All About Baghdad: An Interview With Manal Omar

posted on: Feb 4, 2011

I just finished reading Manal Omar’s memoir Barefoot in Baghdad, a page-turner. The style of writing is simple yet sophisticated. Omar cleverly narrates events through the lens of her complex and multi-layered identities: Muslim, Palestinian, American, feminist, humanitarian. In a non-judgmental manner, she touches upon many issues concerning Iraqi women from different walks of life. Her bravery and passion for Iraq are manifested throughout the book. A nascent and stubborn hero who refuses to turn her back on women in need, Omar narrates her stories with intellectual zest and so much heart. We corresponded recently about her time in Iraq and the writing of the book.

<b>You mentioned the one-thousand-night hero Kahramana and Kahramana’s Fountain at the beginning of your book. Is that a landmark in Baghdad? What about Jawad Salim’s The Epic of Liberty Monument in Tahrir Square? Did it not resonate with you as much as Kahraman?</b>

Baghdad’s Kahramana FountainBaghdad’s Kahramana FountainThe monument that really reached out to me was Kahramana and Sharazade! I loved the fact that there were two powerful women statues in the middle of the street. At first my title for the book was Shehrazade Waits for Dawn—because of the powerful meaning that the statue of Sharazade had for me. Below are the original thoughts behind the title—we later decided to change it to reflect the Iraqi saying “walk barefoot and the thorns will hurt you.” The Tahrir square statue did not speak so much to me, mainly because it doesn’t reflect the same feminine power as the other two statues did.

Scheherazade Waits for Dawn is a title that stems from one of my conversations with Iraqi women. The phrase was taught to me during a late-night gathering with women leaders from different organizations. Cathartically, it seemed, we were sharing the horror stories each of us had witnessed over the last few years, offering one another words of comfort and consolation. As the night began to yield to dawn, we realized that even our stories had naturally shifted toward talk of optimism and hope.

One of the women noted this and said, “And so Scheherazade waits for dawn.” The other women nodded in agreement, but the phrase was unfamiliar to me. I knew the legend of Scheherazade, the heroine from A Thousand and One Nights. She was the beautiful daughter of the royal vizier who volunteered to wed the murderous king Shahryar. The king would take a different bride to bed each night and, not trusting the virtue of women, have his brides executed the following dawn. Scheherazade’s courage, wisdom, and intellect were well known throughout the Middle East. Each night she would tell the king a different tale, saving the climax for just before dawn, thus holding the king enthralled and delaying her execution for the thousand and one nights. By the end of the story the king was no longer a wrathful, murderous misogynist. The morals and lessons of Scheherazade’s tales had taught him to be a wise and just king, and the story of Scheherazade had demonstrated the feminine power to transform a kingdom.

I knew she was an important figure in Iraq. In fact, in the middle of Abu Nawas, a street running parallel to the Tigris River, there is a statue of Scheherazade and her king, Shahryar. It is among my favorite statues in Iraq. The statue in Abu Nawas is one of the few portrayals of the legendary queen standing while the king is lying down. In most depictions, she is kneeling at his bedside. Even the statue bears testimony to Scheherazade’s strength and resilience. In the five years after the invasion of Iraq, during the chaos of war and looting, the statue of Scheherazade was unharmed. The figure of Shahryar, however, suffered the loss of a limb when looters sawed off a hand.

“We are like Scheherazade,” my friend explained. “We are sacrificing ourselves for our country, but every night we do not know what the dawn will bring. Will it be salvation or execution? Only time will tell.”

Scheherazade Waits for Dawn is not a story of the war in Iraq. This is the story of the women in Iraq who are standing at the cross roads every dawn.

<b>You traveled with a convoy of SUVs from Amman to Baghdad with the founder of Women for Women International, Zainab Salbi. You painted a very emotionally-charged and mentorial relationship with her. How did you cultivate your relationship further with Zainab? Can you elaborate on what Zainab Salbi means to you? </b>

Zainab was a role model for me as the founder of Women for Women international. She demonstrated the power that one person could make a difference. Her personal story of how the war in Bosnia motivated her and her husband to take action helped me believe that change can happen if a person decides to try. To be able to be a part of her work was a great honor and motivated me during tough times by thinking of all the other country directors in Rwanda, Nigeria, Kosovo, Bosnia, Afghanistan that were in just as difficult circumstances as I was—but kept on working to improve the lives of the most marginalized women. My friends often teased me for being an idealist—and seeing Zainab made me feel that I was normal to dream for change.

