literature

The Story Starts

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Literature Text

The story starts in certain Hay (neighborhood) Al Fedaa, Babyl- Hilla, Iraq, in the 6th month of the year 1969. Here I start off as a fetus in my mother’s womb; just one of a quarter million other fetuses being bred for the second out of three waves of death popular to the people of Najaf, Hilla and Karbala. One million lives brought out before me were being prepared for their annihilation in the first death wave as I was being made after all, so what’s another quarter million surely?


Seriously though, my story begins in the much summery afternoons of early August of the year 1979. Ooh, what a year to start a story really, since it was also a year where many would have their stories come to an end. 1979 was the final year before the first death wave and the final year of Iraq’s glory days. The smell of Mohammedi roses and Arabian Jasmine simmering and cooling with the arid winds, and dried apricot sherbet served alongside freshly picked Jaffa oranges from our own garden— this wonderful anthology offset the smell of sweat and sand brought about by the browning, baking sun.

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"Mehdi, Maheydeeiiii!" hearing my fellow 9 year old neighbors Shaha’s (Shahrazad) and Nura’s (Nooriya) voice beckoning from near my door, I jump out of my window, sneak into the house and spook them from right behind them. Both girls shriek and then with rope in Nura’s hands they lasso me tight and drag me to the garden. Shaha is now chanting some sort of victory psalm and I am now at their mercy as they tie me to the date tree in our garden. Mina (Yasmeen), my little sister now appears in the picture, she takes control and gives me a total tickle attack until I call out ‘I surrender’. Now with the ropes undone and hands above my head, I go back into my room to take and pass out to the trio their share of chocolate from Baba and Amo (uncle) Ahmed’s latest return from their travels. Truth be told, I saw this coming, but what can I say; when it comes to hoarding chocolate, I am sheikh.

I am 9 years old, so are Shaha and Nura, my sister Mina tags behind us being 8, and together, the four of us make up a rambunctious bunch. Mid July and August afternoons were mostly spent like this, spinning round each other till we get nauseous of each other’s sight and then miss each other too much and go back at it all over again. I was the only boy and so that made me both the hero and butt of other’s jokes, but none of it mattered because to me, we were inseparable unison.


Shahrazad is the eldest in her family, her dad, amo Mustafa and baba are cousins and so I believe that makes us second cousins. She has a pair of 3 year old twin younger brothers named Hassan and Hussein. Amo Mustafa is 40 years old and younger than baba by 8 years, and yet they are really close. Since baba was an only child and amo Mustafa had come from a big family and was often lacking in attention, baba took amo Mustafa under his wing since they were kids. They treated and still treat each other better than any real brothers I know of.

Their house is the one right in front of ours, yes, that’s how much baba and amo love each other. Amo Mustafa is a Sayyid (a title given to those related to the prophet Mohammad, Elwiya is the female equivalent of such) and is an open-minded religious man. Amo Mustafa is married to khala (aunt) Leila; she’s an elementary school teacher. This means she is the girls’ science teacher. By the way, Shahrazad, Nooriya and I are all moving on to the 4th grade this opening of classes. Shaha and Nura both go to same all-girls school and are classmates. I go to an all-boys school as well together with my two older brothers and Nura’s older brother.


Nooriya’s family, on the other hand, occupies the house right next to ours, therefore diagonal to Shahrazad’s home. Nooriya’s dad, amo Ahmed is 47 years old, is baba’s college friend and business partner. They are both well respected merchants and distribute Babylonian and Karbalai various goods across the country and do some trading with Kuwait quarterly.

Nura has an elder brother and sister. She is the youngest in her family. Noora’s elder brother Mohammad Ali is my elder brother Leith’s best friend and her elder sister, Iman is the one whom Leith has been going all googly-eyed for a good two years now. Iman is 15, a year younger than my brother. Nura’s mom, khala Zahraa, is the best Kleche (a pastry filled with pitted dates or coconut shavings and sugar) maker this side of town. Every special occasion, she never fails to deliver a fresh tray of Kleche to our home and to Shahrazad’s home as well. After all, our 3 families were so close that to outsiders it almost seemed as if we were related by blood.


I am Mehdi, the son of Fareed, a 48 year old respected merchant and 40 year old, Salma, the town midwife. I am the 3rd son from 4 children. My eldest brother, Abood (Abdullah) who is 19 years old, is my father’s right hand. Abood treats me like a total underdog but still, let one person say a single bad thing about me—Abood would have him black and blue and begging for my apology. He taught me to be tough, through tough love (he’d sometimes hit me just to get me to hit him back), Abood had that kind of ‘cowboy’ aura I wished I could inherit even a glimpse of when I get to his age. He is taking up his college education through night classes, majoring in economics. After Abood comes my older brother Leith. He is our family’s genius and at 16, he is a year ahead of his classmates. He has held the second highest score in all of Hilla during his grade school baccalaureate exam. Everybody just knows he’ll be finishing valedictorian of his high school. I know amo Ahmed would be glad to have him as a future son-in-law, that’s for sure. Leith doesn’t do much talking but whenever he feels like it, he’ll amaze you with his pieces of wisdom. We all secretly agree that he is a kindred old soul.

I come next, me, Mehdi, an ordinary kid. Actually, if there’s one thing I’ve ever been good at, it is art. I love drawing, sculpting, reading and writing but according to baba, that’s never going to get me anywhere in life and I should just focus on studying my multiplication table. Although I know he means well, I just don’t understand why I feel as if I am not good enough whenever I hear him disregard my art. Mama too, she tells me I draw nicely but then her compliment is promptly followed by the question ‘Have you revised your long division notes?’

Last of our vineyard, is my only sister, 8 year old Yasmeen. She is doted on by everyone, and she and I are practically twins. Even at 9 years old I knew that Mina (Yasmeen) was an extension of my soul. I always adored how her eyes would sparkle every time she saw my hands create something new. She looked up to me, not because I was my father’s right hand or Hilla’s smartest, but simply because I was her big brother who could create what she would deem as ‘proof of magic’.
A chapter out of the first novel I dream of publishing someday soon.
please, no stealing

Closely related to my earlier submitted snippet, Turning Into Ghosts

My heart is in this one, guys. Still, know that you are free to rip this piece to shreds. :giggle:

Hope you guys enjoy the read! :heart:
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I WOULD SUPER LOVE TO SEE COMMENTS, THANK YOU!! :love:
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Critiques:
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