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Dragons and skulls thrill Iraq's teenage tattoo fans
Need a skull, a dragon or a naked woman? Descend a flight of steps to a dingy corridor and step into Baghdad's only tattoo parlour. In a city better known for bombs than body art, a self-taught Iraqi tattoo artist is pioneering a new style of design forbidden under Saddam Hussein. Working with a home-made needle and architect's ink, Sarmad Shamael says his Celtic crosses, screaming eagles and death's heads are catching on among a small circle of youths. "Now people have a choice about what they do, there are no laws to restrict them," he said, speaking in his shop where pin-ups of bikini-clad models adorn the pastel pink walls. "A lot of people ask me, why are you so strange? I tell them: because I like it," said Shamael, a softly-spoken 29-year-old who began painting as a child. For Iraqi teenagers, the almost guilty pleasure of tattoos provide a moment's respite from life in Baghdad where car bombs can explode at any moment, militiamen run riot in the slums and the chances of finding a job are slim. Advertised by word of mouth, Shamael's parlour has had about 100 clients since it opened after Saddam's fall in April last year, with dragons proving the most popular of the designs he copies from a well-thumbed book imported from abroad. Himself a walking advert for his art, Shamael has drawn a lion and a dragon on his forearm, while a friend helped print the motto "I want kiss you" in English on his upper arm. He says there is no need to worry about health risks - he always dips his needle in antiseptic. Costing anything from about US$15 upwards, the quality of his tattoos has some way to go to match the intricate designs shown in pictures from foreign magazines pasted on his walls, but Shamael is building on a rich tradition. Iraq's tribes have long pricked their skin with designs to cure disease, work as love charms or ward off the evil eye, although city teenagers who dare break what is still a taboo for many people are risking their parents' wrath. Mohammed Jasim, 19, said he had no regrets about the scorpion and native Indian chief emblazoned on his upper arms a couple of months ago - despite his father's reaction when he realized they would not wash off with soap and water. "He told me to burn them off and brought me some acid," he said, speaking in the shop where Shamael inscribed them. "I got into a fight with him, then my mother and brother got involved and said the damage had been done, and that if he poured acid it would just disfigure me." It is not just the risk of parental outrage that may make some Iraqis think twice about depicting a serpent on their calf or scribbling their lover's name on their forearm. Many Iraqis associate tattoos with prison, where convicts would give each other crude designs like heart shapes to while away the years. Others simply regard them as vulgar. Iraq's tiny community of heavy metal fans are big customers at Shamael's shop and some policemen are also keen. Three officers came in the other day to have the same winged skull design tattooed on their arms. In tribal areas, women are the guardians of arcane tattoo lore, sometimes using the breast milk of a mother nursing a baby girl to mix the pigment for medicinal patterns. Women, though, are a rarity in the parlour - not because they do not want tattoos, Shamael says, but because they are too scared to venture out amid Baghdad's surge in crime. Speaking in his guitar studio a few doors down the corridor, Shamael's cousin Saad Sada, 35, believes his relative's work could one day win much wider acceptance. "I think tattoos are going to become more popular," he said. "Now it is turning into an art form."
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