http://www.lightstalkers.org/galleries/contact_sheet/3113 Biography As a child, I lived in Algeria. When my mother gave birth to my brother; I learned that babies come from their mother’s womb, not from a stork in the high mountains, as my father said. This was the beginning of the gap between us, this is when I started losing my closest friend. In my attic refuge I looked at clouds and drew what I imagined their shapes represented. I asked my mother what ‘God’ meant. She said He was the Giver. His first gift to me was the bicycle I’d wanted for so long. We took a plane and went home to Iraq! – a new feeling; homesickness! In Baghdad, my Algerian accent made me a stranger. Every Friday, I walked around the city with my father and brother...from Shawaka we crossed the Tigris by boat to Souk Al Sarai and ended up on Mutanabi Street. My parents taught me how to love Baghdad and it finally became my home.. I was nine when the air raid sirens announced the war with Iran. Everywhere there were mourning banners and dozens of martyr processions taking the dead to the cemetery. A few months later, my father was sent to Kuwait to teach and we were happy to get away from the war, even if just for a few months. We returned in 1986. My father refused to admit all that was really wrong inside Iraq and the rift between us deepened. He was forced to join the Popular Army and sent for many months to the front to fight. I finished high school and wanted to go the College of Fine Arts, but my father refused when my uncle said this wasn’t a ‘decent’ place. I went on hunger strike for three days,- and finally my father brought me the application forms himself. My friends and I dreamt of a time when there would be peace and we could set up our own studio in Rahsid Street. The war ended in 1988. My sister was born a year later and my father called her ‘Jumar al qalb’ - my heart’s delight. When war started again in 1991, my father conceded for the first time how corrupt the Ba’ath Party was. But he said “ I am an Arab and Arabs don’t abandon their comrades in times of trouble”. And my friends and loved ones kept fleeing to cities without a Tigris, leaving their keys with me. Maybe one day they’d return. I married and I saw God again when he gave me my only son, Bashar. My father was arrested in 1998, but Clinton was generous enough to bomb General Security headquarters and he was set free. “ Our earth is bitter and produces only bitterness” he told my brother. “Leave”. My father said he knew that the original values of the Ba’ath were destroyed they day they came to power, but he’d been too proud and stubborn to admit it. He kissed us goodbye and left the country. Meanwhile, my husband and I had big problems and eventually I escaped by climbing out a window, clutching my son.. April 9, 2003. The statue felled...by ‘smart’ bombs... ‘smart’, but they killed our loved ones yet again. Hülagü has invaded our city in new guises - the beards of fundamentalist Islamists, the turbans of traitorous muftis and the masks of ugly thugs. And God has left, taking his bags. He’s grown bored of our wars. Mutanabi Street I just didn’t feel like going to work and couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed. I’m afraid that every time I go out, I’ll hear that we’ve lost someone else. I’m beginning to hate hearing the news...someone was killed, another lost his hand in an explosion...news of nothing but death and destruction. At work I told them I’d be coming in late and sat down for a cup of coffee and chat with my mother. She began talking about how beautiful the weather was. That made me melancholic. For me, good weather is an invitation to walk around Baghdad talking with my friends - I drank my coffee in a hurry and smoked a cigarette that I didn’t enjoy because all I was exhaling was pain and frustration. I walked in to work...A few hours later, a colleague ran into my office “They’ve assassinated Al Mutanabi” What did he mean? – The poet Mutanabi had died centuries ago. He said there had been an explosion on Al Mutanabi Street . I screamed. “Has Hülagü come back (the Mongol leader who sacked the city in 1258)? Will the river turn the colour of ink again – like it did when they threw all our books and all the treasures of our history in the water!?” Two days later I went with my friends to Al Mutanabi Street to mourn another monument’s collapse while we sit impotent, our hands tied, voices silenced and our will defeated by the weapons of war. I crossed Al Shuhada Bridge, looking at the sad Tigris, who started wearing her mourning clothes years ago when Abu Nawas Street was taken over by armed militias – this street named after a famous poet known for his love of life. I walked through Al Mutanabi Street looking for Abu Hossam and his bookshop, looking for the Shabandar Café and its clients, looking for Adnan and his customers – he was always proud that he had all the latest publications. Ash. Everywhere. Alas, Mutanabi. You were proud of your sword, and of your nights and now they are breaking your mighty pen and quills – they are cutting out our tongues with a sharp sword and our nights are pitch black. I stand in the ruins of the Shabandar, the only remaining literary café in Baghdad. I am dazzled by the ash and blackness. Where did all the poets, writers, journalists, retired people, liberals, Communists and even Ba’athists go? Where are all the old photographs of Baghdad in 20’s and 40’s that used to line the walls? During sanctions, poets, writers, intellectuals of all