On the banks of the Tigris
THERE ARE no dreams without water, and there are no great cities without rivers that course through their history. Baghdad is a city that slumbers by the slow current of the Tigris, its seasons coming alive as the river snakes around it. From time immemorial, the river has meandered to its eternal destination, gravely regarding the things dotting its shores, discovering their deepest secrets and carrying their stories, artlessly permeating people's relationships.
A child surrounded by fickleness, inconstancies and promises might marvel at the lazy flow of the river. The small, coloured skiffs drift between the banks of the Tigris as if lost. They commune with the river's soul, rekindling the green candles of its eyes that have been blown out by the small, jocular waves.
The bits of things floating on the river dance with the faded blue that gilds its surface. The sweetness of the river's water astonishes those who guzzle it down with burning delight. At night, the Tigris abates. Surrounded by its solitude, tranquillity bursts from its depths. Its sighs stretch out to touch its banks, and, in the dark emptiness, the reflection of lights settles on the water's surface, leaving dancing traces of flickering light on the river's banks.
The Tigris flows through wide, open lands, not all of which have grown into cities; there must be something that tempts the river into conceiving cities that it will surround with its compassionate waves, transmitting to them the essence of history. The city and the river are equivalents, like a thing and its image. The river divides the city into two halves like a tasty apple. The river's banks are the lips of the city, always curled in a smile, being lips that weave stories and laugh bitterly. The river is the city's smile; when the smile fades, cities die. Even the most bustling metropolis is forgotten when a river dries up.
There is always a bridge spanning a river, and the bridges of Baghdad point to the roads that cross the river, connecting the two parts of the city. One of these was once a wooden bridge. Linking Al-Azamiya with Al-Kazemiya, the bridge was composed of a long row of skiffs that rocked with the river's waves. At times, the waves would sweep the bridge away, whereupon Baghdadis would stage a celebration, beating drums and playing the mizmar until the bridge was set aright. This bridge remained in place until the reign of Governor Nameq Pasha. An iron bridge was built in its stead by the British occupying forces to provide the Atifiya area with supplies.
Baghdad had no bridges until 1889, when the first bridge was built from wooden rafts. Called the Karara Bridge, it was built by Governor Mustafa Asem Pasha on the site of the Khurr Bridge, inaugurated by Governor Ata Pasha in 1898. The latter was also called Al-Hamidi Bridge, after the Ottoman Sultan Abdul-Hamid. That bridge is no longer there; it was replaced by an iron bridge, which was in turn replaced by a small bridge that still crosses the river today.
Floating skiffs and boats were once the most important means of linking Al-Rasafa with Al-Karkh. The Caliph Mansur linked the two banks of the Tigris with two large bridges composed of a series of boats. When Hulagu occupied the city, he, too, connected the banks of the city by two bridges composed of boats, one at the top of the city and the other at the bottom.
In 1956, the regent Abdullah inaugurated the Queen Aliya Bridge. It is said that he landed on the bridge in a helicopter, the first to set down on any bridge in Baghdad. Before the inauguration of the Queen Aliya Bridge, the Ahrar Bridge was opened, also called the Maude Bridge, named after the leader of the British military force occupying Iraq in 1914- 1918. There was also the King Faisal Bridge, and before that, the Martyrs Bridge (also called the Old Bridge), the Kuta Bridge, and the Mamoun Bridge, which has maintained its name throughout the ages. The Hanging Bridge, inaugurated in 1959, is a relatively new bridge in Baghdad. The Jumhouriya Bridge was built soon after.
The bridges of Baghdad are related to a specific number in popular memory: it is said that if there are more than eight bridges, then disaster and misfortune will strike the city. A popular sixth sense is wary of the consequences. Though the number of bridges in Baghdad has exceeded eight in the past few years, a certain fear still lurks in the hearts of Baghdadis, etched in their memory by that simple talisman, whose prophecy became a reality of Baghdad life in the early 1990s.
