When Kadim left Baghdad in 2021, he had no idea his journey would take him through forests, detention centers, and eventually into the heart of Lithuania. Music became his beacon through this challenging relocation, transforming hardship into artistic freedom. Now living in Vilnius as the country’s only professional Oud player, Kadim’s story explores resilience, identity, and how art can rebuild lives from uncertainty and loss.
We sat down with Kadim to talk about how he ended up in Lithuania, the challenges of starting over, and how music has helped him reclaim both his identity and sense of belonging.
Can you tell me a bit about yourself and how you ended up in Lithuania?
My name is Kadim. I’m from Baghdad, the capital of Iraq, where I was born and raised. I lived there for 21 years before coming to Lithuania in the summer of 2021 – almost four years ago now.
When I arrived, I was detained for nearly six months across three different facilities. We often call them “camps”, but one of them, in Kybartai, was actually a correctional facility. It felt like a real prison, with high fences and strict security.
After that period, I applied for asylum and was eventually granted refugee status in Lithuania. I was first relocated to Rukla, where I stayed for about three months. Then, in April 2022, I moved to Vilnius. It took nearly a year to go through the entire process. I came here knowing no one, except for a few friends I had met in the detention and refugee centers. But over time, I started to build a life here.
One important part of my identity is music – I’m an Oud player. The Oud is a traditional Middle Eastern string instrument known for its rich, melodic sound. It’s widely played across Arab countries, Turkey, Iran, Greece, Armenia, and the Balkans. Introduced to Europe via Al-Andalus beginning in the 8th century, the oud inspired the development of the European lute – a precursor to later instruments such as the mandolin and guitar.
I had to leave my instrument behind in Iraq, but I asked my parents to send it to me by mail. That allowed me to reconnect with my passion and continue pursuing my dream of becoming a musician. For the first time, I felt free to practice music without restrictions.
Back in Iraq, my family wanted me to become a doctor or an engineer. Musicians are often looked down upon – there’s a lot of prejudice. Years of war, sanctions, and growing conservatism have made life harder for artists. In contrast, here in Lithuania, if you want to become a musician, you can. I practice at the Martynas Mažvydas Library, where I can book time in a music room. That kind of freedom was unthinkable for me back home.
Why Lithuania?
Originally, I wanted to move to Turkey. But it’s not an easy place for Arabs anymore. Turkey already hosts around three million Syrian refugees, and the situation there is difficult. I had a friend living there who told me about the poor treatment he received – he worked long hours in factories for very little pay. It didn’t seem like a place where I could build a stable future.
Honestly, I didn’t know anything about Lithuania, except that it was the first country to break away from the Soviet Union. The idea was just to keep moving – Lithuania wasn’t a destination, it was just on the route.
But crossing into Lithuania was much harder than I expected. We walked for 12 hours through the forest. We were exhausted, out of food, and covered in mosquito bites. Eventually, I surrendered to the Lithuanian border guards. I didn’t expect full-time detention – it was a shock. But that’s how it started. Things unfolded step by step. I got my documents, started working, made friends, and now I’m here.
My music career also started here. I’m the only professional Oud player in Lithuania. I’ve been working with Artscape for three years now. This will be my third Refugee Week. I even had my first student back in January last year, and he’s improved a lot since we first met. Just today, I helped another student fix his instrument, and we had our very first lesson together.
How has your perception of Lithuania changed since you first arrived? What has surprised you the most about life here?
What surprised me most was how people interact. In Iraq, people are very open – you can talk to anyone, even on a bus. Here, it felt harder to connect. Most friendships seem to form during school, and as an outsider, breaking into those circles is difficult. It took time to understand that cultural difference.
The weather was also a shock – seeing snow and living through a full winter was something completely new.
But I’ve come to love the peace and quiet in Vilnius. As a musician, that calm helps me a lot. The city is incredibly clean – cleaner than anywhere I’ve been, even Berlin or Vienna. And the greenery here is beautiful.
How have you adapted to life in Lithuania over the years, both culturally and personally?
My first job here was in a restaurant, but I have a health condition that made it difficult. I had to quit, but I couldn’t afford not to work. I tried delivery work, got injured, went back to the restaurant, and got hurt again.
It’s been hard to adapt, especially when you have both a health issue and the added layer of being a foreigner. Better jobs often feel out of reach.
Things began to change when I became more active as a musician. I met a friend from Tunisia, Youssef Jmal, who plays the Qanun. Together, we’ve performed in collaboration with Artscape, Sienos Grupė, and other NGOs. The income isn’t steady, but the experience means a lot.
