The following article was written by Aya Mansour, an Iraqi poet, writer, journalist and photographer born and raised in Baghdad. It originally appeared on VICE Arabia.
I love Baghdad‘s old, traditional alleyways. Neighbourhoods like Al Fadl, Bataween, Kareemat, Qanbr Ali, Shawaka, and Sadriya have maintained their unique identities, marked by their hundred-year-old houses and stores. Walking around these areas, I feel both nostalgia and grief when I see how little we’ve cared for these streets that once shaped Baghdad, prior to the war and the construction of modern buildings.
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As a journalist, I love to come here and write stories about the people I meet, people whose voices and faces aren’t usually represented in mainstream media. Even more than that, though, I just like walking around and taking pictures.
In these neighbourhoods everything is impregnated with the sense of simplicity that lies in old traditions. The handmade crafts displayed on market stalls, neighbours exchanging kleicha (traditional Iraqi date cookies), people gathering every afternoon for tea while the kids play football on the streets, their mothers chatting in the background. It seems like nothing important has happened here for the past few decades.
In reality, it’s a miracle these streets are still here today. In the aftermath of the U.S. invasion, Baghdad’s old residential neighbourhoods saw a lot of suicide attacks and car bombings, especially between 2007 and 2008. Thousands of people lost their lives while just going about their business in their own neighbourhoods of this embattled city. People died while praying at their mosque or shopping at their market; they died queuing at checkpoints or eating out at restaurants.
For instance, the market in the central Sadriya neighbourhood was targeted multiple times. On the 3rd of February, 2007, Sunni insurgents blew up a truck in this majority Shiite neighbourhood, killing at least 130 people and injuring over 300. Two months later, on the 18th of April, another car bombing killed as many as 140 people near the market and injured a further 150, leading the authorities to close off streets and restrict traffic to the area.
Despite all that, the Sadriya market has survived. Women still buy their favourite fabrics here and get them tailored, the craftsmen still show off their products and so do the fishermen, the clockmakers, the carpenters, and the furniture restorers. Grocery stores are still an extension of their owner’s homes, just like they’ve always been.
These areas are often forgotten by the Iraqi government, which tends to pour money into new high-rise buildings and malls. Residents have to endure frequent power cuts and water shortages, and most houses are wrecks. People also struggle with unemployment, and make money by selling their own handmade products – sponges, furniture, bags, carpets, clothing – which are rapidly becoming obsolete in the age of capitalism.
In these neighbourhoods, people often invite me into their homes for lunch and a cup of tea. I find I am only able to capture people going about their daily lives spontaneously when I choose not to use a big camera. Most women initially shy away from the camera, but I find that when I use my phone, they become more natural and relaxed. Then, they ask me to see the pictures and smile, saying: “You made us look prettier than [Egyptian actress] Laila Elwi.”
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