Talking About Jane Austen in Baghdad

by Bee Rowlatt

  Raise me a daïs of silk and down;

  Hang it with vair and purple dyes;

  Carve it in doves and pomegranates,

  And peacocks with a hundred eyes;

  Work it in gold and silver grapes,

  In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;

  Because the birthday of my life

  Is come, my love is come to me.

  06.03.08

  Ice cream in a hot desert

  Hearing from you is like an ice cream in a hot desert. We are so depressed and bored. Stuck within the four walls of our small house, not being able to go anywhere because there really is nowhere to go. Talking to Ali and emailing you are just about the only conversation I get!

  How are things? Is your mum OK? Did you go to see her? How is she? Although deep inside me I don’t think it is very bad or anything, feeling your worry has got me worried.

  As for the situation here, well, we die several times every single day. Doing my hair was an ordeal but I did have highlights – it is very blonde and I like it. Since I wear a head cover when driving, I don’t attract much attention but at work and at home I take it off and my hair shines. Working on fallen women has probably got something to do with it (hehee).

  I have just finished work and am absolutely exhausted. The electricity has been playing hide and seek and I’ve had to start the computer several times and recover material. Oh, it’s been awful. But it is good for my brain because I keep cursing and swearing, which makes me feel alive. Otherwise I would think I don’t exist.

  To tell you the truth, I like this work more than teaching (although I do get brain congestion at the end of the day). It gives me instant satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment. Teaching is nice but it has a by-product – marking papers, which I really hate.

  Media work has also changed. Now there is a certain amount of competition between the various media establishments. Before the invasion we had only a handful of newspapers, and perhaps three or four magazines, but they were the mouthpiece of the government and there was little difference between one and the other. The invasion changed things and there was an explosion of journalism – I think around 50 newspapers and magazines in my estimation, although some people say there were far more than that. But many newspapers have since disappeared. We now have about 20 (I am not good with numbers). Each of these is a mouthpiece for one party or another even though their titles suggest that they are independent. Very few of the people I know read newspapers because of the numerous untruths and the bias contained in them, but these must have their readers or they would have shut down like the others. The news agency I work for is an Iraqi one, but it really is independent and luckily does not take sides with any of the conflicting parties we have.

  OK, love, must go now to dig for info.

  Love you always

  May XXXXX

  06.03.08

  Swearwords and very bad mood

  MAY! Hi, Blondie! Bet you look lovely. You must teach me your best Arabic swearwords; I’d love to learn them. (I learned some very satisfying swearwords when I lived in Colombia, although they are all v misogynistic and about people’s mothers.)

  Well, your email cheered up my day. I’m in such a bad mood at the moment. I want to cry. I feel like I’m in a limbo (even been listening to ‘Sitting Here In Limbo’ by Jimmy Cliff) and I hate it. Not knowing about my mum, not knowing when you will get here, not knowing yet about That Secret Thing I told you. And, most of all, I’m bored and I miss my work. I missed out on a month of shifts as my old email went wrong (that’s why I’ve changed addresses). I feel agitated and sort of mentally itchy.

  And I hate March; spring isn’t here yet but everyone is waiting for it. I don’t even like March as a name for a month. (I am terrible at handling boredom. If I’m on a long car journey, about two hours in I usually start trying to aggravate Justin and pick an argument with him. He just laughs and says, ‘Bored already?’)

  Bye for now and big hugs

  Bee XX

  08.03.08

  Shock grey discovery

  May, I really don’t know why I was looking behind my ear the other day, but I found a big clump of GREY hairs, loads of them hiding there impertinently. Shocker! I thought, ‘Right, your days are numbered,’ and booked a long appointment at a posh salon up in Hampstead. So I am going this afternoon for a cut and colour, and I just can’t wait: the very prospect of sitting still for hours and reading glossy magazines while people bring me tea is just too good to be true.

