Baghdad: The Final Gathering

by Ahmad Ardalan

  Chapter 4: Farah

  Farah was a beautiful soul at heart. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as pure and innocent as she was. A girl of medium height, Farah had a curvy body, and she knew how to show it. Her short, black hair matched her dreamy eyes. She had a baby face, with petite features, and her cheeks were always rosy. She was a cute, delicate young lady, and she caught my eye the very first time we bumped into each other at the dean’s office, the first week of college. It was just fate; there was no denying that.

  The dean, who knew my uncle, had sent for me. She was there because she’d requested a meeting with Dr. Faisal, to ask for a class transfer, since all her closest friends were in another class. The dean’s office was located on the third floor of the management building, and it was the biggest office on the corner of that floor. Farah finished her meeting with Dr. Faisal and left his room in a hurry. Just as she walked out of the secretary’s area, I walked in, and we collided. Startled and embarrassed, she apologized profusely, but I just laughed it off and said it was fine. It really was, because it allowed me to engage in conversation with Farah, the adorable girl who was the topic of many conversations among the young men at the university. The only misfortune in our crash was that one of my lenses broke in my glasses, but it was an old pair anyway. I changed them later that day with a smile on my face, remembering her rosy, angelic face. I also couldn’t forget the scent of her perfume, which hit me right away. Now, even a decade later, that sweet fragrance still dances in my nostrils. She loved Chanel No. 5 and didn’t use any other perfume, right up to her last day on this Earth.

  The dean was highly impressed with my marks, which were more than sufficient for me to become a doctor. He wanted me to set an example for my classmates, to encourage them to get higher grades and maintain stellar attendance, but I was not the sort to be a quiet example for other students. I was still the same hyper Omar I was in high school, and I had trouble sitting still during class. If and when I attended classes, the teachers had much to contend with, but the students always seemed to enjoy my presence. I was not alone in my indiscretions, as Essam, my other half, always helped me entertain our fellow students. When we were there, it was show time, and everyone knew it.

  My college months slowly passed by, and with my group of seven we truly enjoyed ourselves. We often walked to a nearby park to have picnics, and we frequently occupied the corner table at the college café. Farah and I got closer and closer, and our admiration for one another grew. In some ways, we completed and complemented each other: she was the quiet one, while I’ve always been a talkative person. We both loved to read and enjoyed sharing our knowledge; I believe that was the real foundation of our relationship. One day, I was talking about the Roman Empire, and the next, she was talking about gravity. I enjoyed her company a lot. It was obvious to everyone, including to us, that we liked each other, but neither was willing to make the first move to take things to the next level. We took our time. The most we did was steal long glances at one another now and then, trying to hide them from each other, being careful only to stare when the other was engaged in conversation with someone else or reading. As hard as we tried to sneak, though, we inevitably caught each other in the act, and that always resulted in a shy grin flashing across both of our faces and an occasional blush along with it.

  When it came to studying, our group studied as one. Among the seven, Farah and I were a group all our own. With the exception of one subject, social studies, everything was a piece of cake for me. I used that to my advantage and began tutoring her, which allowed me to spend even more time with her. Farah was my apprentice, and she was a quick study. Not only that, but she smelled delightful, like a bouquet of spring flowers. I loved that aroma, and I loved teaching her.

  Daytime was for class, but in the evenings, we guys got together. Essam picked me up, Aws picked Emad up, and we headed off to one of the cafés in the northern part of Baghdad, in the Abu Nuwas area, named after a very influential Iraqi poet. That area is home to some of the best restaurants in the city, and they specialized in serving delicious masqouf, a type of fish that is barbecued on palm tree wood, giving it a unique aroma. The fish is always fresh, as it is harvested daily from the river nearby.

  The café where we spent most of our time was built in the sixties, on a 3,000-square-meter area, one of the few at the foot of the mighty Tigris. All the cafés in that area are simply designed, nothing fancy, with a plain, simple, large garden in the back. We sat in that garden area during the springtime, but for the rest of the year, we occupied the big, rectangular, single-story space in the front. That café is smaller than most, but it is also livelier. In spite of its size, it easily holds eighty tables, square, wooden ones, flanked by old, plastic chairs with black pillows, bearing the Al Salam Café name. They make good coffee, great lemon tea, and their Shisha offers lots of smoke. The taste is average, but each puff is rewarded with a white cloud that pleases the smoker. We spent our best times there. It is a very simple place, but it was enough for us, and we had unforgettable times there.

  Our friends gathered there from all over Baghdad, and we easily filled ten tables each day. People played chess, and others played backgammon, but the majority competed at dominos, the most fun and exciting game. Essam and I played as a team for years, and we went undefeated for two of them. We played well, but our real success came in mastering the art of cheating. We communicated with secret signs. As soon as the pieces were drawn, we looked at our strong numbers, and the signing would begin, a serious of face-touches to indicate what pieces we held. A touch to the chin meant a lot of zeros; lips were one; mustache was two; nose was three; eyes were four; forehead was five; and a touch to the hair was a six. The result was a victory for us, game after game, until no one was left to beat. The café was always loud with our shouts and laughter, and when a game went wrong for someone, curses and small fights erupted between the players. Overall, it was like an open zoo.

