Seven days after the legendary Iraqi singer Sajida Obaid died, women sat wrapped in black veils and abayas, their faces wet at her family home in Irbil. Some were family members, others fans who had loved her for decades. Bitter black coffee, the drink of Iraqi mourning, passed quietly from hand to hand, while music from outside filled the spaces between sobs.
Obaid died on April 4 at the age of 68 after a battle with lung cancer. The news was overshadowed by the Iran war spilling into Iraq, but for her fans, her death felt personal — the loss of a woman whose voice gave them, for a few hours at a time, something close to freedom. In Iraq, a woman moving through public life carries weight; eyes watching what she wears, how she moves, whether she steps too far outside the lines. So Obaid held parties only for women, with female staff and no phones allowed, to protect their freedom inside those walls.
Virgin Jaji, 68, said she has listened to Obaid every morning for years. “In her women’s parties we danced like we had no cares in the world. We felt free. Truly free.” Mina Mohammed, 40, borrowed money to attend: “Her voice will always take me back to the best moments of my life.”
Born in Baghdad in 1957 to a Roma family, Obaid began singing at 12 to help pay bills. By the 1980s, she performed for Saddam Hussein’s family — a complicated price of stardom under dictatorship. Her songs sometimes pushed boundaries, like “Inkasarat al-Sheesha” about a woman who has lost her virginity, sung without apology.
Many Iraqi women feel rights are receding; last year, parliament passed amendments that opponents say would legalise child marriage and erode women's rights. Mohammed hopes Obaid's legacy continues “even in small ways, like women-only DJ nights with her music.”