Houses overlook both banks of the river, hidden behind their legendary balconies. Friezes, columns and inscriptions form these shanashil overlooking the river. Shanashil, a Persian word meaning "loge" or "veranda", was in its original form a type of closed room, which later evolved into a balcony that pulls the eye outside the realm of the house. The architecture of the buildings overlooking the banks of the Tigris was also significant. Architects sought to open their structure up to the river, and to open the city onto the river, thus taking into account social and climactic factors and linking the city and the people to the river. The façade architecture on the river's banks made heavy use of shanashil, which have both aesthetic and climactic purposes.
At the same time, architects took into consideration the fragility of the land on the riverbank. Only the bottom floors of the houses were constructed of brick, while the upper floors were built of wood. Many and various are the buildings erected on the banks of the Tigris: the Mustansiriya Madrasa, Abbasid palaces, the Umm Habib Palace, the Republican Palace, the National Assembly, the former British Embassy, the Ministry of Planning, the house of Subhi Al-Daftari, the Hamada Market, the Corniche Al-Azamiya, Abu-Nuwwas Street and King Faisal I's residence in Umm Habib Palace, an old Abbasid house. In the wake of the Tigris's flooding, the king moved temporarily into the house of a Jewish merchant in Azamiya, known as the Shaashuaa Palace. King Faisal II was not able to enjoy the new palace, built for him in Karada Maryam, known later as the Republican Palace.
Baghdad, as a place and an event, has an enduring relationship with the Tigris, though the modern design of the city has ignored this relationship, refusing to interact with the river and its small coastal promenades known as Al- sharayaa, a distinguishing feature of the city. Haphazard construction has upset the relationship between the city and the river and the harmony extending between the two banks, which meet only through bridges. The architecture built on the banks of the Tigris has completely deteriorated, its aesthetic value diminished. An architecture utilising the existence of the river's banks has disappeared, taking with it the significance of the city's relationship with the river.
The sharayaa along the Tigris are the lungs of the city, its elixir of life and the altar of its sacred vows. These are promenades or parks that extend from the edges of the houses overlooking the river and its banks. They start from the East Gate in the south, running until the park of Najib Pasha in the north. East Gate Park is an important watering place for animals. Next, is the Al-Sanak Park opposite the Al- Murabbaa Park facing the Hamadi coffeeshop. There is also the Sayyed Sultan Ali Park, always crowded in summer as it is a centre for swimming lessons. It was also the meeting place for water carriers before a water service was initiated in Baghdad. This is also considered the true port of ancient Baghdad.
The parks continue their path northwards coming to Seven Virgins Park, which used to be known as the Park of Al- Baja Ji before the Ahrar Bridge was built, because here the palaces of the Al-Baja Ji family stood overlooking the Tigris. Beyond this is the Khan Al-Tamr Park, also known as the Governor's Park after one of Baghdad's provincial governors took up residence nearby. Next is the Ras Al-Qariya Park, known as the Beit Dala Park and famous for its coloured fish, followed by the Islamic Court Park, which was used to unload bales of wool coming from the provinces.
The Masbagha Park, next to the Daftardar Building, extends northwards, followed by the Ras Al-Jisr Park, once one of the most crowded parks and the only one that had stairs descending to the edge of the river.
To the north of Martyrs Bridge the Office Park extends to the street separating Al-Qishla and the civil courthouse. Those coming from the Karkh side of the city use this park. To the north of that is the Buzakhana Park, named after the ice machine erected by Medhat Pasha on that very spot. Coming close behind is the Majidiya Park, once used as a bathing spot for the horses of the cavalry. The book of Baghdad's parks ends with the Najib Pasha Park, the last link in a long chain that stretches along the shores of the Tigris. The latter, located in the area between Al-Sarafiya and Al-Azamiya, was named after an Ottoman provincial governor.
There are other private parks belonging to palaces and homes overlooking the river, including the Naqib Park, the Menahim Daniel Park, the British Consulate Park and the Military Governor's Park next to the Hisu Brothers Building.
On the other side of the river, there are also several parks, perhaps the most important being Khadir Elias Park, the Qamariya Mosque Park and Bab Al-Seif Park.
