Baghdad: The Final Gathering Page 5

  There were thirty-two students in our class. Aws, my cousin Adel, two other guys, and I were a tight group. We sat together and occupied the last two rows during all classes. Essam tried to sit with us, but I had a sour taste in my mouth over him from our fight the first day, so I remained an obstacle to that for months.

  Essam’s father died just three years after he was born—just went to sleep one summer day and never woke up. He died from a heart attack, just passed away peacefully in his sleep, with no warnings whatsoever. Apparently, he was a bit overweight, and doctors said his heart couldn’t handle his body. As such, Essam was raised by his mother, and the two of them were very close. Essam was liked by most kids. He jokes a lot and has a loud, boisterous laugh that causes others to join him in his chuckling, without even knowing what was going on. He loves food like crazy and has an appetite that can rarely be matched. He always competed with other kids, to see who could finish a sandwich the fastest, and he never lost; I swear, I once saw him gulp a sandwich down in a single bite. After school, kids gathered to witness Essam’s newest food challenge at the small falafel joint next to school, and they cheered him on. Everyone loved the winner, and the winner was always Essam.

  As time passed, Essam began spending more and more time with our group, but he was still never really part of our gang. Adel, my cousin who was actually the reason for the fight on the first day, tried to convince me to let Essam hang out with us. Even Aws pitched for him, but I did not give in. Aws’s relationship with him grew stronger as the year passed, and Essam was one of the ten fortunate kids who were invited to Aws’s birthday party. That didn’t go over well with me, because I felt I was being forced to accept him; the more I felt that, the more I resisted. I was really harsh on the guy, and I felt like I was on the losing end of that battle, until the powers switched the following year, when a new kid came to our school.

  Emad, My other best friend, joined our school three weeks into our second year of middle school. He was Essam’s best friend during the primary years. Quite contrary to Essam, Emad was a very dark, slim boy, about my height. The most unique thing about him were the purple frames of his glasses. Essam introduced him to everyone, and the two of them were practically glued together; Aws and I might have been an inseparable dynamic duo, loved by all our classmates, but suddenly, we had competition. Emad was sharp and clever, and he made his mark right from the very first day during French class. There wasn’t a thing he couldn’t answer, and everyone was impressed, especially the teacher. Before he showed up, I was the class brain who answered everything, but now the new kid was stepping on my territory.

  Still, I liked Emad from the first day, and something told me he was going to be a very close friend of mine. I couldn’t point out exactly why I felt that way, but I knew it from the start. On the other hand, Aws didn’t.

  Funny enough, Aws and I were best friends, Essam and Emad were best friends, and Aws liked Essam, while I didn’t. On the other hand, I liked Emad, but Aws didn’t. It was my turn to force someone on Aws, just as he’d tried to force Essam on me. That went on for a year, and the result was that, despite our differences, the four of began going out a lot together. Still, we were two pairs, and to be honest, Aws was more accepting of Emad than I was of poor Essam.

  One day, I came down with typhoid fever. I was in bed for nearly three weeks, but good-natured Essam put his pure heart into action then, basically forcing me to accept him. He came to come to my home every other day and spent an hour or two keeping me company. He brought movies for me to watch, filled me in on the latest school news, and fed me bowls of soup. Aws and Emad visited me weekly, but Essam came far more than them. Through those visits, the two of us got to know each other better, and by the end of the third week, we had become very close. When I finally returned to school, our four-man gang was official, and for the next three years, we had the times of our lives.

  When it came to soccer, we were all on the same team. During class lecture, there wasn’t a moment of boredom; we drove the teachers crazy, like a swarm of bees. If I stopped talking, Aws started; if Aws shut up, Emad opened his mouth; and so on and so forth. It was fun, fun, and more fun. Every now and then, the headmaster was called in to intervene on behalf of the teachers, but that accomplished little, because not even our classmates would snitch us out. No one saw any reason to stop the comedy show, so they just let the fun go on.

  Two months into our third year of middle school, the whole class played the chalk game, an activity Emad and I started. Each one of us had a set of colored chalk, and the aim was to stain other classmates’ clothes. It was a game of timing. When one of our classmates stood, Emad or I wrote or drew something on their seat, so that when that person sat back down, his clothing would be marked. It made for some hilarious times, especially when the marked classmate was called to the front of the class to solve a problem on the chalkboard. The whole class would erupt in laughter, while the unfortunate target had no idea his rear end bore a dog, a banana, or a soccer ball in colorful chalk. Sometimes, we even stuck around during breaks and chalked up the rims of everyone’s desk, and our classmates were stained one after the other, in a rainbow of colors.

  Within a week of us inventing this joke, the whole class was into it, and everyone began carefully examining their chairs and desks before daring to sit down. Chalk came up missing from the class supplies, and teachers really didn’t know the reason. Also, students who usually answered questions stopped volunteering, fearing they would have to make the marked walk of shame to the chalkboard if they were called forward. Teachers were confused, and trousers, jeans, and jackets were stained from the beautiful colors we drew.

