Dear all,

Happy Nauroz to you and to all your families.

We hope this spring be the start of a good year for all of us filled with happiness and good health.

Look after yourselves and your loved ones.

Faidhi Mustafa

At the beginning of this year (2010), I’ve decided to undertake a project as a tribute to my grandfather Suleiman Faidhi and all his achievements.

I decided to create a web site to commemorate this and began working on it alone since January(on & off).

Much of the material is based on the books that Dr. Abdul Hameed Faidhi and then Mr. basil Faidhi compiled and produced.

My intentions are:

• help our next generation understand the type of person Suleiman Faidhi was and hopefully to inspire them in their lives.
• to provide research material and reference for an important era in Iraq.
• for the site to facilitate in some way the means to carry on the charitable work in Iraq.

I hope you like it, the url is :    http://suleimanfaidhi.com/

I am open to suggestions and would appreciate your comments.

I will carry on being the owner and the administrator of the site for as long as I can. I will host it, support it and manage any email requests,..etc.

The summer air is not as fresh as what one gets used to in England. As rain seldom falls in Tashkent, the air is dry, and I would suspect not as full of oxygen. You certainly don't see the lush green trees and vegetation that you take for granted in the UK.

Another reminder of Iraq was noticeable in the modest home grown vegetables and fruit and the abundance of humble organic foods. Looking at them from the outside, they may not always appeal to everyone, but once you try the inside, you’re guaranteed an overwhelming satisfaction. They don't have the fancy wrapping that many associate with splendour, but they are the genuine article. Nevertheless, the bazaar traders somehow manage to individually wipe them clean, polish and then stylishly stack them to tempt the unimpressed. The sellers stand beside them almost begging passers by to taste them. It doesn’t seem to anger them if after tasting all varieties on offer one still walks away unconvinced by their quality and good value.

Tashkent is certainly a safe city, like the old Baghdad used to be. It has lively crowded bazaars were you feel you're never too far from the smell of Shashleek (BBQ meat). It even still has street seller that come outside your home calling out to remind you of their must have tasty milk and yogurt.

For me, a very unusual sight was that of magnificent looking, but dreadfully tasting cakes in Uzbek bazaars. A Russian/European fusion in an Asian setting. Apparently they are popular in weddings where it is absolutely imperative to impress. In old Baghdad you never did see anything but real Arabic heavy duty sweets.

Tashkent’s city centre is too polished for my liking. The wide roads and square shaped parks are relatively new. Unfortunately, they are cold, dull and lifeless. In contrast you often felt and smelt the old city in Baghdad.

My memories of Baghdad are not of the all marble high rising towers, but of the narrow lanes, bustling bazaars and lively crowded street shops. For some reason, I didn’t even see any families having picnics in the polished parks of Tashkent. You no longer smell BBQ kebabs in the city centre, and that’s saying something.

With the exception of a new emerging generation of entrepreneurs that seem to be somehow succeeding in very difficult political circumstances and also the numerous intellectuals that left the country, there appears to be a culture of acceptance amongst those that remain.

The majority seem to me to endure their destiny and what is good to see is that there were no signs of a culture of blame for their misfortune.

My impression is that people in Uzbekistan often seem to suppress anger in public.

There was one occasion when I came close to angering an older man who was ready to pray when he found me staring at his features, his costume, the way he sat outside the mosque and the way he prayed kneeling to thank god. He still didn’t get angry even after I was photographing all his movements. Maybe, Uzbeks bottle it in and have private moments where they unleash their anger and frustration.

It seems like the whole nation is full of distinctly tolerant people. This is often demonstrated in the attitude towards foreign visitors, other languages, cultures and religions. For example, I didn’t see any rules or restrictions on what women should or shouldn’t wear inside holy religious places. In my view, tolerance is good, but there also needs to be some restrictions; otherwise it can be open to abuse.

You can impress people with your ability to read Arabic. A language that now only appears on the walls of their ancient mosques, Madrasas and obviously in the Qur’ans that many families treasure in their homes. Uzbek Muslims appear to believe with true conviction.

They are proud of their heritage and many believe they somehow relate to the Khalefas if not to the prophet himself. These have family titles of Khujas and Saeeds.

In fact one senses an overall selfless attitude that strengthens people's relationships and makes families especially close.

Being part of my wife's Uzbek family, I was automatically included in this sincere familial connection. This too was a valuable reminder of my Iraqi roots and how I was never able to adopt the "all occasion greeting card" culture that somehow is meant to relieve responsibility and clear the conscience.

On the other hand, I now value the freedom of not being unconditionally obligated to every single member of the family.

30 years in Britain and any trip towards the east becomes a beautiful reminder of my old home town, Baghdad.

If it wasn't for my loving Uzbek wife, this inspiring experience would have never been possible. In May 2008, my wife and I took a flight from London to Tashkent with a five hours stop in Istanbul. On reaching our destination, there was a heart- warming welcome from what has now become my Uzbek family. While in Istanbul, I started searching for reminders of my Baghdad.

I found this in the smell of summer rain after an unexpected shower that hit the city that day in June. I found it in the smell of street BBQs where ordinary Turkish families gather for picnics in public parks looking so cheerful and contented as if they jointly own the park. I also found it in elderly men standing in the shade discussing anything from politics to religion to past glories. Some just crouch on street corners lost in their own deep thoughts.

What didn’t remind me, were streets overloaded with tourists and the sight of the young going out of their way to display their mobile phones and affirm their association with everything European.