Iraq, Family, Race, War, Identity, babies
So yesterday I went with my mum to London to meet the newest members of my extended family: two second cousins, born within a few weeks of each other. This is the Iraqi side of my family, and every so often we get together in the big garden of my eldest uncle (my late father's eldest brother). Weirdly, these are the times I feel simultaneously most Iraqi and most Westernized.
It always takes me a while to get back into the Iraqi way of doing things - greetings with hugs and kisses, for one thing, including for people you've just been introduced to. Conversation doesn't observe the same boundaries as it does between Western relatives: money, politics, religion, breastfeeding, love lives and career/academic progress, fatness/thinness, diets are all vocally up for discussion, debate, and the informed opinions of everyone in the vicinity. I have an aunt who greets everyone with 'Oh my God, you lost weight!' regardless of whether they are fatter, thinner or the same. Britishers who marry into the family have to get used to this. The men do a lot of the cooking; but carrying plates, dishes, washing up falls to the women. And they are eager to do it. At first, I'm uncomfortable, feeling the disconnect between my daily life and this corner of the Middle East in the UK; but pretty soon, it feels natural: in my early childhood, our house was a major meeting place for the Iraqi expat community in Wales.
The aunt I recieved my middle name from was there. She still lives in the Middle East, right now in Lebanon, with her husband and youngest children; the eldest has left for Canada. She described the personal horrors of the war she and my uncle have lived through; seeing bodies at the side of the road, having their home turned upside down by US soldiers, having her gold jewellery stolen by same. And the Christian/Muslim strife which has been engendered by the war - ten years ago, Iraq was one of the most secularized countries in the Middle East. When my parents lived there, their circle included Catholics, Protestants, Muslims, Athiests and Agnostics. Now, however, a generation is growing up who've known nothing but war, harbour resentment towards the US, the UK, Christians and Westernization. My aunt sees fundamentalism in Iraq as created and perpetuated by the West.
Iraqis take this sort of thing remarkably philosophically, largely expressing their resignation and hope for their children to have better lives. Outside Iraq, naturally: Iraq, by common consent amongst the older generation, is over. (Actually my dad was saying this in 1990, but then he had his dissenters). Considering I have never lived in the real Iraq other than vicariously, this tragedy feels remarkably personally painful. The Western part of me wonders at the sense of passivity I recieve from the older generation. Iraqis are philosophers, not fighters. They would rather sit around drinking tea and debating the ills of the world that protest or revolt. The most popular phrase in Arabic is probably 'Insha Allah' - which means something like 'well, if God wills it'. Iraqis attach it to everything, as a way of expressing they're going to hope for something rather than fight for it.
The discrepancy of the babies was an insight into the comic pathos of the universe: one is fat, bouncing, chilled-out, friendly, strong and amiable. The other is skinny, wrinkly, angsty, miserable and constantly screwing himself into a ball. Hopefully his cousin will look out for him when they start school together. Conversation between the two new dads:
N: [of his own son] All he really does at the moment is cry, sleep and wee up walls.
M: A bit like his dad, really.
M is one of the Britishers who married into the family. He claims that his Irish blood allows him to tolerate mixing Arak and beer. Arak is a deadly Middle Eastern alcoholic drink you're supposed to mix with water. The word in Arabic means 'sweat'. Try some mixed up by an Iraqi and you'll see why. Other M quotes:
1) M: I didn't mind if it was a boy or girl of course. As long as he grows up to be a handsome professional athlete at the top of his or her intellectual field, that's all that matters really.
2) M: I had this great idea for a theme park. It's called Baby Adult World, and it's basically a park full of baby things in adult size, like baby bouncers and dummies and stuff, and you crawl through padded tunnels to get from one part to the next.
Me: That sounds...vaguely creepy and Freudian...
M: Yes, T [his wife, my cousin] said it was sort of fetishistic. I said there could be a special section for nappies, and spanking.
He also has an idea for a screenplay called 'The Wrong Baby', to star Hugh Grant. The subtitle would be 'Or is it?'
All in all it was an exhausting day. The travelling was a nightmare, because half the underground was closed and the train back was suffering from severe delays, but I'm glad I went. I feel vaguely nostalgic for the old days, when I was young enough to think of my relatives simply in terms of quirky and loving personalities rather than survivors of the slow collapse of a country. I don't suppose its possible to absorb homesickness by proxy. Regret is another matter though.