  B xx

  09.03.08

  Grey hairs

  Dearest Bee

  About grey hairs, I know how it feels. They appeared on my fringe and sides when I was 27, and I didn’t bother too much until one of my colleagues, who was a dear friend, told me to do something about them. I felt so embarrassed! I went home feeling bad and wanted to buy hair colourant but at the time of the blockade – or what the allies call ‘economic sanctions’ – a tube of hair colourant was more than my month’s salary. As an Iraqi, I tried a substitute and used some shampoo and hydrogen peroxide, plus some yellow coloured spices from the kitchen, and dyed my hair myself. It turned out to be a disaster, of course, so I ran to my mother and she gave me money to buy hair colourant and cover the mess.

  Haha

  May xx

  10.03.08

  Greys? What greys!

  Hello, my dear May. I love the mini-drama of your hair under the embargo, and your mum coming to the rescue. Was it just things like hair dye that were hard to buy back then? I had no idea we foreigners were messing up Iraqis’ lives and hairdos for so long before the invasion. My greys are now all GONE, oh joy! I’m officially young again. My hair is blonder too and quite a lot shorter.

  Love

  Bee xx

  11.03.08

  Embargo talk

  Dear Bee

  Just got some time for myself now. I still think about my family life, even though it is in the long-distant past. I’ve always kept myself as busy as possible in order to get my mind off things, and this is usually quite successful.

  You asked about the embargo, and how we lived at the time. The problem with the developed world is that people don’t really understand what it is like to live under a dictatorship. The embargo was not really imposed on Saddam but on us – ‘the ordinary people’. His life was not in the least affected. On the contrary, he built many, many palaces and his wealth increased, as did that of his relatives and close aides.

  The highest salary an employee received was somewhere between 3,000 and 4,000 Iraqi dinars, which is no more than $2 a month. Thus not only luxuries were out of reach, but also necessities. People had three or four jobs, trying to make ends meet, and it was incredibly hard. I remember working in the media, studying at college and also doing private teaching. All this hard work earned me peanuts at the end of the month.

  This economic hardship left Iraqis tired, and they lost interest in everything. Bribery and all sorts of corruption spread through society like wildfire. You could never get any job done, no matter how legal it was, without paying bribes. Of course things are worse now, but it all began with the embargo.

  The ruling class lived in a separate world. They enjoyed all the luxuries life can offer, and in turn this paved the way for a lot of moral decay. You’d be surprised to know how the people surrounding them behaved, and the lifestyle they enjoyed.

  Hatred and bitterness prevailed during the 13 years of the embargo. I think this was the precursor to the invasion of Iraq. The people were too exhausted to care or to defend the country, and most of the people wished for the end of the regime. But it never occurred to any of us that the situation would become what it has.

  It is hard to explain what life was like during that time, but perhaps if I give you some examples you can imagine it.

  People stopped visiting, entertaining and exchanging gifts.

  No chocolates or sweets – the price of sugar was scary – no such things as ice cream or
baklava, and if one did get them on the black market the price was astronomical. (But there was always enough sugar to celebrate the president’s birthday, and to bake thousands of cakes all over the country.)

  Children fainted in kindergartens because they didn’t have breakfast. I remember people talking about a child who had fainted, and when he was revived he told his teacher that it was not his turn for breakfast that day.

  Army generals, especially those who were retired, sold their furniture. One in our neighbourhood tried to sell a new pair of shoes to buy medicine.

  Doctors and surgeons drove taxis after working hours to earn some extra money.

  Engineers went to Friday junk markets to sell the tools and things they treasured.

  Some men travelled abroad (mostly to Libya and Yemen) to find jobs, leaving women and children behind and weakening family ties, which Iraqis used to cherish.

  In our case my mother did her best to cover for the shortages we suffered, but still sometimes we would feel embarrassed to ask and ask. I remember going for 10 days in a row having only some dates and a cup of milk (a luxury) for lunch. The Iraqis endured all this and waited for the nightmare to pass, but it seems like it’s been replaced by something even worse.