One important lesson has been to invest in friendships. Good friends helped me deal with unfair landlords and employers. They’ve helped me stay grounded.
How has living in Lithuania influenced your perspective on your own identity and cultural heritage?
At first, I was angry at my background. I wanted to leave it behind and start fresh. For about two years, I avoided Arab communities, thinking I should only make Lithuanian or European friends.
But that’s not realistic, especially for me. Arabic music is part of who I am. I wouldn’t play the Oud if I didn’t carry that identity with me. Slowly, I started making peace with my roots.
I was afraid of how people in Lithuania would perceive me. There are stereotypes about Arabs – being extremists, terrorists. I tried to blend in so I wouldn’t be judged. But now, I no longer care about those perceptions. I know who I am. I play music. I live in peace.
In fact, people here are often curious about my culture. That has motivated me to share it more, rather than hide it. Music became my way of challenging stereotypes and opening doors.
What role has music played in your life, both before and after coming to Lithuania?
I realized I loved music around the age of 17, but it was always a struggle. My family didn’t support it, and there were few opportunities in Iraq. I started learning online on my own.
In 2019, during the protests in Baghdad, I first saw someone playing the Oud. It was part of a cultural protest – people painting, reading poetry, cooking, playing music. I was mesmerized. I bought my first Oud soon after.
When I came to Lithuania, I had to leave it behind. I spent months in detention with no music, and it was painful. Eventually, my parents sent my instrument to me. That changed everything.
In 2023, I gave my first performance – a brief five-minute set – at an Artscape event. I wasn’t as great as I am now, but it was a beginning. Now I’m performing more often and improving every day.
In what ways has your experience as a refugee shaped your identity as a musician?
Becoming a refugee didn’t just change where I live – it changed how I relate to music. In Iraq, I loved music, but I wasn’t free to fully embrace it.
In Lithuania, I found space. Detention reminded me how much I needed music. When I finally got my Oud back, it was like finding a part of myself again. Music became not just a passion, but a way to reclaim my voice and rebuild my identity.
Now, I play not just for myself, but to express my culture, challenge prejudice, and connect with people. My music and refugee experience are deeply intertwined.
How would you describe the music scene in Lithuania? Have you faced any challenges or found new opportunities here?
I’ve met Lithuanian musicians – cellists, clarinet players – and though our musical traditions are different, we’ve found ways to collaborate. Arabic music is monophonic and melodic. Western music uses harmony and is polyphonic. It takes time for us to understand each other’s approach.
In Lithuania, I love the variety of cultural activities. There are many events, including free concerts, almost every month. Just last month, I attended an oud concert with a choir from Iraq—artists based in Berlin, invited by the Lithuanian Ministry of Culture. There’s growing interest in Eastern, or what some call “other,” music.
Over the years I’ve lived here, I’ve seen an increasing diversity of musical genres being presented. It’s amazing, and I’m glad to be part of it.
In general, where do you find inspiration in your daily life?
Music is a powerful motivation that keeps me going – it’s my only real escape. But of course, there are other important things as well, like caring for the people around me. I’m inspired by my friends, by what they’re doing, the concerts they perform in, and the projects they take part in. That energy and creativity around me keeps me engaged.
As a refugee, I often feel there’s no other choice – it’s either keep moving forward or be stuck with nothing. That reality pushes me to stay motivated, to keep striving, to give my full effort. Refugees don’t have the luxury of being lazy or giving up. We have to create meaning and purpose through action.
What are your hopes for the future, both for yourself and for the refugee community in Lithuania?
I’m currently studying online and expect to graduate in a few months. I’ll have a final concert attended by the school’s director, Naseer Shamma, a renowned Iraqi Oud master. I also plan to apply again to the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theatre (LMTA). If I’m accepted, it would be amazing to study for four years, develop my music, meet new musicians, and collaborate.
As for the refugee community, there are still challenges. Some people in Lithuania question our presence and hold strong nationalistic views. I’ve seen negative comments online, and at times, it makes me feel unwelcome. But in everyday life, people around me have been kind and supportive. There’s a tension between those two experiences.
I hope this changes. Maybe through events like Refugee Week, where people can meet migrants, hear their stories, and learn about their culture, attitudes will shift. Most importantly, the system still needs improvement. I hope, with time, both the system and public perception will evolve. And I hope my story can be part of that change.
Partners – United Nations Refugee Agency (UNHCR), Reception and Integration Agency
Friends: National Gallery of Art, Energy and Technology Museum
The festival is partially funded by the Lithuanian Council for Culture
Events are free.
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June 17, 2025
