The first and only woman who taught me how to sing traditional Iraqi songs, was my grandmother.
She'd sing them to me while I watched her cook. I remember she used to sit on a very low, small stool called "Takhta" in Iraqi, in a corner of the kitchen and show me how to peel vegetables. I would squat and rest my head on my hands, on my little palms and watch her prepare our daily nourishment, whilst singing...
So when she sang one of her favorite songs, I'd ask her "Bibi" (grandma in Iraqi dialect), "why are these songs so sad ?" And she'd reply "because, life is so."
Other instances where my grandma taught me how to sing was when she would give me my bath. She had an old Turkish looking bathroom. A small version of a traditional Hammam. It consisted of two spaces. A space to wash, separated by another space to dry. The space to wash had another "Takhta" in wood, two taps -- hot and cold, and a big brass bowl and a smaller one floating inside the bigger one. This Hammam meant that you would fill the big bowl with water and use the smaller bowl to rinse yourself.
The "drying" room on the other hand, consisted of cushions and special wooden slippers called a "Qubqab", like open wooden clogs. The common folk wisdom was that, after a bath called a "Hammam", you should not expose yourself to drafts. Hence, I would be forced to sit in that small cushioned room until I was totally dry and wear the wooden "Qubqab" so as not to slip and fall on the wet floor.
In that small room, tea would be served and occasionally a home made biscuit called a "Klecha" filled with dates or pistachio nuts covered in a golden hue of Saffron and smelling of Cardamom.
Grandma would often bathe me. It was an elaborate ritual. First she'd shampoo my hair with special home made soap made of olive oil, called "Saboon Ragee", then she would rinse my then, very long hair, and mix some "Teen Khawa" in water and use it as a conditioner. "Teen Khawa" are pieces of special clay/mud taken from the river banks, and they turn your hair silky smooth. In North Africa, they call it "Ghussul"
And while my head was soaked up in clay from the Dijla banks, she would use a small hand towel called "Cheess". "Cheess" which means bag, is a glove, made of a rather coarse material, and when you scrub yourself with it, you scrub away the dead skin...
After the "Cheess", she'd use a "Leefah" also known as "Loofah", made of another rough natural fiber that grows on trees, with which she'd give my body a second, soapy scrub.
On the face, she'd use what we call a "Gorssa". A "Gorssa" is a small roundish white colored piece of clay, specially designed for the face. You rub it on the face, to remove all impurities. It also makes the skin glow...
Then she'd rinse my body and my long hair and I was to sit in the "drying" room.
In the "drying" room, she'd comb my long hair with a traditional wooden comb, then braid it and wrap it in a towel, followed by another piece of cloth called a "Cheetayah." She'd say, "your hair is your treasure, you must keep it shiny and am teaching you how to..." Then she would use her essence made of Rose, Jasmin or Amber and dab some on my body...
And all the while she would hum the old Iraqi songs...a lullaby in a mist of water and perfumed scents...
When I grew older and she too, it was my turn to help her have a bath. I had learned the whole ritual by heart. So I would follow the exact same rite from beginning to end.
One day, I noticed three small tattoos on her belly. Three small tattoos in a vertical line and one bigger tattoo that looked like a star, right below the navel.
Bibi, what are these tattoos on your belly? I asked,
Habibtee (my darling), it's a long story, she replied.
Tell me Bibi, please. I want to know.
I had sensed there was some secret behind her tattooed belly. I had to find out.
So she shared her secret...
"When I was forced into marriage, I couldn't get pregnant. I heard of some "mullaya"(a sage femme/witch/healer/religious woman) who would help me. She tattooed my belly a first time. Nothing happened. So she tattooed it a second time - your mother was born. But it was no boy. So she tattooed it a third time and your aunt was born, but it was no boy. So she tattooed it a fourth time, and finally came your uncle...and then she did not need to tattoo anymore because I had more boys after that..."
I must have noticed her tattoo before learning her secret - because I also remember when I was still a little girl, every time she made Henna designs on her hands and mine, I would also ask her to draw a star on my belly with her Henna.*
And this has not left me since...Even today, whenever I can, I seek to have Henna tattoos on my belly and the small of my back...
And I can't help but hum the same old Iraqi songs every time I am tattooed...
*Henna - a natural dye, made of a plant, that usually washes off with Hammams and Time...