The values of shares in Baghdad's stock market of death increase in the wake of the floods and the rise in the Tigris's water level that happen when the river is satiated with drowned corpses and natural disasters. Destructive floods struck Baghdad in unbelievable succession in 1356, 1368, 1656, 1822, 1834, 1844, 1849, 1868, 1894, 1896, 1907, 1914, 1915, 1916, 1923, 1926, 1952 and 1954. Torrential waves swept away the details of life with each advancing step, to the terror of the city's residents, standing silent as if they had been awaiting the disaster. But life returns to its routine a few days after the floods. Many attempts have been made to build dams and restore old ones, but they have not withstood the river's agitation and its enduring impetuosity.
The river makes the city and defines its personality, then suddenly lays it to waste only to summon it back into being after it rolls back, taking with it the surface of people's memories, people who had seized their lives in an adventure of folly, made stable only by ordeals and the presence of scars from their wounds. During his visit to Baghdad in 1831, the English traveller James Raymond Wellsted recorded in his book, A Journey to Baghdad in the Time of Governor Dawoud Pasha, the flood that encircled the city and threatened its might:
"...Then the waters of the Tigris started to rise on 12 April of that year. In the few preceding days, heavy rains fell and the weather was dark and overcast. The streets, now impassable, were filled with mud and walking in them became impossible. On the night of 20 April, the river basin rapidly filled with water. The riverbanks broke, and the water overtook the bigger part of the city, sweeping away more than 15,000 of its residents, including many of different ages who had been struck with the plague."
"Many of those who died in the flood had saved the lives of their sickly loved ones only to face their own fate without making the slightest effort to escape. From the time of the water's first lurch forward until it subsided, the greater part of the city's homes had deteriorated, with their foundations collapsing a few hours later."
"I was sleeping on the upper floor of the house where I lived when the flood attacked. The gushing of the water woke me as it beat the walls of the room. I calmly stayed in my place and heard no scream to accompany what had happened, nor any moan or wail. But when I sat on the highest part of the wall, I could see a mass of bodies being carried by the gushing water, which had silently swept them away. They were drifting in the water in their white garments. Shortly before dawn, the rapidity of the flood subsided, and the water began gradually to recede. When the sun came out, I descended from the roof to the street with a rope; no sooner had my feet touched the ground than the house in which I had been collapsed with a thunderous roar. It was a fortunate escape, and I turned in the opposite direction and sat on the threshold of one of the mosques there." (A Journey to Baghdad in the Reign of Governor Dawoud Pasha by James Raymond Wellsted, translated by Taha Al-Tikriti, Baghdad: Dar Ihya Al-Turath Al-Arabi, 1984)
Baghdad witnessed repeated floods, to the terror of its citizens. These had an almost magical power to release the thunderous sound of destruction in all parts of the city. Father Anastas Al-Karmali, pastor of the Latin Church, described the flood of 1907:
"During the day of Thursday, 28 March, Baghdadis felt a sudden and unfamiliar heat, totally unusual for that day of the month. The temperature reached 25 Celsius. The people fled from it and feared this great shift in the weather. That night, a great amount of rain fell following thunder like cannon fire and lightening that shredded the surface of the clouds. The rain fell until we thought that the sea had overtaken us and the order of the universe had been upset. The rains kept falling for five days, until the Tigris flooded, breaking the dams and inundating the city. The flood drowned the city and ruined all the crops of wheat and barley, whose tips had already reached one's chest, as well as the beans and other legumes that had been planted."
