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Welcome To My Blog

This blog serves as a testament to the Iraq I carry with me, a place that remains unknown to the world. Over the years, this land has captivated global attention, thrust into the spotlight with its diverse terrain, rich history, and complex demographics. 

My Articles In The New York Times

Baghdad's Last Summit, and the Very, Very Important People Who Never Came

TORONTO — How much Iraq, my home country, has changed. And I know all too well that the changes did not happen overnight. It was, and is, systematic destruction, and for me it started three decades ago during the run up to Baghdad’s last planned summit.

Back then, in 1981, I was a newly graduated civil engineer working on the V.V.I.P.B. – Very, Very Important Persons Building — at Baghdad International Airport, a project that was a symbol of glory, abundance and growth as Iraq prepared itself t

Easter in Baghdad

BAGHDAD — At first, I mistakenly thought that the sound was caused by the rattle of two iron rods. This is the Stone Age method still used — ironic, in a land considered one of the wealthiest in resources — to alert residents that the gas cylinder man’s cart is in their neighborhood.

Then I recognized the sound as the ringing of church bells, a rhythm I had not heard for so long, since where I lived until recently in Canada I seldom, if ever, heard the ding-dong of church bells. I realized it w

Yasmine Mousa - At War Blog - The New York Times

Like many others, I was intrigued by the attention the film “American Sniper” was getting. I knew I was treading murky waters, but I decided to follow the herd and see the movie. Unlike most people in the crowd, I had a very personal stake in the film. “American Sniper” takes place in Iraq, my homeland, which I left shortly after the American-led invasion that Chris Kyle took part in. So the film, powerful and sad, left me with mixed thoughts and reminiscences.

Falluja — where much of the movie

My Articles

The Antigonish Review,

AS PUBLISHED IN THE ATIGNOSIH REVIEW, Founded by R.J. MacSween in 1970, The Antigonish Review is supported by St. Francis Xavier University, with assistance from the Canada Council for the Arts: It was a fine Saturday morning for a March in Toronto. My two sons suggested an outing to Unionville Town, a 40-minute drive up north. We were in mourning. My husband – their father – had died precipitately a couple of months back. I curled up in the back seat of the car in pursuit of solitary solace. On the highway, I stared out of the window, contemplating,

The Lie

"I'm good," I told my son over the phone, who was calling from Canada. What was I supposed to tell him? I was in Baghdad – the land of the forgotten- pacing the flat roof of the house anxiously. It was a pitch-black evening with no moon in sight. There were no signs of life anywhere. The clanking and humming of the neighborhood's diesel generators masked the deathly stillness of the city. It was barely 8 p.m. in the middle of June, the height of a six-month summer where temperatures regularly re

Opinion: I had to flee Iraq with my three children. This is my advice to the refugee mothers of Ukraine

Yasmine Mousa is an Iraqi-Canadian journalist who left Iraq in 2003. She is also a certified translator and interpreter.

For days now I have been glued to the news about Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, reminiscing and thinking about how history keeps repeating itself. It was around this time of year, almost 20 years ago, that we were the terrified people, desperate for a haven from brutal bombing in Baghdad. We Iraqis know firsthand the pain of wars: It’s in our children’s eyes, and inscribed on

War in Iraq Propelling A Massive Migration

Inside his cold, crumbling apartment, Saad Ali teeters on the fringes of life. Once a popular singer in his native Baghdad, he is now unemployed. To pay his $45 monthly rent, he borrows from friends. To bathe, he boils water on a tiny heater. He sleeps on a frayed mattress, under a tattered blanket.

Outside, Ali, 35, avoids police officers and disguises his Arabic with a Jordanian dialect. He returns home before 10 p.m. to stay clear of government checkpoints. Like hundreds of thousands of Iraq