Late for Tea at the Deer Palace: The Lost Dreams of My Iraqi Family

‘What’s this, Mother? What are you talking about?’

Rumia glanced across at her. ‘Absolutely nothing for you to worry about, my dear.’ She turned her attention to some pots of spices and resolutely refused to meet Bibi’s eye.

‘Yes, it is; of course it is – what candelabra?’ Bibi demanded, her insecurities bubbling up in her chest.

Saeeda stepped forward. ‘Bibi, there’s something you should know.’ Calmly, she explained the truth about their financial situation, glancing across from time to time at Rumia, who let her continue.

While she wasn’t afraid to challenge her mother, Bibi listened to Saeeda respectfully. She knew from many years’ experience that Saeeda was loyal to the family and acted in all their best interests. Moreover, she was wary of provoking Saeeda’s temper, which could be fearsome when roused.

The news jolted Bibi’s world. She had taken it for granted that her paternal uncle, who was her legal guardian, would be covering the trousseau expenses. Troubled, she looked at her mother, searching for the words with which to express her thanks, but before she could speak Rumia hugged her and told her not to worry.

After a little while Bibi climbed the stairs pensively to her bedroom, where she reached for a hidden cigarette. She understood now more than ever just how important her marriage into the affluent Chalabi family was, and she was relieved that the process was well underway. As she considered the actual wedding, she found herself wondering what she would say to her husband when she first saw him, and how he would greet her. What if he didn’t like her? More importantly, what if she didn’t like him?

She worried about the first night, when the marriage had to be consummated. Now that she was betrothed, many married women in her circle had offered her advice about her wedding night, telling her what she might expect and warning her of the pain she might experience. She tingled with the mere thought of what might happen, strangely thrilled yet nervous at the same time.

Her mood improved over the next couple of days. The all-female henna party the night before the wedding was an especially joyful occasion. Rumia and Bibi’s relatives and close friends were all there. Bibi Istrabadi, the daughter of Saeeda’s old employer the Pivot and one of Bibi’s dearest childhood friends, teased her mercilessly about her new in-laws and the prospect of her wedding night, while a woman decorated their hands with henna patterns. The women sang and laughed, jumping from song to song, exhausting all the verses they knew. Even Rumia relaxed, momentarily abandoning her piety. With one hand covering the other, they clicked their fingers together, and the resulting rhythm accompanied their ululations around the room. Bibi could never manage this clicking business. As much as she tried, she could never make a sound.

The morning of the wedding day was rainy and grey. Bibi woke up very early. When she looked out of her latticed window and saw the downpour, she was filled with worry that the hafafa, the sugaring lady, would not come because of the weather. She could not take her bath until the hafafa had removed all of her body hair; depilation was something else she knew she would have to get used to as a married woman. Flustered, she rushed down to see whether the maid had brought her the tinkhawa, a mineral hair conditioner bought from the perfumer at the bazaar, and discovered to her immense relief that the hafafa had already arrived.

Between beauty treatments, she wondered briefly what her fiancé was doing at that precise moment. She knew that he would go for a ritual bath at the public hamam with a party of his friends. Having spoken to the other women about what was customary, she suspected that the men would all be treated to a succulent kebab lunch in the baths’ antechamber after they had finished their massage and sauna. It all seemed highly relaxed, compared to her compulsory beautification rituals. Bibi bit her lip in discomfort as the hafafa pulled another strip of sugar from her skin. Wincing, she reflected again on how lucky men were.

Hadi went through his wedding preparations with rather more detachment than his bride-to-be, but then there was less for him to do. Nonetheless, he was looking forward to the arrival of his bride that evening. He was anxious and excited in equal measure, trying to imagine what Bibi might be like. He had painted an image of her from the various descriptions that had been provided by his female relatives, concentrating on the more positive picture that his mother had created. Jamila had told him that Bibi was a lively girl, with a pretty face and soft skin. And certainly he liked the image he had now conjured in his mind.

There were a multitude of things for him to absorb in readiness for this great change in his life. Marriage marked his entry into the adult world and the responsibilities that it entailed. He was much less worried than Bibi about the prospect of disliking his spouse. As for the pressure of the wedding night – this had its unpleasant side, especially when the house would be full of people, all expectant that the deed be done. But he was confident that he would prevail. He smiled to himself, grateful for his experience of a few stolen amorous encounters with a young singer from Baghdad.

In any case, first he would have to wait at home while a procession of twenty or so of his male relatives went to fetch Bibi. As it was raining he decided to send her his favourite horse, Najma, who was tacked up by Ni’mati with a bright, colourful bridle and a kilim-like blanket under the saddle. He carefully instructed his younger brothers Abdul Rasul and Muhammad Ali to make sure that his new bride was comfortable.

Bibi was ready. She sat waiting on the edge of her bed, her legs too short to reach the floor as she bit her nails. She was wearing a white wedding dress embroidered with gold circular patterns, which had been made at a Jewish atelier in Baghdad. Her eyes were lined in kohl, and her skin was very soft after the morning’s rituals, perfumed with her favourite jasmine essence. She wore a wedding veil which would be pulled down over her face when the men arrived.