"Many houses fell on their inhabitants and killed them. Others allowed their inhabitants to escape, and they fled from the assault of the water, leaving all their belongings behind: a man's life became the most precious possession he could save. The water filled many districts, destroying them all. The dead, both animal and human, were innumerable; you saw corpses floating on the surface of the water, to which no one paid any mind. The majority of the dead were in the outskirts of the city in the desert, for the water suddenly surprised and overcame them there with no prior warning. You could hear the tumult and the screams during the night, as if judgment day had come with all its furore, leaving nowhere to run. You saw only a light here, a woman wailing there, over here a wall burying an entire family, over there in a garden wailing and moaning could be heard. Hearing all these details and remembering them is enough to break one's heart to bits or pulverise solid stone." (The Floods of Baghdad, Ahmed Sousa, Baghdad, 1965, part 2, p. 405)
The same terrifying flood was described by Abdul-Aziz Al-Qassab in his book My Memories. Visualising the rush of water coming from the Euphrates towards the Karkh side of Baghdad, he says:
"The water inundated the plains with stunning rapidity until it reached the Masoudi Dam near the mausoleum of Al- Sheikh Al-Junayd and Al-Sitt Zubayda. The force of the water broke the Masoudi Dam. The crashing waves rushed into Karkh and only stopped close to the Hamada Market and Alawi Al-Halla, after everyone -- men and women, soldiers, peasants and workers -- had rushed to save Karkh. Scholars and prominent men participated as well, everyone moving earth, mats and wood for almost a week. This was one of the most trying events in recent memory. That terrible flood caused lethal damage to crops, livestock, buildings and human life; it was as if they had all been washed away by a vast ocean. Boats even started carrying people and merchants between the Euphrates and the Karkh side of Baghdad for quite a long time." (My Memories, Abdul-Aziz Al- Qassab, Beirut, 1962, p. 43)
Baghdad would hear the movement of the mysterious spirits in the Tigris River often in the years to come. The rains would ignite the river, pushing it towards the unknown where it threatened the city, making it eat a bitter feast. The flood of 1914 illustrated the mysterious ways of the river when Baghdad was in the midst of World War I. The river rose following heavy rains that fell from the heavens to pour into floods the likes of which the city had never seen. The government received telegrams from Mosul predicting heavy rain and a rise in the river, warning of the danger of the all- obliterating water that was creeping towards Baghdad. But the government paid no attention. In the black of night, on 29 November, the waters flooded with amazing speed, surrounding the city. Soon enough, they had passed through Bab Al-Sheikh and the cemetery of Al-Sheikh Omar.
The waters continued to roll, unabated, knocking on the gates of other districts of the city. All were to suffer from loss: Al-Fanahira, Al-Sanak, Al-Murabbaa, Al-Uweina, Qahwat Shukr, Fadwat Arab, Al-Kulat, Beni Said, Tataran, Zein Al-Abidin, Al-Sheikh Siraj Al-Din, Farajallah, Al-Khalidiya, Al-Juba, Al-Izzat, Khan Lawind, Al-Maadan, Qahwat Houri.
People fled from their homes, a mass of humanity filled the alleyways, carts wandered aimlessly carrying belongings with water-stained edges. It was three successive days of a battle with death. While the waters eventually receded, and life began once more in the belly of the city, the floods came again in 1926, when Baghdad and the royal palace were flooded, leading the king to move temporarily to the spacious house of Menahim Daniel in the Sanak district. In 1954, for the first time the river lost its bet with the city after the inhabitants fortified their earthen gates against it. It twisted around the gates looking for an opening. Finding none, it silently withdrew, returning alone in eternal labyrinths.
Winters in the city bring to mind the cruel pain of the floods. The city lives at the mercy of the dark clouds, lit up by a glittering flash, plentiful rain, and the clap of thunder. Fear envelops the people, and they repeat their prayers for safety and forgiveness.
Extracted from Jamal Haydar, Baghdad: Malamih Madina fi Dhakirat Al-Sitinat (Baghdad: Memories of a City in the 1960s), Casablanca, 2002.
AL-RASHEED street in Baghdad is a winding road of many names, a street that goes into fitful sleep late at night and springs into action with the first rays of daylight. It is a modern addition to Baghdad, that swiftly emerged as the uncontested centre of action in the city, for its modern shops and cafés had no trouble eclipsing those of the old districts of Baghdad.
Travel writer Amin Al-Rihani, describing the street in the early 1930s, said, "it looks like a street in a European town. The area bordering its eastern side may be just a hundred years old, but it looks ancient at first sight, for its paths are narrow and winding, and many of the buildings are in a state of disrepair."
Al-Rasheed Street resonates with the lingering memories of the early 20th century. It has the poised sadness of olden times, action having gradually moved on to Al-Sa'dun Street, linked up with the East Karada markets.
Baghdad had no major thoroughfares in the Ottoman era. Its main artery was the Al-Nahr Avenue (River Avenue), created by Nazim Pasha in 1910.
