Kirkuk's living archive: The man behind the books

Shafaq News

8 hours ago

Shafaq News – Kirkuk
Within the storied streets of Kirkuk— the Iraqi city once known as 'Arrapha' for its ethnic mosaic and deep history —Bakr Latif Hussein, now in his sixties, has built more than a bookstore. In a quiet corner of this diverse city, he guards a literary trove with books in Kurdish, Arabic, Turkmen, and English—each title a thread in Kirkuk's fading cultural tapestry.
His journey began decades ago on the sidewalk outside Rafidain Bank, where he sold books from a modest stall on Al-Jumhuriya Street. Over time, that humble display grew into one of Kirkuk's most beloved literary havens. 'Books aren't just paper,' he told Shafaq News. 'They are part of a person's soul. Despite the digital flood, paper holds a magic that keeps us tied to our intellectual core.'
Hussein still opens his doors daily, undeterred by shrinking foot traffic or the dominance of screens. His mission was never about profit—it has always been about purpose.
He remembers the grinding years of the 1990s, when economic sanctions 'devoured green and dry alike,' and many intellectuals were forced to sell their books just to survive. Still, he recalls 2003 as a hopeful turn: books became more affordable, printing technology improved, and Iraq reconnected with global knowledge sources.
'But that revival didn't last,' he reflected. The rise of ISIS in 2014 dealt a brutal blow to Iraq's cultural life, especially in Kirkuk. Then came the events of October 17, 2017, when federal forces entered the city and Kurdish political parties withdrew—a shift that, according to Hussein, 'changed the atmosphere' and led to a steep decline in Kurdish and even Arabic book sales.
'Kirkuk holds nearly two million people,' he noted, 'but you'd struggle to find even 20,000 genuine readers. That's heartbreaking. This city once lit the way for poets and thinkers—it gave us the legendary Kirkuk Literary Group.'
Yet hope lingers in small moments. Turkmen families, he observed, are the most devoted to encouraging reading among children. 'They see books as a way to pull kids away from screens and improve their mental well-being. Kurdish families follow, then Arabs.'
Even in quiet seasons, the ambitious man continues his work without complaint. 'We may not sell like we used to,' he said, 'but we still offer hope and thought—and that's worth more than any profit.'
To many of his customers, he is more than a bookseller. 'For over a decade,' said Hawkar Mohammed, a Kurdish language teacher and loyal visitor, 'I've come not just for books, but for the spirit of the place. It's not a shop—it's Kirkuk's soul. A living archive that remembers its thinkers and dreamers.'
He marvels at Hussein's uncanny ability to match readers with the right book. 'Sometimes I visit just to talk, but after ten minutes, I leave with two or three titles. His passion reawakens yours.'
In a world of constant noise, the elderly bibliophile remains steady—a guardian of Kirkuk's cultural memory, and a quiet beacon for those still drawn to the written word.