The Girl from Baghdad by Michelle Nouri Page A

The city I loved the most in my life is outside, still intact. I still see my father next to me, holding my hand, and I know he’ll always be with me. For an instant, everything returns to how it was at that time: perfect.
    Dad wasn’t enthusiastic about our passion for dance, but he let us take classes anyway. One afternoon he abruptly decided neither my sisters nor I would dance again. We had returned home from our ballet lesson still wearing our slippers and tutus. We wanted to show Mum the progress we had made and she clapped with such enthusiasm as we twirled in front of her. Whenwe heard Dad come home, Klara, Linda and I ran, full of excitement, into the hall. We hugged him, took him by the hands, and began pulling him towards the living room.
    â€˜Come sit down. We have a surprise for you!’ all three of us girls yelled happily.
    His face hardened. ‘What are these clothes? Where do you think you’re going?’
    â€˜It’s a surprise! Come on. Sit on the couch. We want to show you something!’ While I spoke, Klara and Linda had already started to do some dance steps.
    But Dad growled at us angrily, ‘I don’t like you girls going around in those tight leotards. Go and take them off, immediately.’
    â€˜But, Baba …’ Linda and Klara pleaded, disappointed.
    â€˜Enough with this foolishness. This isn’t decent apparel for good young girls. Go on. Go in the other room and change.’ He turned to look at me, ‘I’m surprised by you. You’re the eldest. You should set an example. Linda and Klara copy everything you do.’
    â€˜What’s so bad? We’re just dancing,’ I said, twisting the tulle of my tutu in my fingers.
    â€˜We just wanted … to put on a show for you, Baba,’ my little sister complained.
    â€˜Quit throwing tantrums, Linda! It’s not becoming. I don’t want you dancing around half-naked.’
    â€˜But even Renà wants to be a ballerina.’ I hoped that pulling my cousin into the argument would convince him that there wasn’t anything improper about it.
    â€˜Kasside told me. She also said you girls were the ones who put these silly ideas in her head. And she’s right. It doesn’t look good going around in tight clothing. I don’t want you going to that dance school anymore.’
    â€˜Why? What did we do?’ I replied. ‘Did Aunt Kasside tell you to forbid it?’
    â€˜It’s not important who told me. You girls will stop going to that disgraceful school,’ Dad reaffirmed in an authoritative voice.
    â€˜But Mum said –’ Klara began.
    â€˜Your mother can say whatever she wants. I am the boss in this house!’ he said, raising his voice.
    He considered the discussion closed. As he was leaving the room, he turned again to face me and demanded, ‘Get rid of those rags. I don’t ever want to see them again.’
    I ran to my room and sat on the bed. I stared at my tutu, crumpling it between my nervous fingers. I felt two tears of rage run down my cheeks. I was confused and mortified. Why should I be ashamed to dance? I was good at it, and I loved it. I didn’t understand why my father had made such a scene. It was the second time that I had seen that enraged look on his face and when he was this way, it was difficult to recognise the charming,loving man I knew – my king who would take care of me and make me smile.
    A tenuous peace returned to our family after that scolding. We quit dancing, although disheartened, and everything seemed resolved. Nevertheless, I sometimes felt Dad was behaving strangely. Something made him edgy, but I wasn’t sure what. He was the same as before, smiling and sweet, but there were moments in which he seemed distant and pensive. When things were like this at home I escaped to my friend Dani’s house.

Dani was Christian and always wore a cross around her neck. Although we were used to