Words from Palestine

More than anyone I have met in Iraq, Amahl reminds me of the Native American elders of home who devote so much of their energy keeping their tribal culture alive. Amahl’s home-al beit al Iraq (The House of Iraq)- which might also be called an antiquities shop, a museum of culture and an historic landmark of architecture, lies between the sleepy Tigris River and a bustling Baghdad street. Though the entryway into her home is indistinguishable from the others on the avenue, it gives visitors passage into the history of Iraqi art and culture.

We are greeted by Amahl and several of her friends, all dressed in modest western attire and fluent in the English language. With the hospitality so much a part of Iraqi life, tea and sweets are shared around as we are given an informal tour of Amahl’s home, then left to chat and browse. Our hostess, a small woman about fifty years of age, is highly educated and speaks four languages fluently. In the United States she could command a high salary as a university professor or an artist. But this is Iraq and since sanctions have destroyed the economy, attaining a just wage is impossible. Luckily for Amahl, a just wage is not her major concern. Like the Native elders who investigate, record, share and teach the culture and languages of their tribe, Amahl is motivated to share the rich Iraqi traditions with the forthcoming generations.

Four rooms make up the front of the house. The first is devoted to tile mosaics, sculpture and small furniture; the next clothing and bedroom furniture; the third jewelry and small silver pieces; and a fourth room is lined with wall art. Then a passageway leads to the main living area: a courtyard alive with native flora and fauna surrounded on three sides by living space and the fourth side by the Tigris River.

As we sit in the courtyard sipping tea, Amahl explains some of the architecture of her home. She comes to a wall that does not quite fit with the rest of her home. She explains that when the bridge in back of her home which spans the Tigris was bombed in 1991, this wall crumbled. The wall was replaced by a temporary structure, the intention being to replicate the original when some amount of assurance came that another bombing campaign would not destroy it as well. That was in 1991. No such assurance has come yet, and in fact the chance that her home and its many cultural treasures will survive the “shock and awe” bombing campaign being threatened is questionable.

About a week after the bombing had begun, Amahl phoned the hotel we were staying in to see if we were all OK. I assured her we were fine, and expressed concern for her-she sounded extremely anxious. She said she was not staying at the al beit al Iraq but had gone to another home for safety. It had been heavily damaged in a bombing raid and she had lost the personal possessions she had there. I told her there were some of us who would to come and visit with her, but she insisted we not as she said the neighborhood was still being bombed sporadically and a visit would be unsafe. I asked her if there were sensitive sites nearby that would explain the bombing of this residential neighborhood. She said there was not-the only building other than residences was the neighborhood mosque. A day or so later Amahl called the hotel again. This time she was calling from a friend’s home. The house she had been in was destroyed in another bombing raid.

After the U.S. military invaded Baghdad and looting became extensive, al beit al Iraq was stripped bare. There was literally nothing left in the building. The Persian carpets which had covered the floors were gone. Furniture and personal items were stolen. The walls were bereft of their artwork. Amahl lost everything. The temporary wall installed after the 1991 bombing now more closely matches the other walls of the home, a reminder of the scourge of war.