t think twice about it.

On the day of the invitation, I entered the kitchen to start cooking, and “click” the electricity went off. It was 12 o’clock, meaning the temperature in my kitchen, which was facing the sun, would rise form the 28°C to unbearable in no time. I started making the Gulasch (a stew of meat, onions, tomatoes and paprika) and watched the thermometer: 35, 36, 37°C. The big pot was simmering on the fire, when I filled a second pot with water for the Spaezle (tiny dumplings). To cook Spaezle I had to scrub the dough into the boiling salted water. So, I stood in front of the stove, facing the boiling water and breathing in the hot steam. My eyes on the thermometer: 42, 43, 44°C. I didn’t really need to look at the thermometer anymore, I was feeling every degree on my skin. The wide, short, and sleeveless summer dress I was wearing turned into a sticky wet piece of clothing covering my body, and the kitchen was more like a sauna than a cooking place. My only thought at that moment: “note to myself: never make Gulasch in summer. Never, ever, ever!”

Fortunately, just a few minutes before the guests arrived, the electricity came back, and I had the chance to cool down before welcoming my guests.

The group was very happy about the food and praised my cooking. I didn’t tell them about my sauna experience.

When they were leaving, Dr. Helga hugged me and said: “Thank you for the nice lunch. You are my Austrian oasis in Baghdad.”

The project in Borsippa was stopped after the US invasion in 2003. But Dr. Helga kept working voluntarily in Iraq and for the Iraqi people. She was one of the first to come from abroad and help the museum staff to clean the mess and document the stolen pieces. The damage to the museum was immense, after the US army failed to (or maybe did not care to) secure the museum. The soldiers stood still watching the damaging and looting of the place. She also kept helping the workers and their families who worked at the excavation and were jobless after the project stopped.

The last time I talked to her, she was extremely sad and was mourning Iraq. The great physical and mental damage that happened to the country and the people broke her heart. Yet she never gave up hope, that soon we will be going back to rebuild the country and celebrate peace and freedom.

Sadly, her hopes stayed unfulfilled, and just like Iraq she didn’t recover from the pain of war and loss. In March 2020 Dr. Helga left this world to rest in peace.

On her obituary notice they quoted her: “Only the waters of Euphrates and Tigris made my soul heal”.

The Old Man and the Sea

Veröffentlicht am 19. Mai 202220. Mai 2022 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

It must have been October or November 1980, when this story took place.

I was grocery shopping with my mother in Shawwaka, an old district in the Center of Baghdad, located by the Tigris side, and known for its beautiful old buildings and big market area. Some of the buildings looked so fragile, that one would wonder how people could live in them, without being afraid that they would collapse by the slightest wind blow. The shops on the side of the market facing the river were mainly fishermen shops, selling either fish or fishing equipment.

Because of the fish smell and the crowded narrow streets, this market was not really a place I liked. I was walking closely to my mother and hoping to go home soon.

Suddenly the sirens went off and an ugly loud black air fighter appeared in the cloudless blue sky. We panicked, just like everyone else on the street. My mother took my hand and moved quickly, trying to find a place to shelter us. In that moment, an older man, who sold fishing equipment, came out of his small shop, and waved to us to get into his shop.

We stood inside. My whole body was shivering while watching and listening to the aircraft booming right in front of us. Soon, the Iraqi air defence started shooting anti-aircraft missiles up to target, the invading air fighter.

The kind old man noticed my fear and tried to distract me by showing me the different types of fishnets. He told me that he was a fisherman and that the fishnets were all hand made by him. His talk drew my attention to the world of fishing and made the war around me seem like a far background sound.

I only looked up again, the moment he stared at the sky, to see the Iranian airplane flying away covered by a dark grey smoke cloud.

Moments later, people started getting back on the streets as if nothing had happened, and the sound of the ending siren mixed with the sound of the ambulance car sirens moving fast to the bombed locations.

The man gave me a piece of a fishnet. My mother thanked him for hosting us and she immediately stopped a taxi to take us home.

Years later, when I read the book “The old man and the sea”, the picture in my mind of the old man, was that of the old fisherman of Shawwaka.

What if she will rest in peace?

Veröffentlicht am 3. April 20223. April 2022 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

Madeline Albright, who served as the US Secretary of state from 1997 to 2001, died at the age of 84 surrounded by family and friends.

Statement from the family of Madeleine K. Albright

The tweet, posted by her family, also said “We have lost a loving mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, and friend.”

Missing in the tweet was the fact that the loving mother and grandmother was, among other, responsible for the death of more than half a million Iraqi children and the destruction of the Iraqi community.

She was once asked in an interview, if this high child death count was worth it. She answered: “I think this is a very hard choice, but the price–we think the price is worth it.”

Later she apologised for what she said with the words: “As soon as I had spoken, I wished for the power to freeze time and take back those words. My reply had been a terrible mistake, hasty, clumsy and wrong. Nothing matters more than the lives of innocent people. I had fallen into the trap and said something I simply did not mean. That was no one’s fault but my own.”