  Our gang of four typically sat near the left corner of the place, beside a table of four old-timers. At first, they looked at us whenever we shouted or laughed too loud, but in time, they began to join us with chuckles of their own. We played and talked a lot with them. Like us, they had been friends for a long time. Two of them fought with the Arabic Army during the Israeli-Arabic conflict in the early sixties. The other two were boxers; one was the junior Arab boxing champion back in 1949. When we met the gentlemen, they were in their late-60s.

  Life in Iraq is strange, and the culture is different. Most college students do not work at anything else; their major responsibility, their focus, is to do well in school. Thus, none of us ever had to help with the load of life. We took money from our parents, went to college, and spent the nights playing dominos. An easy spoiled life.

  For us, the best time of the year was Ramadan, one of the five pillars of the Islamic faith. During this time, all Muslims have to fast from sunrise to sunset.

  After breaking our fasting with a feast at our homes, we usually rested for an hour, then headed back to our café. During Ramadan, cafés typically stay open until two. We played there, dressed in our Dishdasha, our Arabic attire. Then, just before the café closed, we crossed the river to the other side of Baghdad to have our last meal, what is known as Sohour, the meal we have before sunrise, in preparation for the next day’s fasting.

  That crowded area is called Abu Hanifia, the namesake of Abu Hanifa Al Numan, one of the most prominent Islamic scholars, a preacher who came along six decades after Prophet Muhammad. He was one of four scholars, followed by a billion Muslims, so the area that surrounds his shrine is always alive with activity. The restaurants remain open till the time of the Fajir prayer, the first prayer of five that every Muslim is supposed to make, yet another pillar of our religion. We went there, nearly thirty friends, every night during the holy month of Ramadan and ate skewers of different meats or maybe some fried eggs, filled our bellies before we went back home. Then, the next day, we woke up and went
to school. Those were good times for all of us.

  The next day, I would wake up, shave, and drive my car with a smile on my face, mostly because I knew I was going to see my Farah, the girl with the innocent, lovely smile. Although our feelings for one another were getting undeniably deeper, it never seemed to be the right moment to express that. So, just like the year started, it ended, and summer arrived.

  Contrary to the political picture of Iraq after the occupation of Kuwait, the three hot summer months passed quietly for me and those around. Aws finally passed his baccalaureate exam, and his marks were high enough for him to enroll at our college, much to all our relief and enjoyment. Hana joined him as well. Essam and I had our friend back, and Hana and Aws quickly became a couple.

  The summer break was quiet for Farah and me. We talked on the phone several times. One night, I saw her out shopping, with her mother and cousin. I followed them as they walked through the long, crowded street. There was still nothing official between us, as we had to adhere to the social mores and culture of our times, the way of life. Thus, I kept my distance, but when her mother wandered off a bit, I neared her, uttered a few words, and then quickly disappeared again. “Hey, lovely, nice hair,” I said, drawing giggles from her. Seeing her only once in a few months made me quite anxious to return to college, and I couldn’t wait for the new semester to start.

  My second year of college began just as it had ended the year before. I spent my time with my friends and Farah. The more time I spent with her, the more I came to admire her brilliant way of thinking. My respect for her grew, and I felt we were right for each other, just two smart people who shared many interests. We completed each other, and she was the balance I desperately needed. Somehow, she matured me, and we couldn’t stop flirting with each other.

  One day, she showed up at school wearing a cute pink top that said, “Butterflies shine.” There was nothing untrue about that, and she was more than a butterfly that day, absolutely glowing. Just like that, I felt I had to make my move. Fate was calling, and it was time.

  I looked at the guys as she made her way to class. “This is it. I’m going to go for her,” I told them.

  I waited for the third lecture to finish, and it seemed to take ages. On the outside, I seemed cool, calm, and collected, but I was on fire on the inside. As the professor finished his lecture, I made my way to her. She was standing next to Layla, a friend of ours, and I asked Layla to excuse us for some privacy. She happily complied.

  “Let’s talk,” I whispered, moving closer to Farah.

  We left the campus and walked to the park just minutes away. She was blushing; she was smart and knew exactly what was coming. Her steps were a bit faster than mine, so I gently pulled her back, looked her right in the eyes, and spilled the words from my mouth: “Butterflies fly, Farah. You are the most beautiful of them. Don’t fly alone. Let us fly together, from this day till the end.”

  “What if you can’t catch up, Omar? What if I fly to places you don’t desire to go? Then what?” she said, playfully running away from me.

  I caught up with her quickly and answered, “Try me.”

  Thinking back on that conversation now, I wonder if I ever did really catch up or if that beautiful creature flew alone. I still feel I failed her most of the time, but I do hope that isn’t true.

  In any case, we took a chance on each other. That day, we officially became a couple. We spent most of our time together, sitting together in the college cafeteria or hanging out with the rest of the group. Only a few times did we leave campus to grab a bite somewhere else; she had family, and since we were not engaged yet, we didn’t want to take any chances. When we did go out, it was always a double-date with Aws and Hana, and we often brought Essam along, as he was more than a brother to all of us. That quickly became our life routine.