Despite the sound of the rain, the singing of the men carried through the street as they walked towards the house. Then it stopped. A loud knock was heard. As a privileged member of the household who was close to the bride, Saeeda took up the challenge, asking loudly, ‘Who is it?’

‘We are here to take the bride,’ the men replied.

‘We don’t have any bride to give you,’ said Saeeda. ‘You’ve come to the wrong house.’

‘We won’t leave until you give us our bride!’

‘I told you – we have no bride for you here.’

The exchange was part of the custom and, as in a play, each side remained faithful to their part. The men knocked again, and Saeeda repeated her reply. This formality continued for a little while longer until one of the men offered Saeeda a few coins to open the door. Saeeda pushed it ajar, just enough to peer out. Looking at the men in mock disdain, she closed the door and said, ‘Our girl is too precious for these pennies!’

The men knocked again, crying out, ‘We will give you all the pennies you want if you open the door.’ This time Saeeda obliged, and took the rest of the coins.

Bibi had meanwhile come downstairs and was standing in the sitting room with her mother, her brothers, aunts and cousins. Rumia gently pulled Bibi’s head towards her and whispered a prayer in her ear. Bibi then kissed her two brothers. She said goodbye to everyone else, before bidding her mother farewell. Rumia was crying and Bibi followed suit. Her father’s absence was sorely felt, and they both pined for him.

‘No, no, you’ll ruin her face with all these tears,’ soothed one of Rumia’s sisters-in-law. ‘Come on, my dear, she’ll still be near you.’

Bibi’s trousseau had been sent ahead a few days earlier, along with the presents to the groom and his family. Her father’s sisters, Fahima and Aminah, had already been to the Chalabis’ house to prepare her new quarters. They would accompany her to her new home tonight.

When she caught sight of the animal standing at the door, Bibi exclaimed in horror. She was terrified of horses, and she felt the colour vanish from her cheeks as she hesitated before agreeing to mount it. As she was helped up by Abdul Rasul, her heart was thumping so loudly she couldn’t hear the four-man band that led the way with drums and trumpets. Sitting sidesaddle, she struggled to hold an umbrella with one hand while she clung very tightly to the colourful reins with the other. Even though the horse walked at the pace of a snail, Bibi was terrified of slipping.

Her relatives and friends sang alongside her as they moved slowly towards the Chalabi house at the other end of the quarter. The entire neighbourhood came out in the rain to watch the zaffa, the wedding procession. Although it was not as spectacular as it would have been during peacetime, it nevertheless brightened up the streets and afforded the onlookers the opportunity to put aside their sorrows for a few precious moments.

When the horse finally came to a halt in the courtyard of her new home and she was helped down, Bibi looked up at the figures that stood waiting for her in the main courtyard of the house. She could only recognize her husband’s aunts and Khadja, her new grandmother-in-law.

Her own aunts, who had followed her on foot, appeared on either side to help her enter her new home. It was their duty to hand her to her husband. As she took her first step towards her new family, Bibi remembered her attempts to prepare a suitably smiling face in front of her mirror, in anticipation of this moment. She looked up towards the men and, lifting her veil, flashed her most winning smile at them. A ripple of shock went through the group, who had been expecting to greet a shy, demure woman – especially on this, her wedding day. It was a small mercy that her mother had missed the moment, for Bibi’s gesture was simply not the done thing. Her faux pas was made even worse owing to the fact that, in her nervousness, she had directed her dazzling, flirtatious smile not at her new husband, but at her father-in-law.

Nevertheless, both bride and groom greeted each other appropriately amidst a chorus of ululations from those standing around them. Dinner was served, which gave time for Bibi to relax a little. She was still very nervous about what lay ahead that night. The only man who had ever held her close had been her father, many years earlier. She couldn’t stop her stomach churning from anxiety, remembering all that she had been told about what went on between a man and a woman.

Unusually for Bibi, she was lost for words as she sat absorbing her new surroundings and watching her new family. The air was alive with stolen glances as she and Hadi shyly scrutinized each other. Eventually the meal came to an end, all too soon for Bibi. After bidding her new in-laws goodnight, she was ushered upstairs by her aunts to her newly furnished bedroom. In silence she was helped out of her wedding dress and into a delicately embroidered nightdress. She was momentarily comforted to see the large hand-beaten copper bowl that her mother had picked as part of her trousseau. As she leaned over it to wash her hands, she heard a knock on the door. It was her husband.

Her aunts giggled, kissed her and left. Staring at her hennaed palms, embarrassed to be seen in a negligee, Bibi stood frozen as Hadi approached her. He hesitantly stroked her hair as he held her hand. She looked up at him and smiled. She was relieved to see that he was indeed handsome, with kind eyes set in an open face. His arms enclosed her. She didn’t resist.