Painting: Iraqi artist, Said Shnin.
She'd sing them to me while I watched her cook. I remember she used to sit on a very low, small stool called "Takhta" in Iraqi, in a corner of the kitchen and show me how to peel vegetables. I would squat and rest my head on my hands, on my little palms and watch her prepare our daily nourishment, whilst singing...
So when she sang one of her favorite songs, I'd ask her "Bibi" (grandma in Iraqi dialect), "why are these songs so sad ?" And she'd reply "because, life is so."
Other instances where my grandma taught me how to sing was when she would give me my bath. She had an old Turkish looking bathroom. A small version of a traditional Hammam. It consisted of two spaces. A space to wash, separated by another space to dry. The space to wash had another "Takhta" in wood, two taps -- hot and cold, and a big brass bowl and a smaller one floating inside the bigger one. This Hammam meant that you would fill the big bowl with water and use the smaller bowl to rinse yourself.
The "drying" room on the other hand, consisted of cushions and special wooden slippers called a "Qubqab", like open wooden clogs. The common folk wisdom was that, after a bath called a "Hammam", you should not expose yourself to drafts. Hence, I would be forced to sit in that small cushioned room until I was totally dry and wear the wooden "Qubqab" so as not to slip and fall on the wet floor.
In that small room, tea would be served and occasionally a home made biscuit called a "Klecha" filled with dates or pistachio nuts covered in a golden hue of Saffron and smelling of Cardamom.
Grandma would often bathe me. It was an elaborate ritual. First she'd shampoo my hair with special home made soap made of olive oil, called "Saboon Ragee", then she would rinse my then, very long hair, and mix some "Teen Khawa" in water and use it as a conditioner. "Teen Khawa" are pieces of special clay/mud taken from the river banks, and they turn your hair silky smooth. In North Africa, they call it "Ghussul"
And while my head was soaked up in clay from the Dijla banks, she would use a small hand towel called "Cheess". "Cheess" which means bag, is a glove, made of a rather coarse material, and when you scrub yourself with it, you scrub away the dead skin...
After the "Cheess", she'd use a "Leefah" also known as "Loofah", made of another rough natural fiber that grows on trees, with which she'd give my body a second, soapy scrub.
On the face, she'd use what we call a "Gorssa". A "Gorssa" is a small roundish white colored piece of clay, specially designed for the face. You rub it on the face, to remove all impurities. It also makes the skin glow...
Then she'd rinse my body and my long hair and I was to sit in the "drying" room.
In the "drying" room, she'd comb my long hair with a traditional wooden comb, then braid it and wrap it in a towel, followed by another piece of cloth called a "Cheetayah." She'd say, "your hair is your treasure, you must keep it shiny and am teaching you how to..." Then she would use her essence made of Rose, Jasmin or Amber and dab some on my body...
And all the while she would hum the old Iraqi songs...a lullaby in a mist of water and perfumed scents...
When I grew older and she too, it was my turn to help her have a bath. I had learned the whole ritual by heart. So I would follow the exact same rite from beginning to end.
One day, I noticed three small tattoos on her belly. Three small tattoos in a vertical line and one bigger tattoo that looked like a star, right below the navel.
Bibi, what are these tattoos on your belly? I asked,
Habibtee (my darling), it's a long story, she replied.
Tell me Bibi, please. I want to know.
I had sensed there was some secret behind her tattooed belly. I had to find out.
So she shared her secret...
"When I was forced into marriage, I couldn't get pregnant. I heard of some "mullaya"(a sage femme/witch/healer/religious woman) who would help me. She tattooed my belly a first time. Nothing happened. So she tattooed it a second time - your mother was born. But it was no boy. So she tattooed it a third time and your aunt was born, but it was no boy. So she tattooed it a fourth time, and finally came your uncle...and then she did not need to tattoo anymore because I had more boys after that..."
I must have noticed her tattoo before learning her secret - because I also remember when I was still a little girl, every time she made Henna designs on her hands and mine, I would also ask her to draw a star on my belly with her Henna.*
And this has not left me since...Even today, whenever I can, I seek to have Henna tattoos on my belly and the small of my back...
And I can't help but hum the same old Iraqi songs every time I am tattooed...
*Henna - a natural dye, made of a plant, that usually washes off with Hammams and Time...
Painting: Iraqi artist, Said Shnin.
