She was perhaps fortunate that Jamila, her mother-in-law, was such a subdued creature, who remained at the mercy of Khadja. And the layout of the large house permitted Bibi to build a good relationship with Jamila and her children, especially her daughter Shamsa, while staying out of the dowager’s way. Jamila was very different to Rumia. She didn’t have the same oppressive piety; she enjoyed a good laugh, and when left alone by her fractious sisters-in-law, Munira, Amira and Shaouna, was very jolly. The wrath of God did not loom over her in the same way that it did for Rumia.
Hadi’s three aunts, who had come with Khadja to inspect her as a prospective bride, did not live in the big house, but hovered about its fringes. Bibi succeeded in winning them over too, appeasing them with flattery and politeness.
Yet for all that Bibi gradually settled into her new home, a secret corner of her heart remained in her mother’s house, the home of her childhood memories. One day Abdul Hussein overheard her singing a popular new song about the war:
Chalchal alayah al rumana, wil numi fiza’li
Hatha il hilu ma rida, waduni lahli …
Ya yumah la tintithrin, batlili al natra
Ma juz ana min hwai, wu maku kul charah …
The pomegranate tree engulfed me, and the sweet lemon came to my rescue;
I don’t want this sweetness, take me home …
Oh, mother don’t wait for me, there is no point in waiting;
I will never abandon my home, there is nothing to be done.
The song was about the Ottomans, referred to as bitter pomegranates, and the British, who were the sweet lemons. The words expressed the longing of a soldier or prisoner for his home, with the implication being that he wanted neither the sour Ottomans nor the sweet antidote to their bitterness, the British. Hearing Bibi sing, Abdul Hussein could tell that the song might just as well be about her own longing for her mother. The wistfulness in her voice said it all.
When she finished, he came into the room clapping his hands, praising her for her fine voice. Bibi laughed, and asked him teasingly whether he thought she could make a career of it.
He started laughing too: ‘No, no, Bibi – you’re too good to be wasted in the cafés!’
Bibi smiled. Neither of them spoke of the sentiment that echoed through the verse.
Outside the Chalabi house, change was bearing down on the city gates. Ever since 1914, British forces had been a hostile presence in Mesopotamia, capturing the southern cities of Basra, Nassiriya and Samawa. Although they had suffered a crushing defeat at Kut in 1916, losing 23,000 soldiers to disease and famine, a new military commander had rallied the troops and resumed the advance towards Baghdad.
In March 1917, under the instructions of their Commander-in-Chief Khalil Pasha, the Ottoman troops spent several days digging trenches outside Baghdad in preparation for the British offensive. On 10 March a sandstorm descended on the city. In the face of the relentless storm and the advancing British army, Khalil Pasha realized that he had insufficient men under his command, that too many had been diverted to fight the Russians in Persia. He ordered a retreat.
However, first he issued orders to destroy all the major factories and arms depots in the city. The pontoon bridge was burned and factories were blown up, as was the telecommunication station the Germans had built. Supplies of ammunition were dumped in the Tigris, and the retreating Turks blew up one of the four main gates to the city, the Talisman gate. Most of the Ottoman administrative personnel fled, taking with them official documents and registers. Baghdad was left exposed, the corpses of dead Ottoman soldiers brought in from nearby fronts littered the streets, and a mob of impoverished city dwellers and tribesmen from the outskirts took over the city, looting what was left. Some, such as the Bedouins, were motivated to loot simply as one of their own customs of war, while others were expressing their resentment of the Ottomans and the harshness they had witnessed during the war.
Across the River Tigris in Kazimiya, people heard explosions but could not see what was happening because of the sandstorm that blacked out the sun. At the Chalabi house, family members gathered on the rooftop. In the darkness they could not tell what time of day it was, and sand seeped into their noses and ears even when they retreated indoors. Bibi and her sister-in-law Shamsa clutched each other’s hands as they heard a thunderous sequence of the explosions set off by the retreating army.
In the streets outside, people dashed around, desperately seeking shelter, crashing into each other or into walls because of the sand that stung their eyes. Their cries added to the clamour. The thickness of the air, dense with sand, increased the panic.
Amidst this chaos, townspeople watched in disbelief as Khalil Pasha and his officers arrived at Kazimiya station and brazenly boarded a train for Samarra. Luckily, the town was spared looting by the nearby desert tribes, the ruffians and bandits who appeared during chaotic times, as the town’s notables came together and took Kazimiya’s security into their own hands.
The next morning, General Sir Frederick Maude’s Anglo-Indian troops entered Baghdad and marched along the avenue built by Khalil Pasha’s troops to facilitate their own military manoeuvres in the city. The avenue cut through the very heart of Baghdad, from the northern gate at Bab al-Mu’adam near the Citadel, all the way towards the central Maidan Square and the river beyond it.
British troops entering Baghdad, March 1917.
Maude’s troops met no resistance. They found a vanquished city, its buildings looted and destroyed. Many Baghdadis were uneasy about the possibility of a Turkish reprisal, so there were few cheers and little applause in the streets. The British flag was hoisted at the clock tower in the former Ottoman government complex in Qishla, the old city, and public order was swiftly restored. It was soon apparent, however, that there was no clear plan for political action. Maude read out an elaborate and flowery speech to the people of Baghdad six days after the city’s capture, penned earlier by a British adventurer and diplomat in the region, Sir Mark Sykes. In it, he emphasized that the purpose of the British presence was not occupation, but rather emancipation:
Our armies come into your cities and lands not as conquerors or enemies, but as liberators … Between your people and the dominions of my King there has been a close bond of interest. For 200 years have the merchants of Baghdad and Great Britain traded together in mutual profit and friendship … Many noble Arabs have perished in the cause of Arab freedom, at the hands of those alien rulers, the Turks, who oppressed them. It is the determination of the Government of Great Britain and the great Powers allied to Great Britain that these noble Arabs shall not have suffered in vain … I am commanded to invite you, through your nobles and elders and representatives, to participate in the management of your civil affairs in collaboration with the political representatives of Great Britain who accompany the British Army, so that you may be united with your kinsmen in North, East, South, and West in realizing the aspirations of your race.
Maude’s mention of emancipation had some echo in Baghdad, especially among those officers who had participated in the Arab revolt further south against the Ottomans in 1916. Discontent with the Ottomans had grown ever since the Young Turks’ revolt of 1908, and was now shared by many. However, their notions of ‘liberation’ also implied independence and self-rule – features that appeared to be lacking in British plans, which seemed to be more concerned with economic factors such as their ability to maintain control of the oil fields in Iraq and Iran and to secure a route to India, where they continued to have an imperial presence. It seemed that the British were in no immediate hurry to make up their minds as far as the future of Mesopotamia was concerned. Uncertainty filled the air.
The war had taken its toll on Baghdad’s population. The Ottomans had