kinds, had to sell their books, on the pavements here, to feed their children. When the statue fell, we rushed to see if we could replace flimsy photocopies of books that we’d been forced to make, with proper bound volumes. I watch people’s feet and I remember how my own feet grew year after year as I walked down this street. What an illusion to think that my son would also be able to grow up here. We stand mourning the ashes of the books, the destruction of the street and the bodies of our sons, which we can’t even find. We didn’t kiss them goodbye - they are not buried in the ground, but between the ashes of our books and our dreams – dreams that one day, our country will be well again. http://www.lightstalkers.org en-us http://images.lightstalkers.org/avatars/1851/Photo_87_small.jpg http://www.lightstalkers.org/Eugenie Dolberg <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74135/1_small.jpg' /><br />1- He is a poet and when they asked him what he felt about losing the dearest place to his heart, he responded by ripping off his shirt and exposing his bare skin - a protest against sons of this city who are ripping off its clothes and stripping it bare – it bleeds, but it is their blood. It is dying. It is death.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74135'>view full-size image</a> http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74135 Mon, 13 Aug 2007 12:17:41 +0000 http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74135 <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74135/1_small.jpg' /><br />1- He is a poet and when they asked him what he felt about losing the dearest place to his heart, he responded by ripping off his shirt and exposing his bare skin - a protest against sons of this city who are ripping off its clothes and stripping it bare – it bleeds, but it is their blood. It is dying. It is death.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74135'>view full-size image</a> Eugenie Dolberg <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74150/2_small.jpg' /><br />2- My father used to walk all around Baghdad with me and my brother. He introduced us to the great history of our country. I wish that I could bequeath to my son what we inherited from our father - but they have killed this dream. They bombed al Mutanabi Street.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74150'>view full-size image</a> http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74150 Mon, 13 Aug 2007 12:19:04 +0000 http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74150 <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74150/2_small.jpg' /><br />2- My father used to walk all around Baghdad with me and my brother. He introduced us to the great history of our country. I wish that I could bequeath to my son what we inherited from our father - but they have killed this dream. They bombed al Mutanabi Street.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74150'>view full-size image</a> Eugenie Dolberg <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74144/3_small.jpg' /><br />3- The Tigris mourned Baghdad when the Mongol leader, Hülagü, invaded the city and threw all the books and manuscripts into the river – the water turned the colour of ink. Now Baghdad mourns its Tigris, which has become a hostage to barbed wire. Neighbourhoods have emptied – their residents forced to flee for their lives. And the sky has turned grey and black. We are lost - between the grieving mothers – in streets where once we loved each other like brothers.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74144'>view full-size image</a> http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74144 Mon, 13 Aug 2007 12:19:23 +0000 http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74144 <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74144/3_small.jpg' /><br />3- The Tigris mourned Baghdad when the Mongol leader, Hülagü, invaded the city and threw all the books and manuscripts into the river – the water turned the colour of ink. Now Baghdad mourns its Tigris, which has become a hostage to barbed wire. Neighbourhoods have emptied – their residents forced to flee for their lives. And the sky has turned grey and black. We are lost - between the grieving mothers – in streets where once we loved each other like brothers.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74144'>view full-size image</a> Eugenie Dolberg <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74138/4_small.jpg' /><br />4- Two days before the explosion, we were talking about Ahmed’s problem. Everything in his house had been stolen, including his 5000 book library, collected over many years. During sanctions we had to sell our books so we could live, but Ahmed preferred to starve. We suggested that he go to Mutanabi Street on Friday – maybe the thief would try to sell his books there. He was enthusiastic about the idea, but they were faster than we were; they burned Ahmed’s books, Mutanbi’s books, Baghdad’s books.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74138'>view full-size image</a> http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74138 Mon, 13 Aug 2007 12:19:43 +0000 http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74138 <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74138/4_small.jpg' /><br />4- Two days before the explosion, we were talking about Ahmed’s problem. Everything in his house had been stolen, including his 5000 book library, collected over many years. During sanctions we had to sell our books so we could live, but Ahmed preferred to starve. We suggested that he go to Mutanabi Street on Friday – maybe the thief would try to sell his books there. He was enthusiastic about the idea, but they were faster than we were; they burned Ahmed’s books, Mutanbi’s books, Baghdad’s books.