So I continued to work in secret for this newspaper, as well as for other foreign papers, until I got to know Françoise Lony, a well-known French journalist and correspondent who also directed documentary films. I made her acquaintance in Baghdad during the period of the sanctions, when Baghdad was making headlines and attracting reporters from all over the world. They were all drawn by sympathy for a nation that was suffering from the violence of the regime as well as from international sanctions. I worked with Françoise on a number of documentaries while continuing to use an assumed name at her request. Our work included a film that we produced together on ancient Iraqi monuments. We were harassed in all sorts of ways by the authorities, in spite of the fact that my publicly acknowledged work with Françoise had absolutely nothing to do with politics. Our films were concerned with the antiquities of Babylon, ancient crafts of the Middle East or Babylonian musical instruments. During this period she always called me by my assumed name, and I almost forgot my real name, which I never used.
After a while, Françoise began to feel threatened in Baghdad and was in fear of her life and of mine. So she asked me to accompany her on a trip to Tripoli to shoot a film about Libyan monuments, entitled Treasures of the Coast. For six months we travelled together and worked continuously between Tobruk and Zawara. For two more years we shuttled between Damascus, Beirut and Casablanca. Those trips were as much for love as for work. I spent the best times of my life with Françoise Lony.
Françoise was a truly exceptional woman who radiated charm and sexiness. All the men of the media were greatly attracted to her. She was a natural in the art of seduction and was never reluctant to embark on a stormy love affair. Sexual pleasure, passion and the pursuit of society had far greater appeal for her than the romantic yearnings to which I was prone in those days.
Instead of concentrating on our work or the films we were producing in various locations, Françoise dragged me into a whole new world. We’d already made a substantial amount of cash from a hugely successful film called Street Women, about prostitution in the Middle East. It was shown at many big film festivals and aired on several European TV channels. It was then that she took me on a wild, stormy trip to Morocco. It was early summer and we went to the coastal resorts. I cannot explain the madness that overcame us. We felt that the Moroccan cities we were visiting had thrown open their gates to us, welcoming two carefree young people who longed to live in complete hedonistic abandon. Our next stop was Casablanca which, at that time, was on the verge of turning into an erotic myth: Sodom, as Françoise once described it in one of her reports, a home to vice and depravity. We were both on the brink of an abyss, as day after day we immersed ourselves completely in sensuality, pleasure and amusement. We haunted theatres, bars and swimming pools, and wallowed in sex, alcohol and evenings that lasted until the small hours.
As so often happens in collaborations founded on amorous relationships, my work with the French journalist came to an end when the love ended. We separated quickly. She returned to Paris; I no longer had any idea where to go. Travelling back to Baghdad was impossible, and I had no work or friends in Casablanca. Suddenly Aida Shahin came forcefully back into my life. Having learned that she was back in Beirut, I wrote a long letter to her address there, asking her to find me a job and a place to live. Her work was outstanding and she was still working as a reporter for US Today News.
Two weeks after arriving in Beirut, I moved into Aida Shahin’s apartment on Al-Hamra Street. She was an exceptionally gifted photographer but a mediocre reporter. Her most prominent trait was her kindness, although this soon faded in the face of other, negative, qualities. She talked a lot, was always complaining, and had a penchant for criticizing and nitpicking. A rocky, on-off relationship developed between us. I should also mention one of the positive things she did for me, which was to get me more work at her newspaper. She also arranged a job for me at one of the Gulf TV companies, which gave me the opportunity to travel to many places around the world as a news analyst.
I went to Chad immediately after the failed coup in the nineties and to Rwanda following the civil war. I went to the Western Sahara, where the political situation was deteriorating. During that same period, I also witnessed the dramatic changes that were overtaking Eastern Europe, the radical transformations wrought by political revolutions and the total rejection of communism. From there I wrote about the war in Bosnia Herzegovina. I also wrote major pieces for US Today News on Iraqi communists in Africa, especially those who’d fled to Addis Ababa after the ascension of Mengistu in the eighties. They had escaped there from the hell of Saddam Hussein, and their aim was to spark revolution against Western interests in Africa. I found them frustrated and disappointed now that the illusion of revolution had entirely vanished from their lives. I travelled to report on Fascist jails in Portugal and Spain, comparing them with Middle Eastern jails. I was also witness to the major transformations in Afghanistan, especially following 9/11, and the international invasion of Kabul and the end of the Taliban era. In fact, I witnessed major changes taking place throughout the world: brutal civil wars, horrific atrocities of every description and cruel scenes of homelessness and deprivation. In Africa I saw things I could never have seen anywhere else: strange animals, birds with huge wings and crocodiles threatened with extinction. Awake all night, I also saw the blue minarets of Tehran piercing the sky and flocks of sharp-eyed birds flapping their wings on the domes of the mosques.
My relationship with Aida didn’t last. She was too moody and demanding. Her moods also had an adverse effect on me. But this situation soon changed when she introduced me to an American reporter of Palestinian origin called Nancy Awdeh — I’m not sure whether this was an oversight on her part. We saw Nancy for the first time at a bar in Beirut. From that first meeting, Nancy and I were attracted to each other. The more deeply I got involved with Nancy Awdeh, the more complicated became my relationship with Aida Shahin. I tried desperately to explain to Aida that we should separate. It was even harder to tell her that I was going to live with Nancy. But in the end she realized that we couldn’t possibly go on. When I moved into Nancy’s apartment in Al-Ashrafeya, Aida gave me a beautiful memento: the blouse that she’d worn on the first occasion we’d met. This embarrassed me and made me sluggish.
Foreign reporters came to Beirut because it was a volcanic mass of contradictions, the place where all the conflicts of the Middle East were fought out. It was a permanent warzone where international and regional plans and strategies were executed. At the heart of an intricate web of contradictions and conflicts stood this coastal city, hovering over the dividing line between East and West but lying open to all. This was its distinguishing feature, and it was a permanent hotspot for foreign correspondents interested in the Middle East. They streamed to Beirut, preferring it to all other Middle Eastern cities. It offered so many attractions, including the huge number of bars, cafés and salons that made their lives comfortable.