  During that time, the country was boiling with political frustration and uneasiness. Saddam refused to withdraw from Kuwait unless his requirements were met, but the world refused to even consider it. After all, Iraq was the invader in the first place, and Kuwait despite being at large fault, did not deserve that, no matter what they had done. Infuriated by Saddam’s stubborn actions and threats, the United Nations gave Iraq until mid-January to withdraw all its forces from Kuwait, or the country would face the wrath of the thirty-three nations that formed the coalition.

  On January 17, 1991, since Saddam refused to comply, that promised war began. We stayed at my father’s cousin farm, as it was far safer than Baghdad. The war lasted for over forty days, and nearly 50 percent of the Iraq infrastructure was destroyed, over 40,000 Iraqi troops killed. In the end, Iraq withdrew from Kuwait and signed a treaty with the United Nations to declare all its army capabilities. Then, the embargo was put in place.

  During the last two weeks of the war, communication lines were down, so I knew nothing of the fate of my friends and Farah. Luckily, all were fine, and we resumed college in mid-March. Day after day, life returned to Baghdad.

  Thinking back on our years together, I see that there were moments in my relationship with Farah that should have been red flags, things I did not see about her at the time. On the day when we all passed our third year, a classmate’s family brought a lamb to college and slaughtered it there. Slaughtering lambs and distributing the meat to the needy and poor is a way of thanking God and sharing blessings for Muslims; it is common to do this to celebrate many milestones in life, be it the birth of a child, the completion of a successful business transaction, the passing of an exam or school year, getting a job, being cured from some sickness, or passing any difficult phase in life. That day, the family was extremely happy, for their son had not passed his classes for the past two years but was finally successful. In celebration, they brought a butcher with them, and the lamb was slaughtered just outside the college door. The place of this act not common at all, but it had happened. Farah and I just so happened to be passing and saw the whole thing.

  Farah couldn’t stop crying, as she’d never seen an animal slaughtered before. She felt sorry for the lamb, and the blood frightened and sickened her. We all tried to calm her down, but she continued sobbing and just said, “Oh, that poor animal.”

  After that day, Farah stopped eating meat. The whole idea disgusted her after she realized the blood way we have to get our hands on it. Not only that, but whenever she had the chance, she lectured meat-eaters. That was one of the first signs that Farah was a very sensitive girl.

  At the time, I didn’t think too much of it, and as time passed in our relationship, I became more and more content with it all. We both liked the same food (except for the meat, of course), loved history and music, and were both eager to learn about other cultures. Not only that, but she was absolutely beautiful. To me, that was enough, and being with her was what I pictured as the perfect life.

  As the days passed, it became obvious that marriage was imminent. All of our friends and everyone on the campus predicted it, and they talked about it all the time. Whenever they had the chance, they made subtle hints, and some went so far as to ask, “When is the big day?” or say, “Let’s have a nice wedding to celebrate!”

  At college, we were one of the golden couples. Aws and Hana were in the same boat, and they were the topic of talk as well. Their relationship was a bit different from ours, as they shared fewer common interests, but their emotions were powerful, and it showed. In life, not everyone can have it all. We had interests, they had deeper emotions. Everything was special in some way or the other.

  Farah and I got engaged during the semester break of our last year in college. As per the requirements of our culture, the women relatives of the man’s side have to go to the home of the future fiancée to see the girl, talk to the family, and ask their initial approval. If the family accepts, they decide when the man will officially ask for the girl’s hand and drink juice, a gesture of approval.

  A week later, thirty-eight men, all dressed in their best suits, visited Farah’s home, in ten different cars.
Before that, they all gathered at my home for tea. The twenty-minute ride was far from a quiet one, as most of the cars kept honking, another tradition of celebrations.

  My father headed the group. He was joined by my uncle and some of his friends from the army, and the rest were my cousins and friends. My gang was at the back, making sure all was in place and, of course, mocking people left and right and making constant jokes.

  We were all seated in their big dining area. All the furniture had been removed to make room for temporary chairs, with small tables in front of them, placed by a catering company. The men from my family were seated to the left. My father, my uncle, and I were seated right in front of her family.

  My father, costumed appropriately for the occasion, was the first to talk and began with a verse from our sacred Quran: “And among His Signs is this, that He created for you mates from among yourselves, that ye may dwell in tranquility with them, and He has put love and mercy between your (hearts): verily in that are Signs for those who reflect.” After my father recited the verse, he praised Farah and her family background, gave a small introduction about us, and asked for Farah to be his son’s wife, to become part of our family.

  Her father nodded, and the two men shook hands and kissed. Just like that, Farah was officially my fiancée.

  We had a small party at my house, and we exchanged rings. My mother gifted her a pair of stunning emerald and diamond earrings, along with an emerald and pearl necklace. Around fifty people from both sides of the family were there, and we ate and danced till late that night.

  The big date was planned after that, and we settled on a year after our graduation. That would give us enough time to finish our compulsory military service.

  Chapter 5: The Real Life