  By the second week, the whole grade was armored with colored chalk, ready to prey on any unsuspecting victim. The game spread like fire, and people discovered more and more tricky ways to stain each other. They smeared chalk on door handles, light switches, pencils, books, and anything imaginable. By the end of the day, everyone’s clothes resembled a contemporary Picasso, in a crazy array of colors and art.

  Those days of fun flew by quickly, and we all passed our classes. In spite of our pranks and the fun we had, Emad and I earned high grades. Aws and Essam didn’t do too bad and earned average marks for themselves, and we all looked forward to summer. Despite the ongoing war with Iran, Baghdad and the people in most cities that were far from the eastern border lived normal, simple lives, and we enjoyed ours.

  Aws didn’t travel that year, as his grandmother broke her hip and could not make the trip. So, for the first time in the four years since we’d met, he spent the whole summer in Baghdad. We played soccer at least three times a week, swam a lot, played Atari for hours, and, of course, made casual visits to the social club, still pining after Rana and Hana.

  Every Sunday and Wednesday, we made sure to be there, because those were the days when ladies’ swimming was offered. In most places in Iraq, men and women did not swim together. Since we knew when the girls would be there swimming, we used to hang around the club and stroll around with them after they finished, while they waited for their parents or relatives to pick them up. We used to wait near the tennis courts at just the right time, since we knew when they finished swimming and that they would have to walk that way. We exchanged a few words, but most of them came from us. We made sure to complement their hair, eyes, clothes, and even the color of their bags. At first, the girls just laughed and smiled, but in time, they gave us simple replies: “Thanks… Bye… See you later…” In an attempt to impress them, we sometimes left them love notes, as they walk by. They picked them up and laughed. The interaction wasn’t much, but to us, it was enough to talk about until we saw them again.

  Months passed, then years, and we found ourselves in the last year of secondary class, the year of the baccalaureate. It was the most important year in our academic careers, as the national exam would be taken at the end. That year’s grades decided what college we attended. It was a bit intimidating to know that one month of ex
ams and that year’s marks would determine our entire future.

  There is something funny and sad at the same time about the cultural and social demands in Iraq. Those who receive high marks must enter the college of medicine, if not dentistry or pharmacology. The worst-case scenario is to study engineering. Any other course of study is cause for one to be considered a loser. Every student fights for those four colleges, even if they have a desire to follow another path, simply because families and culture expects young people to aim for an esteemed career in medicine or dentistry.

  This last year of high school, students tend to calm down. Classes are quieter, and all students focus on their schoolwork, perhaps for the first time in all their school years. I felt I was in control of most subjects, though I did have a few issues with Arabic that had to be solved with private lessons I took year round. All in all, though, I was ready.

  As for my friends, Emad and Essam were doing well, but Aws was in a mess. During that year, he grew very close to Hana. A day did not go by when the two of them did not speak, and they saw each other every single week. He was head-over-heels in love with her, and he lost focus on everything else. I tried to warn him about this several times, and Rana even tried to talk some sense into her sister, but neither of us got anywhere. Rana and I never really clicked. It was fun to chase her for all those years, but as we grew up and life became more serious, I knew she was just not the one for me. I am very passionate and romantic; for me, it is all or nothing. If it is love, I love like crazy, and Rana never had that effect on me. For all I know, she felt the same, that I was not the right one for her. We did remain friends, though, and we talked from time to time. Most of the time, our talks focused on those important to us, Aws and Hana.

  Aws stopped studying and showed up in class so sleepy that he dozed off. When he was awake, he was busy writing love letters to Hana. He’d lost his sense of humor and wasn’t nearly as active as before. It was as if all his energy was spent on her. I had nothing against them, but his life was going backward, and I feared his future might be messed up, so I had to interfere.

  After the preparation period, or the forty days, the name us Iraqis call the gap between the last day of school and the first day of the exam, which would commence during the first week of June, the time for the baccalaureate arrived. The first exam was always Islamic studies, except for those who were Christian; of course they were exempt. Arabic was next, and subject after subject would follow. Emad and I felt we did well, and Essam did his best, but Aws simply didn’t fare too well at all.

  A month later, when the results came, it was really no surprise that we all passed except Aws, and he had to repeat the entire year of classes. His parents were devastated, and so were we, but deep inside, we knew he was a lost cause, even before we all sat down for the exams.

  As anticipated, Emad and I received high marks, and Essam’s were passing but average. My grades easily earned me a spot in medicine studies, and so did Emad’s, but I wanted to pursue business management, a course I knew I would excel in. Medicine was just not for me, and I knew I would not find my success there. I had a big fight on my hands, as I had to battle my parents and all those close to me in order to get what I wanted. It was a big hurdle to jump, but I faced it and didn’t back down.

  My parents’ initial response was a big no. Even though we had spent years and years in Europe, their mentality had not changed; in their eyes, high marks meant their son would be a doctor or dentist. My first attempt to argue with them was an endless fight, and I left to spend ten days with my aunt. Of course, there, I had to also battle with her to prove my point, albeit to a lesser extent than the war I had with my parents.

