A Visit to My Mother’s Grave in Baghdad

Jacob Bacall, with family, at his mother’s tomb during his previous visit in June 1986.

During our diplomatic visit to Iraq, led by the president of the Chaldean Chamber of Commerce and Chaldean Foundation, Mr. Martin Manna, I made a personal decision—I would not leave Baghdad without visiting my mother’s gravesite.

On February 24, our final day in Baghdad, I excused myself after our last scheduled meeting at around 4 o’clock and visited the Christian cemetery near Sahat al-Tayran, just behind the famous Freedom Monument (Nasib Al-Hurriya) in the heart of the city. It had been almost 40 years since my last visit to my mother’s tomb in 1986.

Two cars and six security agents accompanied me—not by choice, but as a security requirement. The area surrounding the cemetery, once known as Bataween, was a thriving Christian neighborhood. Now, however, it has become notorious for drug trafficking and prostitution, making it a dangerous and unsafe place to visit.

As I approached the cemetery’s main entrance, about three steps below street level, I noticed a sign to the left of the doors. It read, in Arabic, “Death to America.” I was taken aback. Such slogans are often seen on TV, chanted by crowds in the streets of Tehran, but to see it in Baghdad was shocking.

It is worth noting that during our meetings with Iraqi officials, including Prime Minister Sudani and, particularly, President Abdul Latif Rashid, they assured us that Iran has no influence in Iraq. However, being Iraq’s neighbor for thousands of years, Iran’s presence and influence are deeply embedded in ways that are undeniable.

A Cemetery in Ruins

As I walked into the cemetery, I was heartbroken to find it in a state of complete neglect. It appeared abandoned, overrun with stray dogs and cats, fallen trees, and scattered trash—empty water bottles and cans littering the ground. I was told that, legally, this Christian cemetery falls under the jurisdiction of the Chaldean Patriarchal Seat in Baghdad.

After nearly an hour of searching, I finally identified my mother’s tomb. The glass-encased portrait that once marked her grave was missing. The marble slab covering her casket had crumbled into small pieces. A poetic inscription, once carved into the marble, was now broken in two. The ground beneath felt as if it had sunk over the years—a tragic result of decades of neglect and abandonment.

A woman, who had made a hut-like shelter within the cemetery her home, told me that 99% of the people buried there have no family left in Iraq. Most of their relatives have immigrated to America, Canada, Australia, or even Sweden. Those who remain in the country moved north after the fall of the regime in 2003. “We may have one or two visitors a month,” she added.

It reminded me of what happened to Detroit’s Chaldean community in the 7 Mile area. Once a thriving neighborhood, it became a ghost town after most families moved to the suburbs.

I couldn’t control my emotions as I stood before my mother’s grave. Najeba Agoubi (Karim) Bacall died in 1970 at the young age of 40, leaving behind eight children—the youngest barely two years old. So much has changed since then. At one point, I had a small hope of relocating her remains to the U.S., to join the rest of our family’s burial plots at Holy Sepulchre Cemetery in Southfield. But that hope faded when I realized the red tape, corruption, and bureaucratic hurdles that would come with trying to move her remains out of Iraq.

After allowing myself time to grieve and reflect, I knelt down and scooped a handful of soil from beneath the crumbling marble into a small Ziplock bag. I would take this with me to the U.S. as a sentimental keepsake of my mother.

This cemetery sits in a prominent area of downtown Baghdad. Eventually, it will likely be repurposed into a highly desired commercial district. If that happens, the graves, including my mother’s, will no longer remain in their original location.

Before leaving, I zipped up the small bag of soil and held it close. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to return to this place again.