Well, she apologised for what she said but not for what she did.

She never publicly regretted the killing of the Iraqi people by the sanctions, that had no reason after the withdrawal of the Iraqi troops from Kuwait at the end of the 1991 war.

Iraq’s military power and infrastructure were destroyed by the war. The long embargo after that, was soon proven a useless method against the ruling authority. It’s only effect was to totally destroy the Iraqi community, the cause that made Iraq a cradle for all evil after finalising the catastrophe with the 2003 war and the removal of the authority that was, more or less, holding everything together by force and fear.

The US troops came on the pretext of mass destruction weapons and promised to give the Iraqi people the “freedom” they didn’t ask for, because they had no time to think of freedom when they desperately needed food, medicine, and stability. No wonder “freedom” turned into “anarchy” and “instability”.

The late Ms. Albright had enough time to observe the effects of her decision and to at least beg for forgiveness for what she had done. Well, she decided not to regret and to give excuses and free herself from the responsibility. She left the world, that she made a worse place for so many others, to rest in peace.

And I ask myself “What if she will really rest in peace?”

Changing History

Veröffentlicht am 5. März 202217. Mai 2022 von RanaSchreib einen Kommentar

In the middle of the Ukrainian crisis and all that’s happening in the world right now, I keep seeing a lot of parallels with what happened in August 1990. Back when Iraq invaded Kuwait under the leadership of Saddam Hussein.

A large country, economically exhausted, turning the eyes of the world towards it, by invading its much smaller neighbour country.

And although it was no surprise, it was a surprise.

What started as a power show-off turned into an invasion. An invasion like the invasions those same leaders were condemning days before.

To justify the occupation of Kuwait, a long list of reasons was presented: “Kuwait was originally part of Iraq”, “The people of Kuwait wanted to get back to the roots”, “The leaders of Kuwait threatened to ruin Iraq’s economy” and many more reasons.

I was raised in Baghdad since 1980, when I was 6 years old. I got the full Ba’ath education in school. I was a believer. I sang the national songs, I Saluted the flag every Thursday in school and I loved Baba Saddam. But on the 2nd of August 1990 everything changed. All that I believed in, in the provirus 10 years fall apart in few weeks.

After years of praising the Arabic dream of unity, brotherhood and the one united Arab nation from Morocco to Iraq, the Arab leaders started fighting on the media and uncovering all the hidden ugly sides of each other. Almost all were against Iraq, with some exceptions. Manly because of financial dependencies. Simulator to the political situation today. All against Russia except for some few real “good friends”.

Suddenly the leaders of the Arab countries were no longer respected brothers on the Iraqi news. President Hosni Mubarak was Hosni El-Khafif (meaning “loose Hosni”), the King of Saudi Arabia, the custodian of the two holy mosques, toured into the custodian of the Americans and the prince of Kuwait was the sick man who wanted to marry his daughter because he didn’t know her, having to many wives and children to recognise all of them.

One of the defining events, that made me abhor my country’s politics, was, when the teacher asked us to go to the school library, open all the books, deleted the words “county of Kuwait” and replace them by the words “the governorate of Kuwait”. My friend and I argued with the teacher, that we should not change history. The time the book was published it was a country. Even if it is now considered a governorate, it is not a reason to change the past and maybe soon it will be a country again? (We didn’t add: Since the whole world is preparing for the war, to free Kuwait). Our teacher just said: “Stop talking. These are orders from the ministry. Just do it!”. “And use pens. The change must be permanent!”, she added. Our hidden protest was that we used pencils and just crossed out the words with a light line.

For me, and maybe a lot of other Iraqis, the world before the invasion of Kuwait was a totally different one, than the world I woke up to, on that black August morning in 1990.

The latest events have brought back this bitter feeling of disappointment.

I see a lot of similarities but differences too. The similarities in escalating the conflict internationally instead of diplomatic de-escalation. The world starts arming like crazy. The news split the fighting parties into the good guys and the bad guys depending on the channel one is watching. The UN make sanctions that mostly cause the poor to become poorer and the megalomaniac to get crazier. While the US plays the role of the hero that will rescue the world, even though they have poured the most oil into the fire the first place.

The big difference now is the fact that this time the villain is the mighty leader of Russia and not the leader of Iraq. When Saddam threatened to destroy the world, the world knew exactly what he possessed and how efficient it was. An Austrian, working for a German company in Iraq once said: “We can sell to Iraq every weapon we want, as long as it is missing some bolts, if you know what I mean!”. While Putin’s threat, of making the world see what it had never seen before, is real. Especially if 30 countries led by the USA would try to free Ukraine with a military act.

To mention here is that, when the US invaded Iraq with false reasons and committed one war crime after the other, Bush jr. was not represented by the media as the bad guy. No sanctions were made on the US, no boarders or airspaces were closed, and the international criminal court will never charge him.

I had a relative who used to say: “same, same but different!”. Maybe this brings it to the point.