Following the victory of Governor Khalil Pasha against the British at Al-Kut, he decided to give Baghdad its first taste of a grand thoroughfare. Work began in May 1916, when mayor Ra'uf Bey Al-Jadraji, brother of the nationalist leader Kamil Al-Jadarji, summoned the owners of the buildings through which the street was to pass, and agreed on the compensation they would receive for the appropriation of their property, necessary for the street's construction. The marking of boundaries was done creatively. Two ropes were extended over the tops of the roofs to delineate the sides of the street. If a rope passed over the top of a house, that house was automatically doomed. However, frequently the rope's angle would change upon the payment of a bribe, which could make the axe fall elsewhere.
The construction encountered several impediments, including the burial place of Imam Taha, where the statue of poet Marouf Al-Rasafi now stands, and the walls of the Haydarkhana Mosque. The remains of Imam Taha were removed under cover of darkness to the Salman Bey area, and the wall of the mosque was pulled down during the night to avoid public uproar. The property of senior officials and foreigners enjoying legal privileges caused additional problems.
The street was constructed in a short time, and it was opened on the anniversary of the proclamation of the Constitution on 23 July 1916, and named after its mastermind. However, it remained poorly paved and full of potholes until the British, having seized Baghdad in March 1917, paved it and called it Al-Shara Al-Jadid (New Street). Baghdad's inhabitants, however, preferred to call it Al-Jada Al-Omumiya (Main Road). It was only later that it was named Al-Rasheed. One of Baghdad's residents, who met Khalil Pasha, then an old man living in Istanbul, said that he was still resentful that the street no longer carried his name.
Al-Rasheed brushes against the memories of a silent past on the side of Al-Tahrir Square. The cafés of Al- Jaqmaqji no longer burst with music and singing. A string of sweetmeat shops is followed by the Al- Khayyam Cinema, then the Samar Café. Opposite are the offices of the Civil Registration Department. As the street goes on, more shops appear, together with clinics, pharmacies, photography studios, elegant department stores and restaurants. The entrance to the Roxy Cinema comes suddenly into view, with its distinctive metal grid, followed by a shop selling country- style scarves. Then the old and rectangular-shaped building housing the Sindbad Hotel makes itself noticed, with fresh linen hanging from the front balconies.
Next to the hotel is a hamburger joint called Abu- Yunan. And, nearby, there is a decrepit shop where a clothes mender toils with a simple toolkit -- needles, a thimble and a collection of threads of many colours -- serving low-income customers who may or not pay on time. There, he works patiently with his sons as helpers to restore torn clothes to a state resembling their former condition. Nearby is the Al-Khatib Store for sports equipment, proudly offering a collection of leather balls, sports outfits, red boxing gloves, tennis rackets and weight-training equipment.
The Hafiz Al-Qadi Square gives Al-Rasheed Street a chance to slow its pace. If you look to your left here, you will see Studio Arshak and Abbush.
Baghdad Street then proceeds, past restaurants, low- rent hotels and a variety of shops to Al-Mutanabbi Street. The stretch of Al-Mutanabbi which takes you to Al-Saray Market is an exquisite piece of life with its small jungle of bookshops. Al-Muthanna Bookshop, owned by Qasim Mohamed Al-Rajab, is one of the largest, dating to World War I and containing 13 rooms of book-filled space. Lately, an unexplained fire devoured its precious contents. On Fridays and holidays, auctions for rare books are held on this street, a tradition that has gone on for decades.
On Al-Bunuk Street (Banks Street), the skyline is dominated by what was once Baghdad's tallest building, a seven-floor compound built by Abdel-Hadi Al- Damarji in 1948-49 and named after him. High-rise buildings run the length of the street, squeezing the old-style structures in between. This is the abode of grey-suited men sorting out stacks of balance sheets. Al-Rafidayn Bank (Mesopotamia Bank), with its semi-circular façade, sits calmly at the beginning of the street. Opposite is the Central Bank, built in 1956- 57 by a Swiss architect. The procession of credit institutions continues: The Arab Bank, the Orient Bank, the Ottoman Bank and more of the same.
Al-Bunuk Street concludes with Al-Maydan Square (Field Square), where the Ministry of Defence stands proudly, boasting an Ottoman-style gate. The National Library, close by, stands on the site of what was once a string of nightclubs. The Al-Sha'ab Music Hall that follows (The People's Music Hall) is the venue of choice for the Iraqi Philharmonic. A children's hospital stands at a short distance from here, opposite the Mu'azzam Gate cemetery.
