The image that opened Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo for me was the unseen child wandering through a burning city in search of beauty and peace. Having grown up during the Iran–Iraq War, I understood how war can make the surreal, the terrifying, and even the absurd part of ordinary life. That connection led me to approach the play through a central question: what happens to our humanity when violence becomes normal, and can cruelty be resisted or unlearned? To embody this world, I allowed reality and the afterlife to overlap: realistic rooms broke apart and transformed, flowers emerged from a rug, and light and sound suggested the presence of a God who could no longer be seen. By placing comedy, beauty, and magic alongside brutality, I wanted to create a Baghdad that felt both real and haunted—a world searching for the peace, love, and humanity that violence threatens to erase.