  Love to Justin and my little nieces

  May xx

  11.03.08

  A small sadness

  Hi there, May. I’m feeling really sad this morning as my period came. It was a couple of days late (I’m never late) and I had become convinced that I was pregnant. I’d even begun to feel some of the feelings you get. But I guess I must have just made it all up. Amazing how after being so opposed to the idea, I am now actually upset not to be pregnant. It’s put me off a bit; I don’t know what to think now.

  Oh, I asked Kate at CARA about your PhD offer. She said that your offer is already there; you have the offer from the university and therefore you have the invitation to come to the UK. She suggested that you might want to do some research on your thesis proposal. She thinks it’s good for you to be in contact with your tutor, and to be thinking about the ideas, if you have time. It is a question now of securing the remaining funding so that you can take up the place.

  OK, I really have to go. The girls are about to eat dinner, and Elsa and Zola have that bad cough and everyone is getting a bit fraught. I’ve just been typing away furiously in the middle of them all plaguing me and asking for things, but I can’t ignore them any longer.

  Love

  B XX

  12.03.08

  Sons, mothers and militias

  Hi, Bee

  Things are all so disheartening. My colleague told me a story about a family: a mother, her son and daughter. The son was a former officer. She said that the militias came and asked where he was. She told them that he was not in the country. They came the next morning, shot the two women and blew up the house. She was telling me how part of the kitchen wall was demolished and how the cooker could still be seen with the morning kettle on it. I couldn’t help myself, I cried. Oh Bee, why are people so cruel to each other?

  Around 11 o’clock I had an exam with postgraduate students of chemistry. It is part of the curriculum requirements to study English in order to be able to undertake the research necessary for their degree. I had reluctantly agreed to repeat the exam for those who had failed, and I wasn’t happy about it. They were bad and their English was awful, both oral and written, but I was sort of embarrassed to refuse. The girls came up to me, crying and saying that they would be expelled if they didn’t pass. One of them is married and pregnant. I just don’t know why they want higher degrees if they are not up to it. It is a trend now that students come to college to study, then fail, and then go crying and pleading to the teachers, making the situation in the country and the lack of security an excuse for their poor grades. They gain the pity of the teachers and then pass. This has been happening over the past five or six years. It embarrasses me to be the odd one out and so sometimes I give in and award them 50, which is the lowest pass mark. I hate myself when I do it.

  I must stop now – I will continue tomorrow, when I will hopefully feel stronger.

  Thursday. Not much better. On the way to work cars were being stopped and searched. When I arrived at the checkpoint a young officer said good morning and waved me through. When I thanked him he said, ‘Not at all, Aunt.’ This is a phrase to show respect for one’s elders!

  Ali has been quite a nuisance recently. He doesn’t understand (or maybe he pretends not to) my need for the computer. I need it more now for work, and to search for PhD sources.

  We ended up having a row over it and he started yelling that he didn’t want to go to a country where he couldn’t speak the language. He threatened to stay in Syria or Jordan. I got so angry and told him he can go to hell if he wants to; I will not be deterred, no matter what happens. After a while he apologized, and then he showed me an accessory he had bought for the car. Even though a big part of the row was over expenditure and the money we spend on fuel and repairs etc. Ah well, I think this is how it has to be.

  Waiting for your email

  May XX

  14.03.08

  What a wonderful relief

  Morning, love!

  After so much worry about my mum, yesterday was just amazing. It was me and my mum, and Dave. My mum was getting more and more apprehensive as we got closer to her appointment. She’s been putting on a brave face for the last few weeks and now it had really got to her and she was just so scared.