Al-Tayaran Square (Airforce Square), located near the East Gate, is known for attracting a crowd of the unemployed and unemployable around the clock -- people with nowhere particular to go. A mural of small ceramic tiles, 10x4 metres in size, dominates the square. The mural, with its subject featuring a flock of white doves, was Baghdad's first. The white birds fly freely about this tiled composition, landing occasionally on the shoulders of individuals sharing their two-dimensional habitat. In the 1960s, they disappeared. The authorities had had them removed, mysteriously and crudely, from the wall, leaving spectators with gaps to fill in their minds with the missing birds.
Under the protective shade of the mural, Al-Tayaran Square comes alive every morning with the calls of food-cart owners peddling their wares. Breakfast is a simple affair, but the menu is varied. Eggs are a favourite, followed by lentil soup and fried kebabs. This is usually washed down by a choice of tea, sweetened drinks, or milk. Toiling humanity materialises out of nowhere to grab a bite in the square before starting out on the search for a living, and hustlers, handymen, foot soldiers, lottery salesmen, sweetmeat peddlers and shoeshines mill about amid the tiny restaurants-on- wheels.
Al-Tayaran Square is also home to the open-air Al- Nasr Cinema (Victory Cinema) and the Saint Krikor Lusaforij Church, the main Armenian Orthodox church. The latter is an imposing presence, quiet and eerie, as if recently abandoned. The far side of the square is occupied by the Kolinkian House of Modern Art, its perforated wall conveying a promise of the collections inside.
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Liberation Square, mentioned in this poem, is the central square in downtown Baghdad. Named after the famous Nusb Al-Tahrir (Liberation Monument), one of Baghdad's most recognisable landmarks produced by Iraqi artist Jawad Salim (1920-1961)
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Jawad Salim, a pioneering Iraqi artist who died prematurely at the age of 41, in his last photo standing next to his almost finished magnum opus. The Monument of Freedom one of Baghdad's most recognisable icons, it adorns the Tahrir Square at the heart of Baghdad's eastern bank. The monument was to become a metaphor for republican Iraq's struggle for justice and freedom. Although many other monuments were commissioned and erected in Saddam's era, none were able to eclipse or capture the aura of Nusb Al-Tahrir. It has also become a common motif for many Iraqi and Arab poets.
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Al-Tahrir Square (Liberation Square) is located across from the Al-Ummah Park (Nation Park). There, a tall memorial stands proudly on a pedestal resembling an Assyrian gate. A podium is set at a short distance from a traffic tower that has glass windows facing in all directions. This tower, erected at a point close to Al-Sa'doun Street, has a view of the electronic news bulletin nearby, with its letters that flash their way across the screen for fleeting seconds, racing through names and places, telling tales to those pedestrians and motorists who care to look up.
The memorial, with statues designed by Jawad Salim, is what this Square is really about. Resplendent in its 1960s euphoria, it has 14 pieces pointing to a shared focus, like a storm gathering around a vortex. A wild horse brings movement to one end of the composition, while a stout labourer keeps matters under control at the other. A dialectic of motion and stillness, action and reaction, gives to the capital an image of itself, a disconnected summary of its past. The pedestal carrying the memorial was designed by architect Rifaa Al-Jadarji.
Al-Sa'doun Street picks up the pieces of Baghdad by night, after Al-Rasheed Street and the markets and shops are done with the day. Al-Sa'doun holds the populace by the hand and guides them to the cinemas, cafés, bars and bookshops that line its sides.
The street begins with a statue of Mohsin Al- Sa'doun wearing a Faisal-style suit and holding a stack of folded papers in his right hand. This is the oldest statue in Baghdad. Designed by an Italian sculptor, it was first displayed in 1933. The statue provides an image of a short man in a long jacket, commemorating a politician who shot himself when his compatriots questioned his motives. The statue has had to move on two occasions. First, it abandoned a location near Al- Jumhuriya Bridge (Republic Bridge), and, when Al- Tahrir Tunnel was dug, it had to shift to its current location.
