Barefoot in Baghdad: by Manal Omar
The US has been in Iraq for seven years. Though there have been numerous movies about the war in Iraq, countless documentaries, and several tell-all memoirs from former Bush officials, there still is lot of mystery about the region. Most of the movies we think about when we think of Iraq—The Hurt Locker, Three Kings, Green Zone, Stop Loss—are about the American soldiers. Iraqis' unique history, their stories all seem to meld together into a beige backdrop. Barefoot in Baghdad, a memoir about an Arab-American aid worker in Iraq, held a lot of promise. Manal Omar was going to tell a story about Iraq that hadn't been told before. It had all of the makings for an incredible story, an Oprah's Book Club selection, an adapted screenplay for a critically acclaimed film, but instead I struggled to finish the book and was sad such great material was wasted.

The language seemed to be the most consistent problem, surprising when you consider the author's journalism background. The book read like a diary of her daily tasks, and not a thoughtful, poignant account of a life-changing experience in Baghdad. One suspects the problem lies not with her, but with an editor who could've shaped her story into something more eloquent and thought-provoking. The title, Barefoot in Baghdad: A Story of Identity - My Own and What It Means to Be a Woman in Chaos, gives away the entire story. She was obsessed with the concept of her own identity, which seems to be her Muslim appearance, and referred to it at least three or four times every chapter. I understand this is a personal memoir, an autobiography, and her Muslim faith is certainly relevant, but I was hoping she would search a little deeper than the odd looks or discrimination she experienced because of her appearance. I held out and continued to read, hoping there would be more to the story than her self-indulgence, but there was nothing new or revealing about Barefoot in Baghdad that I couldn't have extrapolated myself.

In the introduction (which sums up the entire book) Manal Omar details her struggle with her identity: a Muslim woman, who grew up in the South, born to Palestinian parents. Did I mention she was also born in Saudi Arabia? I can see why she would be confused or insecure about the multiple variables of her persona, but Omar did very little to try and delve deeper. She didn't search for the common denominator between herself and her reader: regardless of our nationality, gender, age, or religion, we all need help from time to time. Or that we all have a greater overarching need to be accepted. Instead she refers to her "identity" multiple times every chapter, in the way an eighteen-year-old refers to their new tattoo or piercing to assert their rebellion. Her hijab both proves to be an asset and a setback at the same time, but she doesn't provide any great insights about the duality of her Muslim faith or her American upbringing.

The question of "proving herself" as qualified professional should have also come as a non-issue, but she makes it a constant, irrelevant point by recalling times a raised eyebrow was thrown her way for her dress or her lack of knowledge about Iraqi pop culture. I can understand how she would feel between two worlds, neither fully Arab or American, but instead all she did was alienate the reader with her ineffective parlance. Omar's often holier-than-thou descriptions of Baghdad, as if the reader is supposed to know about the "famous Damascus architecture," juxtaposed with the needless description of a "soldier's camel pack, (a backpack filled with water)" almost insulted my intelligence. Instead I chalked it up to Omar not knowing her audience. Her tone varies from someone speaking to an expert on Middle Eastern affairs (assuming the reader knows about Iraqi's detailed history), to condescension (because the reader doesn't), to awkwardly placed American colloquial expressions in an attempt at humor.

She did little to describe the politics of the region, the clash between Shiites and Sunnis, why Saddam targeted Kurds, the different religions in the area and how they interacted, Iraq's history of foreign occupants. Seven years since the war in Iraq and many people still don't know these important facts that would give context and depth to her struggles. Instead we're left with a whole chapter on Omar's quest to find a proper office space for her organization Women for Women, or a drawn-out story about her contempt for NGOs. Again, an editor could've guided Omar on weaving her story into the story of Baghdad, using the backdrop of the city as another character struggling with its identity, leaving the reader to wonder more about Omar. Instead, everyone knows everything about Omar, and she doesn't let us forget it.

The most fascinating characters in Barefoot in Baghdad were the women that Omar helped for Women for Women. But the reader doesn't get to know them, instead there are just a few pages worth of descriptions and we never hear from them again. Rather than slowly unraveling the stories of Kalthoum, a 16-year-old woman who became a prostitute to escape her abusive husband, or Muna, one her Iraqi coworkers who had a similar past who later built a successful career for herself, or Jourmana, a woman tortured by Saddam's regime, Omar diverts back to her diary of experience. She refers to Muna's past as a "modern-day slave," and doesn't go into any further detail about what that means for an Iraqi woman. She prefaces Joumana's story as "not unique," but after reading it, I wish Omar hadn't dismissed it that way. I kept reading the book hoping there would be more to those characters, but instead I had to endure chapters of her self-important quest not to use the cell phones of an NGO she had a problem with, and her reluctance to deal with the U.S. military. I never got comfortable enough with Omar's tone to understand why she would crack jokes at something when she just described how horrible a particular situation was. A more skilled writer or editor would've made it appropriate for her to say, "Yet day after day [my ideas] were shot down like members of the opposition in front of one of Saddam's firing squads."

Omar had all of the material to turn this into a beautiful memoir, told through a patchwork of interesting characters that helped her become more comfortable with who she is or to become a better person, or whatever the message of the book she was trying to go for. But I never could figure out the theme of Barefoot in Baghdad. The language of the book suggests she hasn't learned from her experiences. Her writing lacked organization and tact, and I couldn't believe that I found myself hating this book because of the way she told the story over what actually happened. I have no doubt that Ms. Omar did extraordinary things in Iraq with Women for Women, and that she has made a huge difference in these women's lives. I just wish it had been better written for me to be caught up in her story. I suppose the message of Barefoot in Baghdad is no matter who you may be in Iraq, you're going to have a hard time.

Caitlin Carlson is the Membership Coordinator and Editorial Assistant for the Levantine Cultural Center.