Deep in Iraq’s south, the birthplace of one of the pioneers of modern Arabic poetry is slowly being brought back to life, in a boost to the country's neglected heritage.
Badr Shakir Al Sayyab, born in 1926 in Jaykur village outside Basra, broke away from classical Arabic poetic forms that relied on a single rhyme and metre. Along with other poets, including Nazik Al Malaika, he helped launch free verse, or Al Shi’r Al Hurr, in Arabic poetry.
Now considered the father of modern Arabic poetry, Al Sayyab's work is taught in schools across the Arab world and has been translated into many languages. He died in Kuwait in 1964, aged 38, from a neurological disease.
With funding from the European Union, the UN cultural agency Unesco is restoring the poet’s childhood home in partnership with Iraq's Ministry of Culture, Tourism and Antiquities and transforming it into a cultural centre and literary museum. The project is part of a wider Unesco-backed programme to revive the old quarters and important landmarks in Basra and the northern city of Mosul.
The restoration of Al Sayyab's home has become a deeply personal journey for his granddaughter Dimah Al Khweder, as she pieces together its past through family stories and tries to preserve the spirit of a vanished world.
Ms Al Khweder, 25, qualified as an architect in Turkey in 2024, and was hired for the project as part of its focus on building heritage rehabilitation skills among Iraq's young engineers and artisans.
She has never lived in the house herself; her mother was about two years old when Al Sayyab died. Most of what she knows about the family home and the life that unfolded within it came from her mother, who heard the stories from her own siblings and other relatives.
Stepping into the house, with the stories attached to its various rooms and corners, “gives you the feeling of watching an old television series”, Ms Al Khweder said. “I feel mixed emotions when I am inside the house. Part of me feels proud to contribute to reviving this project, and part of me is emotional because I did not live in this house.”
That sense of travelling through her family's past has become one of the most rewarding parts of the restoration, she said. One of her favourite stories concerns the house's inner courtyard, which was once planted with Arabian Jasmine flowers.
In the afternoons and around sunset, she was told, her aunts would sit there making garlands from the flowers. “Whenever I look at the courtyard, I remember this in my imagination,” she said.
Part of the restoration project involves documenting the house's history – how it was built, who lived there, how it passed between generations, and what happened to the people who called it home.
“That was the most enjoyable part of the project for me,” Ms Al Khweder says. “I got to know many things about my family that I had been unaware of.”
Reconstructing the building's physical history has not been easy. The house had been neglected and left closed for years, while previous restoration attempts – in the 1980s, around 2000 and again in 2013 – failed to fully restore its original form.
By the 1980s, only the northern section of the house remained, while its interior had largely collapsed. Later restoration work was done without a clear understanding of the original boundaries and layout.
With no photographs to rely on, the architects turned to people. The house is a traditional rural structure. The team is using the same types of materials, but with higher-quality and more durable versions, said team leader Qusay Al Shamkhawee.
The roof presented one of the biggest challenges because of the condition of its wooden beams. The team has imported new timber, known locally as Jandal, for the roof, while retaining the traditional mud bricks and flooring, known as Farshi.
The original rooms have largely been preserved, with their functions adapted for the new cultural centre. Some will become exhibition spaces and others will house a library and material related to Al Sayyab's work. The aim, says Mr Al Shamkhawee, is to respect the historic building without turning it into a lifeless replica.
“There are restrictions and there is respect for the heritage, but we have given ourselves the right to give the house a spirit,” he said. The restoration is now about 60 per cent complete, with the work expected to end in April next year.
For Iraq, the project raises a much broader question about whether the country's heritage can be preserved before the places that produced its artists, writers and thinkers disappear.
Mr Al Shamkhawee believes heritage should also be viewed as an economic resource, arguing that investment could create jobs in conservation, architecture, tourism and other specialised sectors.
Iraq, he says, could potentially generate enormous revenue from its heritage while giving people a stronger connection to their country and allowing them to appreciate the achievements of previous generations. “Basra's heritage needs loyalty,” he says.
The landscape of Jaykur – its palms, waterways and rural setting – became deeply embedded in Al Sayyab’s poetry. Today, however, much of that landscape has changed. Jaykur's orchards have been devastated over the decades. People began selling their land after the Iran-Iraq war in 1980s, while much of the area's palm groves and waterways have been neglected or destroyed.
The restoration of Al Sayyab's house therefore cannot bring back the Jaykur he knew. But it can preserve a physical fragment of the world from which his poetry emerged.
Ms Al Khweder imagines what her grandfather might think if he could walk through the restored house today. “Certainly, he would be proud of what the new generation has achieved,” she said, with a deep sense of satisfaction and confidence.