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74138'>view full-size image</a> Eugenie Dolberg <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74141/5_small.jpg' /><br />5- The Shabandar Café was the only literary place where we could still gather, the only café I could sit in without feeling I had to be ashamed of my female body; religion has named my pear breasts contemptible and the lavender between my thighs a disgrace. They were born from wombs just like mine, but they have abandoned God and his mercy to become soldiers of Satan; they have burned the last refuge I could share with my friends.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74141'>view full-size image</a> http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74141 Mon, 13 Aug 2007 12:19:59 +0000 http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74141 <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74141/5_small.jpg' /><br />5- The Shabandar Café was the only literary place where we could still gather, the only café I could sit in without feeling I had to be ashamed of my female body; religion has named my pear breasts contemptible and the lavender between my thighs a disgrace. They were born from wombs just like mine, but they have abandoned God and his mercy to become soldiers of Satan; they have burned the last refuge I could share with my friends.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74141'>view full-size image</a> Eugenie Dolberg <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74132/6_small.jpg' /><br />6- This is the bookstore of Adnan Al Jadri, the “happy martyr”...that’s what was written on a black banner hung on the ruins of his shop front...Adnan was proud that his shop was full of books from the best publishing houses, but empty of books written by people claiming to be sheikhs and Islamic scholars. He refused to give in to their continuous threats and now they have killed him and stolen his history - and his life.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74132'>view full-size image</a> http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74132 Mon, 13 Aug 2007 12:20:15 +0000 http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74132 <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74132/6_small.jpg' /><br />6- This is the bookstore of Adnan Al Jadri, the “happy martyr”...that’s what was written on a black banner hung on the ruins of his shop front...Adnan was proud that his shop was full of books from the best publishing houses, but empty of books written by people claiming to be sheikhs and Islamic scholars. He refused to give in to their continuous threats and now they have killed him and stolen his history - and his life.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74132'>view full-size image</a> Eugenie Dolberg <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74147/7_small.jpg' /><br />7- “Hush-a-bye, my little boy, sleep Your enemy is sick And far away, in the wild...” My son has gone to sleep under the ashes and refused to be separated from the books he loved, and the poets: Al Sayab, who celebrated the rain, Zahawi who confronted oppression, Rasafi, with his sarcasm, Jawahiri, who sang the praises of the Tigris... And here is my son sharing the wind with them – with no grave and no headstone. <br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74147'>view full-size image</a> http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74147 Mon, 13 Aug 2007 12:20:37 +0000 http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74147 <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74147/7_small.jpg' /><br />7- “Hush-a-bye, my little boy, sleep Your enemy is sick And far away, in the wild...” My son has gone to sleep under the ashes and refused to be separated from the books he loved, and the poets: Al Sayab, who celebrated the rain, Zahawi who confronted oppression, Rasafi, with his sarcasm, Jawahiri, who sang the praises of the Tigris... And here is my son sharing the wind with them – with no grave and no headstone. <br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74147'>view full-size image</a> Eugenie Dolberg <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74129/8_small.jpg' /><br /> 8- We stand here in silence, remembering the people we loved now buried in the ashes of the books and manuscripts. Here we are standing where they left us; Adnan, Ghanim, Kutaiba, Kadhim Mohammed Abu Hassan, Bilal, Bariq, Lu’ay, Bassem and many, many others whose names we do not know.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74129'>view full-size image</a> http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74129 Mon, 13 Aug 2007 12:21:01 +0000 http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74129 <img src='http://s3.amazonaws.com/lightstalkers/images/74129/8_small.jpg' /><br /> 8- We stand here in silence, remembering the people we loved now buried in the ashes of the books and manuscripts. Here we are standing where they left us; Adnan, Ghanim, Kutaiba, Kadhim Mohammed Abu Hassan, Bilal, Bariq, Lu’ay, Bassem and many, many others whose names we do not know.<br /><a href='http://www.lightstalkers.org/images/show/74129'>view full-size image</a> Eugenie Dolberg