The Grocer

The baqqal was the owner of the small neighborhood shop a beating heart of Baghdad’s old alleyways and a daily source of essential groceries for every household. In his humble store, packed with cloth bags and wooden crates, the baqqal would neatly arrange vegetables, fruits, legumes, sugar, and tea. He knew his goods as well as he knew the faces of his customers.

He was more than just a vendor; he was the trusted figure of the neighborhood, the living memory of its people. He kept notebooks of credit with care, lent to the poor with kindness, remembered who had paid and who had promised, and offered trust before money. He used the classic balance scale with two pans, along with brass and iron weights, measuring with honesty and precision selling lentils by the ratl, sugar by the kilogram, and prices often determined by familiarity and need.

Grocery shops were spread across Baghdad’s districts and marketplaces, often run by families. The baqqāl would stand behind a wooden counter with his sons, surrounded by tin cans and matchboxes. Though the rise of supermarkets and digital apps has reshaped shopping habits, the image of the old baqqāl remains vivid in memory his cloth bags, hand scales, and worn credit ledger still symbols of a simpler, more personal time.