As my finger punched the “hang up” button of my cell phone after talking to my aunt in My aunt called me yesterday afternoon as I was having lunch before heading to my classes. When I saw her name displayed on the cell phone screen, I was so happy to the extent that I threw away the chicken sandwich I was biting. She is my mother’s closest sister who used to visit us frequently before the war. Like most Baghdadi women, she used to have relatively a normal life. As Russia-educated journalist, she’s been working in the media field for a long time writing about the Iraqi youth, every day life, food, and of course, women.
Under the dark era of Saddam and the darkest era followed, she never stopped reporting. She went to her work during the three successive wars. She never left without a notebook and a pen. In fact, her bag had different kinds of notebooks and pens in which I used to tease her sometimes by asking her if she robbed a stationary. Her image with the notebook interviewing people in my neighborhood during the 1991 US-led war is still vivid in my mind reminding me of how strong and full of will she was. She would drive every two or three days to her newspaper headquarters which was close to my neighborhood and hand out her reporting to her editors who had already compiled a bunch of different other stories form other reporters in other areas in
As a secular Muslim, she never believed in wearing the scarf, not because she is against it or because she criticizes it, but because she is not convinced of wearing it. She believes women should not be forced to wear it. She had friends from different sects and religions, most of them were teachers, artists, painters, and even singers. They used to hang out every week talking about their life and their jobs and hobbies as they enjoy sipping the dark, strong Arabic coffee which she is an expert of making.
Today, my aunt is one of the millions of victims of fanaticism that came to the “new
A few months before I left
A few days after I left, she and her husband left their house for good. Life is more precious to be wasted by those thugs, she told me once when I was in
When I asked her how she is doing, “still alive,” she replied. She told me that although she is forced to wear the scarf and that she became unable to drive her car often these days, she is still going to work every single day reporting and writing about life that is almost vanishing.
“If I don’t go to work and others don’t, who will?” she said leaving me in a greater respect for her. It’s amazing how hope still has a space in her heart.
Oh women of
