poets-of-baghdad: Baghdad Café
Throughout the Islamic world, Friday is known as the day for Juma prayer. But for the literati that fill the benches and rest their short Turkish coffees on the small wobbly tables at the Sh'ah Bander Café, Friday is dedicated to the written word. By 9:30 a.m. the café is full with betweeded middle-aged men. If stripped of their nagila pipes and shai Iraqi teas, they would more resemble characters from an Evelyn Waugh novel than stereotypical Arabs, with their pinstripes, Yorkshire caps, and dapper ties reminiscent of 1920s England.
The Caribbean-colored walls of the café reflect the nobility of the wordsmiths who sit beneath them, crammed as they are with black-and-white photographs of what seems to be a rather sophisticated time in Baghdad's past. Antique frames are stuffed with yellowed pictures of Iraq's first king, Faisal Abdul Aziz, as both boy and man, hand-colored prints of a Baghdad street riot during British times, and endless faces from an era that knew no weapons of mass destruction.Outside, on Mutanabi Street, booksellers hustle dust-covered volumes for however many Dinar might change hands. The street, named for a legendary poet who thought himself a prophet, is the historic heart of Baghdad's book district. Sh'ah Bander, in fact, is located in a former printing press. It's no surprise that such literary interests persist in the region that produced the Epic of Gilgamesh. This, after all, is present-day Mesopotamia.
Throughout the Al-Mutanabi district, the restaurants are full, the fruit stands are fully stocked, and the red double-decker buses rolling by seem oddly familiar. There are no armed militiamen at intersections.
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