  After things calmed down, I went back home. I spoke to no one, and no one spoke to me. I just woke up, ate breakfast, went out with friends, and returned home to go to sleep.

  Time was ticking, and I had only three weeks left to make a decision, but no one would budge.

  My mother’s sister was a doctor and had a good reputation as one, so her words carried weight in our house. I needed her on my side, but I also needed my father’s best friend, an entrepreneur who was making a fortune. I talked to both separately. I explained to my aunt, “A person who works in the medical field must have a passion for it, as in the end, it is a humanitarian job more than anything else.” I told her I did not feel I could give myself fully to that profession, and she understood. I knew she would back me up, but then I had to get the other important figure in my corner.

  I called my father’s best friend late at night. He was like a second father to me, and I had known him ever since we came back from Germany. He was a doctor himself but not a practicing one; instead, just two years after graduating, he ventured in the world of business. He transferred a small, privately owned trading company to one of the largest groups in the country in less than a decade, and he was a giant within the food and beverage sector. Remarkably, his group holds the agencies for over twenty different FMCG brands, and he has a vast network of distribution all around Iraq, with over 200 trucks. My parents always talk of his success, and it was now my turn to use his success for my cause. Mr. Haider is a very articulate gentleman, excellent at convincing. I had to show him why I wanted to study business and nothing else.

  It was really the first time I told anyone about my desire to open an arcade or entertainment center, and I was enthused to explain how profitable it would be. A week earlier, I bought a big map of Baghdad and drove around for four hours a day, studying each area. I pinned the locations and was ready to present my case. I met him at his office, map in hand. After a glass of water to clear my throat, I opened my idea to him, including the budget I would need and all the details I had worked out. The whole time, he kept his eye on the rolled-up map in my hand. I finally unrolled it and showed him all the places in Baghdad that I considered feasible options. I also explained how the lack of entertainment centers in some heavily populated areas for teenagers in Baghdad would play in my favor. Feeling confident in my future plans, I carefully reviewed the demography of the area, locations of nearby schools, and other matters that I thought were important and would make a difference.

  Twenty minutes into my meeting with him, he was all in. “My only advice, Omar, is to do it fast,” he said. “Don’t wait to finish your business study. There is money in this. I can smell it. Leave your father to me. As for your mother, though, I can’t promise anything,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. I already have someone to change her mind. I only need you to deal with Dad,” I replied with a grin.

  I arranged for both of them to meet my parents on the same day, an hour apart. I left for Mosul, the second-biggest city in Iraq, a four-and-a-half-hour ride away. I needed that small trip with my friends, as I couldn’t bear the stress of not knowing how my parents would react to the messages of my new allies.

  I called my brother two days later to see how things were progressing, if at all.

  “Your educational choice will be spoken of for a long time. You are a brave man. All the best, brother. You got them” he reported, much to my relief.

  In the last week of August, the college distribution results came. Emad went to the college of medicine, and Rana went to the college of civil engineering. Essam and I went to the same college and were even in the same class. Both of us were proud students of the University of Baghdad, College of Administration and Economics. My decision in choosing that over the college of medicine was something I always had to explain for the next four years; I was asked about it nearly every week, and my answer was always received with an awkward smile. I knew others thought of me as an idiot for passing on medicine when I had that opportunity, but in the end, time proved I did the right thing. While most of the people my age were still studying medicine, I had already opened a business and was making profits they could only dream of.

  We couldn’t have asked for a better time to start college. The Iraqi-Iranian War had finished months earlier, and Iraq was trying to g
et back on its feet. People felt optimistic about the future. There were no more martyrs’ parades for victims of that Eight-Year War that took the lives of one million people from both countries. Jobs were opening, and for students stepping out into the world, the tunnel ahead seemed clear.

  For all newcomers, the first year in college starts a bit tricky. You either put your stamp on things from the beginning or lie back and watch others lead the way. In Iraq, after six years of separating boys from girls during education, colleges were mixed again.

  The first few months together, both boys and girls tend to be a bit shy, as the great majority have had little experience interacting with each other. Yes, some have girlfriends or boyfriends, and everyone has cousins or siblings of the opposite sex, but there is still a big difference between single guys and girls. The first year of coed schooling is a true test for everyone. Those who pass that test face one of a different kind: how to approach the backstabbing from those who failed to make the impact. There are rumors, lies, envy, and jealousy to contend with from both sexes, and this seems to be at its peak during the first month or two of college. Guys bash other guys, and girls do the same to other girls. I was lucky to have my best friend there with me, because that made it a whole lot more difficult for others to pick on us; we looked out for each other.

  Things only got better for us when, within a month, we had a group of our own: Emad, another friend from our previous school named Waleed, and me, along with four girls from the same high school Rana and Hana attended. The young ladies already knew our background, which was good for us, as there was no need to hide our past. What I didn’t know at the time was that one of those girls, Farah, was actually my future wife.