Ever mindful of her duties as a new mother-in-law, Rumia was determined to supply a sumptuous breakfast for the morning after the wedding night. A huge basket duly arrived early the next day for Hadi and Bibi, with freshly baked bread, gaymar, honey, a variety of homemade jams, lemon curd, marmalade, rice pudding and Rumia’s delicate shakar borek pastries. She added a few gardenias, freshly cut from her small courtyard.

There was a lot for Bibi to take in that first week, and the days flew by as she focused on an approaching social function, the prospect of which terrified her almost as much as the wedding night had. On the seventh day after the wedding, her mother-in-law Jamila would be hosting a tea party during which the guests would take a good look at the new bride’s trousseau, which would be laid out on her new bed in her new room.

It was a rite of passage that Bibi had previously enjoyed participating in as a spectator – but now she would be the subject of it herself. Several women who were not invited entered the house with their faces covered except for their eyes. It was an open house, so they could not be turned away, and they rummaged through the hand-embroidered silks and lingerie like crows picking over delicacies.

Bibi sat enthroned in the dawakhana in another bridal dress, while all the visiting ladies scrutinized her – her hands, her smile, her hair, her nose, her eyes, her manners and, of course, her outfit. Usually Bibi loved attention, but that day she could not wait for everyone to leave. Now that she was getting to know him a little, she longed for the opportunity to be alone again with her new husband. Aware of the women’s examining gazes upon her, she smoothed her dress and sat upright, determined that she would not be found wanting.

Bibi and Hadi as a married couple.

5

A Giant Broken

The End of the Ottomans

(1917–1918)

AS BIBI EMBARKED on married life in early 1917, Mesopotamia had been at war for three gruelling years. The British forces were slowly but steadily advancing along the Tigris, creeping ever nearer to Baghdad, yet people still struggled on with their lives in the areas that remained under Ottoman control. In Kazimiya, the war manifested itself predominantly in the continued influx of refugees from southern towns, where many of the battles between the Ottomans and the British raged. In these turbulent days, there were more refugees in Kazimiya than there were visitors to the town’s famous shrine.

While Hadi continued to work for the military in Baghdad, Bibi busied herself with setting up her new home. The novelty of marriage overwhelmed her at first, as she adapted to her new family and surroundings. She tried to accustom herself to her new role as a wife; she was the ward of her husband, even if he was out of the house all day, and she had to behave accordingly, giving him and his family the respect that was due them. From sharing a room with Hadi to waiting up for him if he came home late, she had to get used to life in this large house, which was composed of several annexes. Each was effectively a set of living quarters for a different section of the Chalabi family. This represented a great change from her mother’s house, which was smaller and was occupied only by her mother’s little household.

As elaborate as the most intricate Persian carpet, the Chalabi household was patterned by its many different personalities. There was Bibi’s dour grandmother-in-law Khadja, who had not forgotten Bibi’s ‘eavesdropping’ episode and who consequently scrutinized her every move; her parents-in-law Abdul Hussein and his meek wife Jamila, and their five children; as well as her uncle-in-law Abdul Ghani and his family.

Bibi missed her mother’s house. She had become used to a smaller household since her father had died, one that was organized and quiet, and in which a great deal of emphasis was placed on food and its presentation. By contrast, the Chalabi household was a bustling hive of activities and disparate demands.

She also missed her former independence terribly, and realized that she had failed fully to appreciate it while living under her mother’s roof. She was now answerable in all things to people who were scarcely more than strangers. Such were the customs by which a young wife was bound. Khadja ranked above all the other women in the household, and never let anyone forget it. These were the customs for everyone, but Bibi loathed them.

Unlike Rumia’s sheltered home, the Chalabis’ was an open house. Abdul Hussein still ran an active dawakhana, receiving guests daily, and Bibi disliked the commotion this caused, especially as custom dictated that she and the other women had to stay out of the sight of men to whom they weren’t related. She often found herself secluded in the andaroun, the private quarters shared by all the family.

The visitors to the dawakhana often loudly aired their grievances about the declining state of Baghdad in the war, or were otherwise boisterous. At first, Bibi was more irritated than impressed by the social prominence of her father-in-law, and responded to his status by glorifying her own father’s house and her mother’s impeccable management of it, initially to herself. She conveniently forgot all of her criticisms and any discomfort she had felt while living there.

A more pressing concern was the cuisine of the Chalabi household. The kitchen catered for many people, and the cooks didn’t have the refinement or talent of Rumia and her staff. Such was Bibi’s longing for her mother’s cooking that she arranged for Rumia to send food to her secretly. Saeeda would visit with bundles hidden under her long black abaya so as not to offend the in-laws.

Although Rumia liked Hadi and was happy for her daughter, she found the Chalabis’ lifestyle too chaotic for her liking. She worried about Bibi becoming lost in such a crowded house. Shaking her head, she would complain to Saeeda, ‘I don’t like to speak ill about people, but that house is so busy, there are so many people coming in and out, and their food, my dear … well, it might do for an army, but it’s certainly not tasty.’ On the other side of town, Bibi ate her secret supplies with relish and wistfully nursed her sense of loss.