The Girl from Baghdad by Michelle Nouri Page A

with Kassid to important parties at Bibi’s, they welcomed her with great ceremony. As soon as she entered the living room, Kasside got up to greet her immediately. Aunt May advanced like a lioness in her dark outfit and long coloured hair, spilling down her shoulders. At those moments she seemed like the boss of the house. Kasside held her hands as she kissed her. With a slightly ostentatious smile, she oozed, ‘Welcome, dear. You’re beautiful, as always. And what spectacular jewels! Who knows how much they’re worth!’
    May exchanged the same compliments with an identical smile on her lips. As soon as May was seated in the living room, the aunts surreptitiously took off to the kitchen to arrange the sweets on a tea tray. I followed them, knowing the comments would pour out.
    â€˜Did you see her earrings?’ one said.
    â€˜Saddam must have given them to her!’ another sister replied.
    â€˜I didn’t check to see if she greeted Bibi. Did she?’
    â€˜Yes, but last. She’s really rude!’
    â€˜What a disaster. Our poor brother!’
    As soon as they returned to the living room, they sat near her and offered her tea. All of a sudden they seemed to have become great friends again. Naturally, when May and Kassid left, the aunts had a lot to talk about: what their ‘favourite sister-in-law’ had said and done.
    Only one other topic was able to attract their attention as much as Aunt May: weddings. They always ended up arriving at this subject. And, when they did, we kept our ears open because we knew that they would talk about us. It was normal for cousins to marry each other. We grew up together, and together was how we were to remain; we had to keep the family together, and above all, the wealth.
    Kasside had six children: Suhèr was the eldest, then came Esràr, Dunya, Samìr (who was destined from the beginning to marry one of the cousins) and Renà, who was my age. Renà had a love-hate relationship with me; she followed me everywhere, but then became terribly jealous and preferred Samar. The last was Alì: short and stocky, with a dark complexion. He was always in competition with everyone. Elham’s daughters, older than us, were the most homely-looking of the family. They took after their mother, who was the plainest of the three sisters.
    The beauties of the family were Ahlam’s six children; three girls and three boys. Esmàa, Sundus and Samar were all very pretty with slender figures and long black hair. They had inherited their mother’s good looks: big, dark eyes and lush lips, always carefully outlined with a little lipstick. According to Bibi, the eldest, Esmàa, was destined to marry Samìr, Kasside’s son. I was very close to Samar, the youngest daughter. We were almost the same age and often spent afternoons making ourselves up and trying on my aunt’s clothes, pretending to be grown-up. The eldest of Samar’s three brothers was Omar: a handsome boy, a little older than me, with bright and sparkling eyes. He was very intelligent and determined; although he was short, he had a decisive and ambitious character. After him came Ahmed and Khalid. When we celebrated Khalid’s circumcision, I was already old enough to watch, even though I still wasn’t old enough to understand.
    The preparation for the circumcision party was especially long and laborious: the aunts cooked for an entire week and decorated the living room with flowers, candles and streamers. But lavish celebrations were nothing new to the family. Every ‘special occasion’ was celebrated with gifts and banquets. Even simple birthdays were an occasion to organise stupendous parties, although they were nothing compared to weddings and circumcisions when the house was an animated hive of activity.
    Khalid was five years old. I was ten. My father explained to me what was about to happen: Khalid was becoming a man. It seemed bizarre to me, given