I, an Iraqi: The Trials and Triumphs of a Patriot’S Daughter

By Mariam Bint Ali

Paradise Lost. A family uprooted twice. Originally from Mecca and tracing their lineage back to the Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him), the aristocratic Al Gailani family settled along the banks of the Tigris River. Born in Baghdad, little Amel Al Gailani did not realize that her familys patrician lifestyle would be subjected to untimely death, perfidy, and exile. When, during World War II, German assistance failed to arrive in time to assist the Iraqis in their struggle against British, the family was forced into exile, as Amels father was the Iraqi prime minister. Their home in Germany would not prove permanent either, and they were forced to leave again after the war. After spending months in concentration camps in Italy, Amel and her family were reunited with her father, who managed to escape to Saudi Arabia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Feb 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781482864007

Mariam Bint Ali

Mariam Bint Ali, a personal friend of Amel Al Gailani, the author, is of Hashimite origin, but her ancestors settled in India. After a brilliant military career, her father was uprooted for refusing to partake in the genocide in Bangladesh. Born in Canada, she has lived in Jordan since she was eighteen.

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Copyright © 2016 by Mariam Bint Ali.

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Foreword

Preface

Acknowledgments

List Of Figures

Introduction

Chapter 1   I, an Iraqi

Chapter 2   Family Roots

Chapter 3   Childhood—Where Have all the Flowers Gone?

Chapter 4   Aunt Ameena’s Domain

Chapter 5   Father—Rashid Ali Al Gailani, the Patriot

Chapter 6   The Minotaur

Chapter 7   War Years in Europe

Chapter 8   Freedom

Chapter 9   Marriage

Chapter 10 The Trials and Triumphs of Life; C’est La Vie

References

DEDICATION

To the Iraqi nation, which has suffered long in the false hope of a better Iraq. To the bumpy ride they have endured on the new road map, looking back through the rear-view mirror of time through the dust as it sheds light on what might have been. If only the colonisers had kept their word…for what it’s worth.

FOREWORD

The Iraqi version of Granny is Bibi. Every week, my parents, brother, sister and I have lunch with my grandmother. To us, Bibi has always been a warm, loving grandmother who bought us books and Disney films and taught us fun games. She is a vegetarian with a comical aversion to violence that we enjoyed teasing her about. When we were children, she would always make our favorite dish: her special spaghetti with tomato sauce. We didn’t mind her being a vegetarian when the results were so delicious.

To this day, my grandmother has a low table in her living room packed with framed photographs. As a child, I used to stare at them and wonder who those people were looking back at me. I recognised some of them: my grandparents, Uncle Omar and my father, Ali. There were pictures of my siblings and me as babies. One of my favorite photographs on that low table is a tiny, black-and-white photograph of my grandmother as a young child with her sisters. They are standing in order of their age, from oldest to youngest.

During our lunch dates, when we weren’t reading or playing games, Bibi would tell us stories to accompany those photographs.

When we were young, the stories took on a fairytale-like quality. We learned about Bibi’s idyllic childhood in Baghdad. She would describe hot summer nights when her entire family would sleep on the roof to stay cool. She recounted how her sisters ran around al-bustan—the grounds of their home—and picked fruit. She wove tales about how her bossy big sister Nabila once decided to make a fire and cook. According to Bibi, Nabila enlisted her little sisters to help her with these cooking experiments, and then made them eat the far-from-delicious results. These stories transported us to different places, from the hot bustling Iraqi capital to a small mountain town near Dresden, Germany, where Bibi spent part of her youth.

It wasn’t until I was older that I realised that her adventures living in a house with her extended family in Germany took place during the Second World War. The background to the many amusing stories I was told was far more sinister than it seemed. When Bibi’s sisters traveled into German villages and sold their clothing, it wasn’t for fun: it was because the family needed food.

I also realised that the reason behind her family’s exodus from Iraq to Germany was also much more sinister than I could have imagined: their lives were in danger in their beloved Baghdad. I realised that Bibi’s aversion to violence was in fact a result of her father being sentenced to be hanged as a political prisoner. She described how she felt when she was told that today would be the day the government killed her father, only to find out later that they hadn’t gone through with it. She was then told the execution would happen another day, only for the same postponement to reoccur. Eventually, they let her father go and he lived to old age, dying of natural causes.

Bibi also told us stories about my father and uncle. When my father was growing up, like many boys his age, he became obsessed with The Godfather, the book on which the famous film is based. Worried about her son’s enthusiasm for a book about the mafia, Bibi read the entire book, full of the exact type of violent scenes that repulsed her. She hoped to find redemptive qualities in the characters that her son admired. After finally getting through a book she despised, she discussed it with my father, emphasising the one thing she liked about these characters: they cared for their families. She later tried to discuss it with her teenage son. I can’t help but think that what got her through the difficult situations in life was the same thing that got her through the book: her love of family.

As Amel’s granddaughter, I am looking forward to reading the biography of Bibi, and that I can now find out about my grandmother’s stories in a deeper way. The bits and pieces of stories that I’ve heard throughout my childhood will be given context and, hopefully, I can learn more about my beloved grandmother as her story is shared.

Tala Al-Husry

PREFACE

Each generation has a lifetime of experiences which, if not documented, will blow away like dust in the wind, gone forever and buried in time under the sand like a lost city: looted, plundered and destroyed without a trace.

Globalisation, unfortunately, is depriving mankind of variety, which is the spice of life. In diversity, younger generations learn to appreciate that people can be different and should be respected regardless of religion, colour, caste or creed. This global village would be a much more fascinating and flamboyant place in which to live if only tolerance was esteemed as a virtue. The disruption of harmony found in the famous quote, Either you are with us or against us sounds medieval and primitive. It has no place in the hearts and minds of modern thinkers for the so-called advancement of the twenty-first century.

It makes my heart bleed for the people of Iraq that such a rich country should suffer long and hard for a blessing-turned-curse: black gold, the jinxed petroleum. I salute the good, the clean and the golden people who have not been blackened or tarnished by greed and disloyalty to make their countrymen suffer. Not forgotten either their suffering for weapons of mass destruction, a myth that they paid a very heavy and unfair price for.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My special thanks to Amel Rashid Ali Al Gailani, a lady in the true sense of the term, and her lovely friend, Dr. Hala Fattah, for their patience and precious time spent with me, and for their insight in helping me understand Iraq and the Iraqi psyche. Without their help this book would have not come into being. Personally, in retrospect, I would liken it to a post-mortem of the buried truth: it reveals the suffering not just of Amel Al Gailani’s family, but of millions of Iraqis like her who have grieved in silence at the injustice that was meted out to them.

Reflecting upon the blood of my forefathers that was shed in Iraq, my special affiliation deepens to this land while I painfully witness injustice repeat itself.

To my children, especially my daughter Amina, for their help and support, and, last but not least, to Fadi Diab for the photography.

To all of you precious people, I present