What I Missed In Baghdad

The first morning was full of joy. Colors of things around were vivid. I was to go to my house but my friends wanted me to stay just few hours. To have lunch with them. I agreed with a wide smile. It was really long ago when I was much wanted and missed as I felt that day. Everybody was smiling to me. Especially doctors from Al Hilla who knew me better than doctors from Baghdad. Some even think that am from Hilla/ Babylon because of my relations with almost all doctors from Hilla working in this hospital, and that makes me feel proud. My friends told me to join them in the work. I preferred to be alone a little. We decided that we meet at lunch.

I went to the cafeteria early to see whether there are some changes. The workers are new. Ali is no more there. Ali was about 14, and I kept annoying him by asking him: Ali, my love, Allaowie, why don't you love me?


At first he did not get it, he became afraid from me, avoided me, but after few weeks he knew am just kidding, and started to really love me like I loved him.


On the T.V. there was an interview with Falah Hasan.

That legendary football player. He reminds me of my 2 cousins who trained me the first time to play football. They are older than me. I did not have brothers. They were my older brother figures. I was identifing with them. Modelling them. But the problem arose when they get older. One of them became a dogmatic islamist. The other was a Don Juan with all that name can mean. So I played the two personalities when I was about 13 to 17 till I decided that I got to be myself. Lets go back to my childhood in my uncle's house garden were I kick the ball and run trying to be a Falah Hasan. A legend. An Ahmad Rathy. An Adnana Durjal. Or Raad Hammoudi (all are Iraqi football players).



When I saw this picture of Falah Hasan,

I smiled and remembered Makkie a childhood companion that for few weeks became a dear one. We decided to play cards which got the photos of football players and a number. A game I cannot remember its rules now. But it is something about the number in the photo. You can win all the photos of the other player. And that can lead to problems. And that what happened between me and Makkie.

When I saw this picture,

I remembered my father. Am sure that if my sister read this will burst into laughter. We used to laugh on my father's old pictures with his hair cuts. My father is really a great man. I miss him. He likes oil drawing. He likes music and liturature. From him I learned art. Am much like him. He is really a stable mixture of a muslim who is artist. A muslim who likes music and draw oil painting. I remember all this when I saw this face. I remember this also when I hear Khalid Al Kishtini talking in Al Iraq Al Hurr radio in the weekly programme named: Ayam el kheer (days of the good) am not sure about the translation.

And oops here is Muayad El Bedri,

that man who used over years to present in the Iraqi channel one his programme intitled: el ryatha fi isbou3 (the sport in a week). He reminds me of my primary school, and 7aleeb weya ka3ak abu il simsim (milk and some biscuits), and he reminds me of Iraq-iran war cause his programme was interrupted sometimes by some news from the war.

The most beautiful thing he reminds of is the music of the programme. That part from Barber of Ishbiya (Sivilia?) opera. tin tin tin terra. tin tin terum....tin tin tirum ti tirum ti rum rum...

I played the music loud in my mouth. I thought that somebody sitting behind me will laugh at me...I turned and looked...

No one is there.....thanks God...