Lining one wall of the juice bar are photos of every Iraqi leader of the past 100 years. They include posed portraits of regal kings, business-suited presidents and men in military uniform.
But one picture in particular catches my eye. Haji Mohammad Abdel Ghafour, owner of the juice bar, follows my gaze and chuckles. “They all came here to try our juice,” he says. “Even Saddam Hussein. Today in Iraq it is illegal to display pictures of Hussein, but the history of this cafe, and what it means to the city, means we are given an exception.”
For more than 120 years, Ghahfour tells me, the recipe of the dark and sweet raisin juice that has made Haji Zbala Juice famous across Baghdad has been a zealously guarded secret. “It has passed through my family, from generation to generation,” he says. “People come here from across Baghdad and all over Iraq to try our juice.”
Haji Zbala Juice is so famous, Ghafour says, that it has a saying linking it to the well-being of the city. It goes: "If there's juice to be had, then al-Rashid Street is alive and Baghdad is alive."
I’ll admit that Baghdad was not the first place I had considered for a city break. But then I stumbled upon a photo of an elderly man sitting with friends in a dimly lit cafe. They were drinking small glasses of black tea while engrossed in a game of chess. The scene intrigued me. When I discovered that Baghdad has many such premises, I booked my trip.
It is not the city I imagined, one that has featured in many news reports I've seen over many years. It has an enduring love affair with cafes. It’s believed that the first – Khan Jahan – opened its doors in 1590. Although it has long since ceased to exist, it didn’t take long for cafes to become an integral part of the city's cultural and social fabric.
Cafes were – and still are – places where people of all backgrounds could meet and mingle without social or religious restrictions. Some Baghdad cafes became especially popular with free thinkers, writers, scientists, artists and revolutionaries. Cafe culture reached a peak during the first half of the 20th century. That's when al-Rashid Street, which is lined by Ottoman-era archways, became the cultural heartbeat of the city.
But the good times did not last. Political upheaval, civil strife and war turned al-Rashid Street into a shadow of its former self. As Baghdad was torn apart, cafes that had once hosted poets and chess players began to close their doors. But a few held on. Today, as Baghdad looks to a brighter future, historic cafes of the old city are enticing a new generation.
De Rose, in Karada district, is one of the new wave of bright, modern and colourful cafes that are popular with young Iraqis of both sexes. It's notable for an old-fashioned British phone box filled with roses.
Old versus new
It was perhaps inevitable that Jaafar, who I meet in Haj Naim Cafe, would become a part-owner of the venue. He is a history journalist with a passion for Baghdad’s historic cafes. “I first came to the Haj Najim Cafe in 1969 and it became a part of my life until eventually I became a part-owner,” he explains.
Scanning the empty benches, he takes a sip of his tea. “When I was younger, this cafe was popular with powerful Baghdadi families and was always busy, but today old cafes like this are suffering and only have a handful of regular customers.”
Business partner and co-owner Hayder Najim adds: “Today there are a lot of new, more western-style cafes that young people prefer, so Baghdad’s historic cafes are dying out.”
Some of the older cafes are fighting back against the Insta-friendly generation springing up in newer neighbourhoods. Umm Kulthum Cafe, for example, is a shrine to the legendary Egyptian singer and actress. Her image adorns every available wall space and her music plays on a loop.
But nobody was paying her music much attention during my visit. All eyes were focused instead on chess boards that are attracting a new generation to Baghdad’s old cafes. A tournament is held in this one every Friday: “It’s open to anyone, but the standard is good,” explains one fan. “The tournament attracts a lot of people, but most come just to watch.”
Further down the street is Ghazi Alturathi Cafe. A relative newcomer, it only dates to the 1970s, but is decorated in an attractive period manner. Here there are no chess games in sight. Instead an eclectic audience – men and women of varying ages – were clapping hands and tapping feet in time to a band belting out old Iraqi classics. The owner, who asked not to be named, told me that bands are invited for jam sessions each week to keep the cafe busy.
Dating back to 1917, Shabandar Cafe has seen it all, from good times to bad. It was here that the first protests against British colonial rule were planned. The walls are covered in pictures of recent Iraqi political and cultural personalities. When current owner Mohammed Al-Khashali took over in 1962, he took the unusual step of banning board games, dominoes and cards.
“I wanted it to be a place where people of culture could meet to talk or write without any distractions” he tells me. “It’s a cafe that represents the people of Baghdad.”
If cafes represent the people, then as long as they are filled with musicians, poets and chess players, Baghdad really is alive.