  We got to the hospital and had to wait in a room painted a cheerful yellow with nice friendly flowers and pictures, presumably so we didn’t think about death. My mum went white and asked me to tell her stories about Elsa, so I began to gabble away about cute and funny things that Elsa has done recently and showed her photos of the girls on my phone. Then we were called into a room with bright strip lighting. We couldn’t think of anything to say so we just sat there. After a while three people came in, one of whom was her surgeon. They had big smiles and I felt like I was staring into bright lights. But then the surgeon said, ‘It’s fine, you’ve nothing to worry about.’ My mum and I burst into tears. He explained a bit more and then he left.

  A lovely nurse sat with us and explained a lot more, using pictures showing the inside of a breast. The lumpectomy had been completely successful, and even though the carcinoma was a high grade one (which means it could have become invasive if left alone), it was still non-invasive, which meant it hadn’t spread to anywhere else in the body. So all that happens now is that they will check my mum again in six months, and then she’ll just be scanned each year.

  We all walked to a café, sat down and then realized we were all too shaken up to eat or drink anything, so we left again and walked to the Museum Gardens in the centre of York. Slowly the euphoria came. We looked at daffodils and spring flowers and felt amazing. My mum said it would take longer to sink in, as she was so exhausted from the worrying. But I just felt like we’d had a dreadful jail sentence lifted, as though someone had shown a huge act of mercy to us and let us off. I kept taking massive deep breaths, as if I hadn’t breathed properly before. I thanked God and bought some champagne, which we drank from plastic cups. I’ve never really understood the fear of cancer before, but I can tell you it’s awful – and it wasn’t even me who was at risk. But you just feel so vulnerable and afraid, and the hospital ward seems like a place where you can be condemned to death, almost at random.

  Got back to London to find my home full of illness and mess. This morning Eva’s got the temperature and cough and she had to stay off school and miss her assembly. Justin has a temperature of 102 degrees; he is mad with boredom and in a foul mood, and I have to admit I’m not very patient. If I’m honest, I find illness quite touching and sweet in the girls but in a great big hairy man it is just plain irritating.

  Oh, I’m so happy about my mum! And, you know, it has also made us appreciate each other more as I think we’ve had a spell of being distant, and now w
e’re not. I feel so lucky to have her. Also, she has a big party coming up (she is 60 and my brother is 40 so they’re having a joint event) and now we can just get on with it without horrible thoughts and people trying to be all sympathetic.

  PHEW! Massive, MASSIVE sigh of relief.

  Hope you have a lovely day .............. B X

  14.03.08

  Controlling cancer is a bliss

  THANK GOD

  Dearest

  I was so worried sitting here waiting for news about your mum. I hate cancer; I know how you must all have felt. We have a history of cancer in my father’s family. My father died from it when he was only 39. I think about him often. Our family was shattered by his death. My mother changed after that and I ceased to be Dad’s favourite girl. I was just like the other two, and being the eldest I had to bear some emotional responsibilities that I felt were unfair because my friends didn’t have to suffer them. My mother became ‘the angry type’. She was never satisfied with anything. She had money, a degree and a good career, but her anger with life just surged through her. Pain was reflected in all she did.

  Anyway, good news here too, but of a different kind. We had electricity all day today. Imagine, I didn’t know what to do with it. I put chicken in the microwave for tonight ‘just in case’. For lunch I made dolma. I never used to cook fancy dishes in my previous life, but Ali is different – he loves food and it is a great pleasure to watch him devour all the dishes I make. I don’t want him to feel that he is missing out on things that used to be part of his home life.

  Talking of your mum’s illness made me remember something I wanted to tell you. Did you know that Iraqis don’t usually go to doctors for illnesses requiring antibiotics? Instead, they diagnose and prescribe medicines for themselves. They will say, ‘Ah, it is flu or just a cold,’ and ask the pharmacist for antibiotics. I am one of those Iraqis, by the way. Unfortunately I am allergic to certain antibiotics, but I still use the kinds that contain sulphur, and I prescribe cough syrup for myself, and so on. I know that these things are mostly given under prescription in the UK, but they are like Maltesers here.