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Iraq in recent years has been so much associated with images of death, destruction and anarchy that it is easy to forget this country was one of the cradles of modern civilisation.

Iraqi lute maker Amir Ali in his shop
© AFP Ahmad al-Rubaye

It was here, for example, that the "oud", ancestor of the modern lute, was born. Legend has it that the first of these stringed guitar-like instruments was crafted by one of the grandsons of Adam.

The oud quickly spread from ancient Mesopotamia to become prized across the entire Arabic-speaking world. The first known pictorial record of one such instrument is on a 5,000-year-old seal currently housed in the British Museum in London.

But in today's violence-plagued Iraq, one of the world's oldest traditions is now under threat.

"When a musician sees killings and blood and explosions, when he is in the middle of all that, he cannot cheer himself up by playing," says lute teacher Ahmad al-Abdali.

Iraqi lute maker Amir Ali in his shop
© AFP Ahmad al-Rubaye

"On the contrary, it will make him more depressed than ever."

Baghdad used to be renowned for the quality of lutes turned out by its artisans. Iraqi lutes were so sought after that special government permission was needed for them to be exported.

This bureaucracy did not deter musicians, who converged from far and wide on the Iraqi capital in search of the best.

But then the wars came, and now lute-making in Iraq is a dying profession.

"Foreigners used to come here, and it made us proud to see Iraqi lutes exported across the world ... to know that people referred to our country as a land of traditions and civilisation," says lute-maker Amir Ali.

Inside his city centre shop hang beautiful instruments of all sizes, but the place is deserted. Ali has no customers.

"People have stopped coming now," he says. "There's no longer any security."

Ali and others like him not only have to face up to falling demand and lower prices, but also problems with creating their lutes -- a lack of raw materials and frequent power cuts.

Iraqi lute maker Amir Ali at his shop
© AFP Ahmad al-Rubaye

"Before I could make two lovely lutes a month," Ali says. "Today I can only make one."

Abdali fears his country's lute tradition is in danger of being snuffed out by the sectarian violence sweeping the country.

"I have 15 pupils, but I haven't seen some of them for six weeks," the teacher says.

"They call to say they can't come. Usually they came on Fridays, our day of rest. But with the curfew they can't do that any more. I understand."

The country's embattled government imposed a curfew from 11 am to 3 pm (0700-1100 GMT) on the Muslim holy day, banning cars from the capital's streets in an effort to prevent the rising number of attacks by death squads from rival Sunni and Shiite groups.

"Sometimes my students come to me and say they cannot walk in the street carrying an instrument. They are afraid to get killed or kidnapped, or they feel embarrassed," Abdali explains.

"And they say 'people are dying and getting blown up, and I'm walking with an instrument in my hand: there's something morally unacceptable about that'."

Iraqi lute-maker Amir Ali in his shop
© AFP Ahmad al-Rubaye

For Amir Ali, the lute-maker whose shop once teemed with musicians, students and tourists visiting old Baghdad, things can only get better. He looks forward to when they do.

"God willing, the situation will become normal again," he says.

"I want the best for all Iraqis. I want this beautiful, artistic and traditional instrument to regain its former glory."

If the likes of Abdali and Ali persevere, the crackle of gunshots and thump of explosions may finally fade in Iraq.

Then the sweet sound of the oud will once again be heard in the place that gave birth to this special instrument all those thousands of years ago.

©AFP