When I was waiting at the Baghdad International Airport for a flight to Erbil last month, an American friend of mine started asking me about Baghdad as he's never been here before the war. I took a long breath and said, "I miss Baghdad."He asked me how come I miss Baghdad while I live in it. "It is not the same Baghdad. I feel I live in another city and I do miss Baghdad," I answered.
Remembering how Baghdad was beautiful, I started describing how amazing it was. Starting from the nice streets like Abu Nawwas, I felt I am talking about my soul, my soul which was crushed twice. Once when Saddam and his gang were not loyal to it and second, when the American troops crushed what was left.
My friend whom I was accompanying told me one thing, "Bassam, you should leave this country. It's been fucked up!" expressing that he hates to say that. My reaction appeared on my face immediately. "I know," I said sadly and as if my heart was telling me "No, no. don't do that."
"I will come back. don't worry," I said.
When the plane took off, I started looking at the city and said, "Oh my God! It looks so beautiful." Then memories flahsed back in my mind: playing with my cousins near the great Sharzad and Shahrayar statue in Abu Nawwas St., going to the amazing Baghdad Island, spending Eid with friends and relatives in Baghdad's cafés and restaurants, enjoying the fireworks during the celebrations, enjoy visiting the Baghdad International Fair, going to picnics with my friends and colleagues of school, going to the swimming pools in the five stars hotels, and so on.
"Welcome in Erbil International Airport …," the airhostess said waking me up.
Staying in Erbil for some work did not make me forget about Baghdad. The bad news continue as usual. Watching the news in my hotel room, "dozens of Iraqis were killed in three car bombs in central Baghdad," the CNN reporter said.
One day, I was alone in the hotel as I did not have much work to do, so I decided to hang out and buy some clothes from a nearby commercial street.
"Are you from Baghdad?" a Kurdish clothes store owner asked me.
"Yes," I replied. Then he started talking in a perfect Iraqi dialect.
"How is Baghdad?" he asked.
"Fifty, fifty," I replied.
"Oh! I miss Baghdad," he said. I was shocked.
"Really?!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, I used to go to Baghdad back in the eighties. It was so beautiful. Is it the same now?" he asked.
"No, you will never know it," I said.
"I cannot go there," he said.
"Why?" I wondered.
"Because I am a Kurd," he said.
"So what? You should come but you should be careful of the strangers who came from outside Baghdad and trying to destroy it," I said.
"Baghdad was so nice and beautiful. I used to bring my family and enjoy the modern life in it," he said.
Returning back to the hotel walking, I remembered a very well-known Iraqi song, called "Baghdad", by a wonderful Iraqi singer, Kadhum Al-Sahir.
"Her eyes are my home and my bed and her ribs are my pillow. She wipes away all the sadness of my life if her finger touches my forehead. Embrace me, you the most beautiful women. Baghdad, Baghdad."
