Iraq's leisure class cautiously re-emerging

By Aamer Madhani, USA TODAY
BAGHDAD — To belong to the elite Hunting Club here, members must abide by a couple of important rules.

"No talk of politics, and no talk of religion. It's absolutely forbidden," says manager Maksood al-Sanjary. "People come here to enjoy themselves, and talk of such things does not belong at the club."

Once the most prestigious social club in Iraq's capital, the Hunting Club takes pride in the fact that it remained open during years of war — even during the worst sectarian fighting that turned the surrounding neighborhood into a killing field.

Al-Sanjary and others admit that the sprawling complex has seen better days. The lawn is brown and barren in spots, and the grand banquet hall is a bit shabby and dusty.

Now that security in Baghdad has improved, the management and members of the club are trying to bring back the old, jovial atmosphere. It's a task easier said than done considering the club's recent history.


In 2004, seven employees were dragged from a bus and murdered on their way home from the club, which once was a favorite hangout for Saddam's Hussein's oldest son, Uday Hussein. Two years later, a member of the club's board and his driver were shot dead, and several members have been killed.

Al-Sanjary estimates that at the height of the insurgency in 2006, about 60% of the club's members fled the country.

As violence peaked, al-Sanjary says so few paying members were showing up that he closed the club two days a week — he couldn't afford gasoline for the generators to keep the lights on.

"There were days in 2005 and 2006, when I would come and there were only three or four members in the entire club," says Anmar Mawozi al-Kassam, who sat in the garden on a recent afternoon with his wife and two young daughters.

Attendance is up, with membership swelling to 5,000 families — from about 2,000 at its low point, al-Sanjary says. The pool gets crowded late afternoons most days, and the club hosts Arabic singers and musicians to perform, just like the old days.

Many longtime members who were too scared or wary to hang out at the club during the worst of the violence are reappearing. And some who had fled Baghdad are now back at the club, catching up with old friends over a drink or lunch.

On a recent Friday afternoon, cars packed with families had to wait 15 minutes just to get into the parking lot.

"My parents feel safe when I am here, so we come often," says Ahmed Abdul Hussein, 19, who, with two friends, was on the lookout for girls. "The problem today is that all the girls are with their families. How can we talk to them?"

And though it was a warm day, hundreds of men and women crowded the banquet hall to play bingo, while dozens of men retired to a cozy, dark bar.

In one corner of the bar, two old friends — a Shiite Arab retired from the military and a Sunni Kurd businessman — were two-thirds through a bottle of Martini Rosso vermouth, and it wasn't quite 2 p.m.

"There is no place like this club in all of Iraq," says retired brigadier Najim Abdul Ridha Ali. "The food is not as good as it used to be, but the people who come here are friendly and educated. It's where I can come and relax."

The Hunting Club was a playground for many of Saddam Hussein's cronies in previous decades. The former dictator had frequented the Cairo Hunting Club when he was in exile in Egypt, and called for a similar club in Baghdad in 1969, the year after his Baath Party swept into power.

In the 1980s, his son Uday was a regular.

"Before I became a member, I was invited one night to come to a party at the club," recalls Hamid Mihali Zubaydi. "Uday was walking around with a tiger on a leash. I stayed far away from him."

During Saddam's rule, it was difficult to win club membership without belonging to the Baath Party. After Saddam was ousted in 2003, the club accepted members based on their profession, income and education.

Membership now requires recommendations from two current members, plus the ability to pay an $850 fee and monthly dues.

Al-Sanjary appears flexible about that last requirement. His cellphone buzzes from one of the guards at the entrance saying he had stopped a member behind on her dues.

Al-Sanjary says to let the woman in.

"I am sure she will pay as soon as she can," he explains. "She is one of the good people we must keep at the club."

Contributing: Khalid D. Ali