<b>On page of 117 of the book, you wrote: “The majority of women I worked with were widows and divorcees, and some were just teenagers. Despite there difficult circumstances, these women were determined to carve out a better future. I was amazed at their outspoken nature, their candid list of needs, and their resolution to create change for themselves. In the short span of few months I watched countless women who had entered my office downtrodden emerge from it full of optimism.” What was it like to take part and witness this positive change in their lives? Was that what drove you to risk your life every second while being there?</b>

It was incredibly humbling to watch these women who had truly suffered great personal tragedies be so optimistic, laugh, make jokes and care so intimately about one another. It made me realize how fortunate I was, and it made me ashamed to think of how the smallest thing in my life growing up would seem like a tragedy. I remember when I would fail an exam or got in a fight with a close friend, I would be depressed forever and not want to move. These women had their lives torn about apart, lost the people they loved the most, and managed to wake up every morning feeling grateful to be alive. It really put my own life in perspective, and helped me realize there was a lot I could learn from the women I was working to help.

<b>You touched upon history of Iraqi women and how they were the first Arab women to bring positive change: “The women ranged from the elite to grassroots, and it was an honor to work with each of them. They particularly embodied for me all that our shared culture could accomplish. It was easy to see why their strength was legendary in the Middle East. They had paved the way for women in the region by being among the first to vote, the first to participate in the judiciary system, and the first to demonstrate their economic power.”Is the awe and respect that you had for those women what drove you to sacrifice more for them? </b>

In the beginning, it was a strong belief in the American dream of one person making a difference. It was only after living and working side by side with the Iraqi women that I could truly appreciate their great history. From this interaction, came the awe that made me determined to continue working with them. Until today I insist on my work in Iraq focusing on gender issues or mainstreaming women into activities, because I know that Iraqi women are an essential part of any successful program.

<b>Can you talk about the dog that you got at the Baghdad Zoo?</b>

I named her Ishta, which means “clotted cream” in Arabic. I also like the fact that the word is Egyptian slang for “awesome.”

<b>You also wrote, “Cairo writes, Beirut publishes, and Baghdad reads.” Being from the Levant and working in Mesopotamia, was that your way of unifying the Arabism in your story?</b>

Not really—it was just the reality of Baghdad’s place as the intellectual capital of the Middle East. Arabism and Bathism were tied, and many Iraqis had an allergy to any notions of Arabism. removespace While I was there, I could understand and appreciate that. I respected Iraq and Iraqis for their own unique contribution, and understood their need in this point in time in history to remain separate from the rest of the region as they tried to redefine their own sense of nationalism.

<b>Going back to design for a bit, you wrote when visiting one of the palaces, “The first time I visited, I had been overwhelmed by the gaudiness of the interior design, and opulent hybrid of the Blue Mosque of Istanbul and the Palace of Versailles outside Paris.”Was the palace that ostentatious? How did you feel being in such an environment? Was it aesthetically pleasing, displeasing?</b>

I hated the palaces with a passion. They were ostentatious and insulting. These were being built and renovated as Iraqi people struggled to make ends meet. Children were malnourished and you saw expensive Italian marble, crystal chandeliers, and engravings in gold. It was an insult to the Iraqi people. One of the most troubling palaces was located in Hillah/Babylon. I had been so eager to see the historic site, and was furious to see how each sand brick had Saddam Hussein’s engraving. At the same time, Saddam’s palace sat overlooking the historic site. It made me realize that Saddam Hussein had left a legacy that would haunt Iraq’s past, present, and future.

<b>About Nagham, a character in your book, “But Nagham’s tall, slim body concealed the fact the she was a mother of two. Her long black ebony hair hung down to her waist and stood in sharp contrast to her porcelain white skin. I was amazed at the length of her eyelashes, and I could have sworn I felt a small breeze every time she blinked. Shad had a Bedouin beauty about her that I had imagined when I read classical Arabic poetry. I could easily picture her as the muse of many of Iraq’s poets.” Is that the quintessential Arab beauty that poets romanticized and lamented about for centuries? Did it send shivers down your spine to be in such a scenario and have the Tigris River be the backdrop of all this glamor? </b>

Indeed—it was the combination of her striking beauty, her humble modesty and her open hospitality that left me in awe of her.

Ahmad Minkara
Levantine Cultural Center