Coming home again isn't easy for an Iraqi-American

The mid-century modern home stood out in the capital for its low-pitched, tapered roof and a wall with geometric windows stained in bright reds, greens and blues


Mosadek Al Attar was a teenager when he was compelled to leave Iraq in the 1970s to start a new life in the United States, getting out just weeks before Baath Party secret police knocked at his parents' door looking for him.

The exit of the rest of his family was not as well timed. His older brother and uncle were scooped up by authorities a few years later and deposited at the Iranian border, where they walked six days to a refugee camp. His father was refused re-entry to Iraq after a brief visit to the United States. Upon hearing the news, Attar's mother and sister jumped into a car and raced to the Jordanian border, leaving behind the family's furniture, artwork, photos and a beloved five-bedroom dream house they had spent two years designing and building.

More than two decades later, as US troops marched towards Baghdad, Attar, 49, lay awake in his home in Upland, California, pondering a nagging question: whether he should reclaim the family home and resettle in Baghdad with his wife and two children, aged 12 and 14. Although he has relished his new US citizenship, Attar, a Shiite Muslim, says he has never fully adapted to life in America. He's director of an Islamic private school in Pomona, California, which he co-founded in part to help provide his children with a more religious environment. "Iraq is my home," Attar said. "I have a lot of memories here."

Attar arrived in June in his old neighbourhood along the Tigris River to repair the family's abandoned house, which, like much of his native country, was in shambles.

He has spent the summer sorting through years of debris and coping with a flood of memories and emotions. Despite all the work, he's having serious doubts about returning, in light of the car bombings, the rising crime and the lack of reliable phone service and electricity since the US-led invasion in late March.

"I had a beautiful life here," he said. "I think my kids could, too, but maybe it's too soon." For the Attar family, 1968 was a landmark year. It was the year the Baath Party seized control of the government in Iraq. But more important in their household, that was the year they moved into the custom-built, two-storey home that quickly became the talk of the neighbourhood.

The midcentury-modern home stood out in the capital for its low-pitched, tapered roof and a wall with geometric windows stained in bright reds, greens and blues. The second level extended over the front yard, supported by columns, an architectural element seldom seen in Baghdad at the time.

In the entry hall, lovebirds nested in an atrium designed by Attar's mother. Mosaic tile portraits of Greek ports decorated the kitchen and bathroom walls. Up the marble staircase was a terrace large enough to hold beds for the entire family on hot summer nights. He said the family lived a charmed life for several years. Meanwhile, his father's fabric import business thrived.

But when he was in high school, pressure mounted on Attar to join the party's youth group. Attar and his brother resisted. He said his Muslim beliefs made it impossible for him to pledge the kind of allegiance the party demanded. But mostly he attributed his stance to simple teenage rebelliousness. "Looking back, it was probably pretty foolish," he said. When friends encouraged him to join the youth group, Attar loudly dismissed the Baath Party as rubbish. "It created a huge gap with my friends," he said. For a while, his father's wealth seemed to protect the family, but eventually the Attars became social outcasts, suspected of supporting the Islamic Dawa Party, a Shiite-dominated opposition group. Later the family was the target of anti-Iranian sentiment because of their name, even though their ancestors had lived in Iraq for generations.

His father began making plans to sneak Attar and his brother out of the country. "My father was always telling us to be quiet, but we were always showing off. We had big mouths."

After high school, Attar agreed to leave. "I thought I would never be coming back," he said. "It turned out that the secret police came looking for me shortly after I left."

Six years later, with the Iraq-Iran war imminent, Attar's father visited California, where Attar was beginning a career as an electrical engineer. As soon as Attar's father had left the country, government officials lured Attar's eldest brother and an uncle – who had temporarily taken charge of the family business – to a meeting with the promise of giving them the new import license they sought. Upon arrival, the men, along with 500 other business owners, were bused to the Iranian border and left in a minefield, Attar said. Fearing imminent arrest, his mother and sister fled, with the family eventually resettling in Northern California.

In 2002, Attar decided to return to Baghdad with his wife, who had left Iraq when she was two, and their children. For years, he feared being arrested if he returned. But when he saw that friends were able to re-enter without problems, Attar planned a trip.

Driving to Baghdad from Syria, they found the family home locked and abandoned.

Barely a year later, Attar headed back on his own as soon as the war ended. This time he broke through the locks and reclaimed the house.

©Los Angeles Times-Washington Post News Service