Next to Al-Jumhuriya Bridge, there is a school run by nuns, then the Alamiya and Tahrir bookshops. The 1960s-style, upmarket Kit Kat Café is nearby, where coffee, sweetmeats, pistachios and soft drinks bring cool solace to the steaming sidewalk in the Baghdad summer. Nazar Restaurant, nestled in Al-Zuqaq Alley (Passageway Alley), is followed at a distance by the Al-Muaqqadin Café (the Complicated Café).
Pharmacies dot the sides of Al-Sa'doun Street. Above them are the signs of doctors and lawyers -- white plaques shouting the qualifications of practitioners: Fellow of the British Royal Society, graduate of Edinburgh University, a motley of talents, and quite a talent it would take to pick your healer of choice from among them.
Al-Sa'doun Street leads eventually to the Memorial of the Unknown Soldier, featuring a gigantic arch bearing a torch in its midst. Inspired by the ancient Mesopotamian arches, it boasts hidden light fixtures and a line of guards in red outfits standing motionlessly by.
The memorial was constructed in 1959 to commemorate the entry of the army to the city on 14 July 1958 and the declaration of the republic. The 18- metre-high colossus was designed by a team of artists including Abdallah Kamel, Rifa Al-Jadarji, and Ihsan Sherzad. The two side apertures describe two crescents. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, huddled in the middle of this setting and shaped like a 9x9-metre rectangle, is formed of four stone blocks.
From one corner of the Unknown Soldier Square, you can see one of the entrances of the Alawiya Club, built by the British as an exclusive venue for recreational activities, and protected from intrusion by the local public. It was the first club in Baghdad to have a mixed-sex swimming pool and a room for card tables. The club stayed operational after the British left the country, with its membership shifting to the upper echelons of Iraqi society in a grotesque imitation of occupation-period stratification.
Along Abu-Nuwwas Street, the city plods along, enveloped in fuzzy air and heavy with the scent of fish. The street glows with phantom-like lampposts and the coloured neon lights of bars and shop windows. The night creates its own artificiality, its slumbering mimicry of daylight. Wafts of music and singing bellow forth, daring yet delicate, from houses made of reeds huddled casually on the soft muddiness of the Tigris.
Glittering river fish swim in water tanks, biding their time before, spiced and grilled on wood, they make their final appearances on garnished plates.
Abu-Nuwwas Street is a haven for all kinds -- thieves and guards, hookers and intellectuals, drunks and lovers. The bars give the street spunk and spirit, making it a rival to the river nearby.
On side streets, cheap taverns seethe with smoky life, simmering with insomniac humanity. Porters, workers, two-bit old timers, talk as if they were engaged in a brawl. On the walls hang artefacts of the past: a grandmother's clock that no longer works, a fading memory or two. The customers drink their sorrows away, with bottles of Al-Masih (Christ) Araki freeing their souls, suspending the drudgery of reality and helping them paint the night red before calling it a day.
Icons of Christ and the Virgin, sad and splendid in the light of burning candles, greet you at the neighbourhood windows. Straight, paved alleys are lined with houses having large yards girdled about by rooms. Announcements hang from the first floors of these houses, declaring in poor handwriting: "rooms for rent to families". A frightening multitude of youngsters of all ages play boisterously, under the indifferent gaze of obese women.
Al-Jumhuriya Street (Republic Street) is alive with the bustling pace of modernity, stealing the action from older streets that have faded into forgetful senility. Al-Jumhuriya Street proceeds form Al-Tahrir Square to Al-Khallani Square and Al-Owayna. The Al-Khulafa Mosque (Caliphs Mosque) and the Latin Church strike venerable poses, just before the bustle of Al-Shurja Market takes over. Zubayda Square, further down the street, is where the Mortgage Bank, designed by architect Abdallah Kamel in 1956, stands near a glass-fronted coffeehouse. The girls- only Central Preparatory School nearby has a stone staircase leading to the Al-Fadl area and the Al- Mu'azzam Gate.
Extracted from Jamal Haydar, Baghdad: Malamih Madina fi Dhakirat Al-Sitinat (Baghdad: Memories of a City in the 1960s), Casablanca, 2002.
