Journal Live - Blog Central

Bordering Life

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 13:31:43 +0000

My name is Zainab, and I come from a four-walled planet inhabited by those who believe in the ethical theory that treats self-interest as the foundation of morality.

It must be summer in Iraq

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 13:33:56 +0000

This is in no form or shape an article, with a beginning, middle and a conclusion. Unintentional, but a fact of life in this part of the world. Dots marked randomly (or not) on a dusty large map, hoping one day, one way or another, I will be able to dust it off and link the dots.

A wound. A memento. A taste

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 15:44:45 +0000

and just like that, I was shot.

An unfortunate episode

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 15:40:11 +0000

As I look at a job offer in my email inbox, memories surge of my big sister. I remember her university notebooks and her neat tiny handwriting. I tried to mimic her style one time, stealing one of her notebooks and writing tiny little worlds furiously fast in a studious manner. Everyone admired her. Smart, beautiful, independent and a well respected lecturer in one of Baghdad's universities. She paved the way for the rest of the family. I wanted to be her. Although I adore my mother, I sometimes wondered if my big sister was my mother. I saw many untold stories through her big caring eyes that can be fierce at times. She disciplined me often when she feared my weakness and what it could do to me. Through her worry for me, I saw my lack of experience of the world that I so longed to discover. And when I set foot on the journey to uncover myself, I see her again. I hear her words of authority. I fear her reaction to my decisions in life. I miss her loving grip of my hand as we strolled the streets of Baghdad, treating me to the local fruit juices, the Egyptian mince on bread and taking me to the hospital, convincing me to take my cough medicine or else we would not go to the Leisure City in Baghdad.

If in search of something coherent, do not read on.

Sun, 24 May 2009 16:08:53 +0000

I had a dream, that I'd met a wise old man who told me my fortune and gave me a gift. Choosing paths, meeting people, uncovering secrets and experiencing joy and failures, I was told was still to come. 'Maktoob,' the wise old man said. The gift was wrapped inside a hand-embroided silk scarf. I was to keep it until a certain day in my life would come, and I would know when it did. Life seemed to have gone on afterwards, and I travelled the world, fell in love and had children. One child, in fact, called Noor. She looked a lot like my mother than me and she always smiled. As it happens, the dream became unpredictable and strange things followed on. One of which was finding myself on a magic carpet. Heading towards my unknown destination, stars befriended me and the moon had a face, like I always drew it in my school notebooks. Riding the carpet wasn't as easy as it looked in movies. I had to hold on very tight and stay in the middle as the wind cutting my skin could have easily pushed me to the waving edges and I would have fallen, as well as the gift. I knew that I had a child but I didn't seem to recall much about her, except that Noor's smile was everywhere I looked. I knew I'd find her again.

Music of hope

Wed, 20 May 2009 17:23:33 +0000

I've had the honour of witnessing one of the true surviving miracles in Iraq: The Iraqi National Symphony Orchestra. I would like to share their story with you.

Chasing the prosaic rainbow

Wed, 08 Apr 2009 15:14:05 +0000

I wonder, is it normal to develop a habit for carrying a torch in my hand at all times at home?

Location: Iraq, Sulaimaniya

Fri, 06 Mar 2009 14:01:58 +0000

It's been 29 days and 3 hours since I landed in Sulaimaniya. It's official. This is the longest time I have ever been away from the UK. A time during which I learnt to be an editor, a journalist, a communicator, in both Arabic and English (the Arabic part is debatable), mud puddles survivor, a taxi fare haggler and a Barclays bank plc hater. Home sweet home(s).

Let it snow let it snow let it snow...on Heathrow

Tue, 10 Feb 2009 21:13:49 +0000

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the near end of civilisation, threatening to topple at the first sight of a few inches of snow. Come and witness the true meaning of survival. The dog eat dog action. The monsters inside us all. Join me on my journey, as escaping Britain has become a rare occurrence, in one piece anyway.

All that you can't leave behind

Sat, 31 Jan 2009 03:22:10 +0000

The bags are all 'vacuum' packed now. I only wish I had discovered those VacuSac bags before suffering with big bursting suitcases dragged across airports. Pack, zip, twist, vaccum, close valve and et voila! A giant colourful biscuit is ready to go into my suitcase. Except that I have to release them out again as I have realised I packed way more than my weight allowance, and I'm about to check in and pay for my third suitcase online.

It's hard to write these words without a twinge of regret that I'll miss my loved ones and places in the North East of England. My highest achievements so far. My twenty-something memories. How could it have all gone by so fast!

My journey back to Iraq

Wed, 28 Jan 2009 13:19:58 +0000

I write to pass on a message, to correct misrepresented pictures, to unveil truth and to show the beauty living within the beast in a far, faraway land called Mesopotamia.

I have witnessed Iraq seeing its fair share of red skies, destruction, anguish, blossoming bougainvilleas, weddings and missing arms and legs. I've lost people, and I write about them. I gained people, and I write about them too.

The journey home

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 15:19:38 +0000

(Written upon visiting Baghdad for the first time in 17 years)

I couldn't hear the clacking sound of backgammon pips and men's cries over winning and losing games. There was no cafe anymore. Nana's shop was replaced by a green grocers. The butcher seems to still have that habit of tying sheep to the pole at the top of the road. The mute carpenter? Could that be his saw dust flying into the front of our house door that used to anger my mother?

Wise old man

Tue, 20 Jan 2009 15:23:27 +0000

Last week, I met an old man who deserved to be my first blog post. Since I didn't catch his name while he was busy sharing his wisdom with me, I'll call him... Mr Gupta

Working out my mortgage payment wasn't exactly what I was supposed to be doing last Wednesday morning. Talking about English classes to foreigners, handing out leaflets and tending to my stall were exactly the sort of thing that would normally happen at an event like that one.

The end of Saddam?

Thu, 15 Jan 2009 15:25:06 +0000

Originally written on 30/12/2006

Today, and saying today I mean the early hours of it, I switched on the T.V to have a break from studying. It felt like I'd been writing ceaselessly. BBC News 24 was on with breaking news: SADDAM EXECUTION.

My heart clattered drawing out the sound of the night. Newspapers had said that he might be hung within the month, but today? On Eid day? 24 hours before the New Year?