Photographs by Nabil Salih
"Stop, you two, and let us weep, for the memory of a beloved, and an abode".
With this line, the pre-Islamic Arab poet Imru` al-Qais opens his mu`allaqa. The photos here are from my walks in Baghdad, the city where I was born in 1992, one year after the Gulf War annihilated thousands of Iraqis and brought the country to its knees. Even those who survived the bombing were not safe: the imposition of UN sanctions killed thousands more through malnutrition and lack of medication. I survived, many children were sent to their graves early.
These photos show life in a crime scene. They carry the smiles of some, and contain the absence of many. Twenty years ago in March 2003, war revisited Iraq in the name of freedom. Millions of lives were (and are still) reduced to mere numbers in death tolls and refugee statistics — a corollary of the “War on Terror”. Twenty years on, the bombing and the sirens echo and wail inside my head. Listen, do you hear them?
Here/there, I roam the ruins of a securitized city, mourn its dead, lament our present, our past that remains on fire, and leave a kiss on Baghdad’s eyes from afar.
Read an extended interview with Nabil Salih about his life growing up in Baghdad and how his art depicts the everyday lives of survivors in a wounded city.
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Self-portrait on al-Rashid Street
Baghdad, September 2020
I love to walk…The poets and philosophers I read all loved to walk, or wrote about walking: Walter Benjamin, stoned on hashish in Marseille; Sargon Boulus in the canals of exile and dream. My most important works as a poet, journalist and photographer were about and from my walks in Baghdad. As for the self-portrait, I was always fascinated by the late Vivian Maier and her iconic self-portraits in Chicago’s Loop.
Old man by the door
Baghdad, November 16, 2020
A portrait hanging over the door mourns the loss of Razan, a child who perished in a “tragic accident.”
What happened to her?
Men at a tea house
Baghdad, June 22, 2020
“Those about whom we hear no news
Those who are remembered by none:
What wind has swept their traces
as if they never were?
My father and the others
Where are they?
Where?” - Sargon Boulus (tr. Sinan Antoon)
Man walks across the Martyr’s Bridge
Baghdad, October 22, 2020
“I came to you from there
It is annihilation
He said
Then he walked away and disappeared
Everywhere” - Sargon Boulus
Man at a cafe on al-Rashid Street
Baghdad, November 16, 2020
The newspaper carries headlines about corruption, anti-Islamic State US-led coalition airstrikes and laws concerning Yazidi women who survived the Islamic State massacres. Nearby on the sidewalk, two men smile to a lady passing by in her black `Abaya.
Old man on al-Rashid Street
Baghdad, November 16, 2020
“Every year when the earth turned green the hunger struck us
Not a year has passed without hunger in Iraq.”
- Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
Sunset on the Tigris
Baghdad, December 6, 2020
In taking these photos, I also had to navigate a securitized city. I captured this photo after being stopped and questioned three times by soldiers within 45 minutes for hanging a camera from my neck. Later that night, I was pulled by the arm by a soldier who forced me to show him each and every photo I took that evening to ensure my oeuvre entailed no captures of sensitive locations. The building across the river was bombed in 2003, and the bridge to the right in 1991.
Kids play football in a western suburb
Baghdad, March 23, 2020
“The child plays
in time’s garden
but war calls upon her
from inside:
come on in!” - Sinan Antoon
The Tigris from a window
Baghdad, January 30, 2021
“The Tigris and Euphrates
are two strings
in death’s lute
and we are songs
…or fingers strumming.” - Sinan Antoon
Street urchins on a highway
Baghdad, April 17, 2020
The four children whose portrait you see in this photo are Abdul-Qayoum and his friends. They sold chewing gum to the few drivers on the street during a coronavirus curfew. They were happy and laughed all the time. I hope they are well today.
Students on the Tigris bank
Baghdad, January 30, 2021
“I will go to the end of the universe
Joyful and free
Like an Arabian horse
Like myself.” - Saadi Youssef (tr. Sinan Antoon)
Two boys in al-Rashid Street
Baghdad, April 27, 2020
“I dreamt again of two colorful butterflies
pulling clouds toward joy
But the dream was interrupted by a dream
when I wondered:
How can butterflies live
and rejoice
in this overwhelming ruin?”
- Mu'ayyad al-Rawi (tr. Sinan Antoon)
Man and his boat on the Tigris
Baghdad, May 13, 2020
“Heavy with water
is the hair of the drowned man
Who returned to the party
After they turned off the lights
Piled the chairs on the barren riverbank
and chained the waves of the Tigris.”
- Sargon Boulus (tr. Sinan Antoon)
Man on the Tigris
Baghdad, April 27, 2021
“Iraq will not return
The lark will not sing.” - Saadi Youssef
Children swim in the Tigris
Baghdad, June 19, 2021
The children you see swimming have to tip-toe their way into the waters over broken glass and litter. On the other bank is al-Madrasah al-Mustansiriyah, a house of learning from the Abbasid era, now left in limbo.
Woman and her son
Baghdad, February 2021
Here, a woman stands with her son, or a poster of him plastered on a wall. He was killed somewhere in battle, as the poster reads “martyr.” Qasem Soleimani, the feared former head of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps assassinated in Baghdad in 2020 by yet another US airstrike on the city, smiles from another poster at the anguished mother. “I want a picture with my son,” she told me.