These Walls of Mine

Say University of Mustansiriyya and you'll find countless words to describe it, "Baathists, women staff and students outnumber men, glamorous girls, extremists, dim-witted students, lenient teachers, too much fun, do they ever study! They still have bells like those in primary schools, government's favourite propaganda theatre…. to name but a few."

Ask me and you'd expect some of the above plus one word "HOME".

Four of the most precious years of my life had been encompassed inside this beautiful work of art, architecture-wise, whose silver ball has always fascinated me. The building was the second reason why I decided to make it my first choice on the university enrollment card. It's true I was shocked that the inside looked loads uglier than the outside after some bitter experiences with Baathist officials at the time, but that didn't make it less of a home to me, particularly after spending a considerable time in the allegedly superior University of Baghdad as a postgraduate student.

The sight of its distinctive blue and white mosaic façade on TV has never ceased to wax the nostalgia since the time I have been treated as a visitor rather than the "one-of-our-students" label I had earned for four special years. I can literally walk in there with my eyes blindfolded, I remember every spot, every wall I left a mark on. Every picture I had had a funny story.

I had good and bad times. I mumbled a lot. I laughed a lot, but was too tough to cry or maybe I was too happy to do so. I only did two years after my graduation. The sight of my favourite spots charred uncorked the feelings all my friends shared, "We might have complained a great deal but we still love these bricks, it was our hearts that have been torched too!"

I once walked past its metal fence, which reminded me of the day my friend decided to venture wearing trousers, which was a no-no inside the campus that prided itself on their strict white and grey apparel rules, and I had to help her jump, because the guards at the front gate wouldn't let her in. I caught sight of senior year students looking so happy and dressy posing for their graduation photo. I gave a sigh of relief, "I'm glad in this world of mayhem, those young people are still having a taste of the fun my friends and I had."

Sadly, that didn't last. Mustansiriyya has become the centre of terrorists' attention; the perfect place to wreak havoc and cause carnages that could spill as much blood, instill as much fear and break as many hearts as they could have in their Satanic visions in one go.

Today's students may not be so lucky, but unlike my generation they do have heroes, we didn't have any!

Gruesome attacks against any place inside Iraq rupture my heart, but when my HOME is involved I'm glued to the telly until the media outlets move on or get distracted by red-carpet nonsense. All news bulletins talked about the casualties, why and who had done it, but only one local TV station, Al-Baghdadiya, focused on the guy who didn't follow the stampede when he glimpsed the suicide bomber in the crowd and tried to nail him.

I have always had campus memories, the ones that made me feel proud were all centered on personal achievements. Well I must keep my celebrated feats aside and try to beat that.




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