The pessimism haunting me about Iraq’s future disappeared last week as I returned to Baghdad from a vacation in Syria.

In Syria, my eight-year old son Hani enjoyed the things that we Iraqis have not been able to do since the war began in 2003: staying out late, spending time in parks and open-air restaurants, visiting historical sites.

When I left Baghdad last year, car bombings scarred the capital almost daily, and people lived fearfully as they crept around a city encased by concrete blast walls and barbed wire.

Before making the long drive to Syria last year, I hid my hair with a scarf, fearing the al-Qaeda militants who once held sway in the towns along the highway through Anbar province.

Because the Sunni Arab militants have targeted journalists, I also hid my press badge.

But after Anbar’s tribal leaders turned against al-Qaeda and teamed up with U.S. forces to chase them out, the province has become a relatively safe place.

During the 20-hour bus ride home, my family and I met a young man named Alaa. He had been persuaded by his relatives to return to Baghdad after three years in Syria.

Alaa, one of the 2 million Iraqis who have fled the country since the U.S-led invasion unleashed sectarian killing and indiscriminate bloodshed, left after gunmen kidnapped him. His family paid $20,000 for his release. Now he had decided he could return.

Last year, when I returned to Baghdad from my holiday, even though I had only been away for a few weeks, I had to readjust. I was horrified to see my native city appear as if it had been hit by a nuclear bomb. The streets were covered with wreckage and trash, and whole neighbourhoods were deserted.

Al-Rabia Street, where I used to walk and shop, was pocked by craters and its stores were destroyed. It was almost beyond the point of recognition.

This year, when I came back I was thrilled by signs that Baghdad is being slowly rebuilt, piece by piece.

After the bus dropped my family in western Baghdad, we took a taxi home. We asked the driver to take a shortcut through the Adhamiya neighbourhood. Before the U.S.-Iraqi security drive began in Baghdad in February of 2007, a trip through Adhamiya, a hotbed for Sunni insurgents, would have been unthinkable.

Across the city, I could see street cleaners clearing trash and construction workers paving the sidewalks.

The next day, my neighbours were having a wedding. The entire neighbourhood rang out with sound of musicians. Children from all around came to listen to the music and dance in the street outside.

That would have been impossible a year ago. A friend’s wedding in Baghdad I attented in 2007 had no musicians and was conducted in silence.

Hani, as usual, wanted to stay in Syria, where he had developed a love for swimming.

There are not many swimming pools in Baghdad. But I have promised Hani I will take him to one of the two pools I’ve heard will open here as part of an effort to revive the city’s parks and public spaces.

But much more is needed. Officials hope to spend billions of dollars in coming years to repair Baghdad and overhaul its public works, but so far the government has not spent much of  the money earmarked for reconstruction.

Lubna, a Shi’ite friend of mine who owns a stationery shop in a Sunni area in Baghdad, joined me in last year’s trip to Syria. She was considering moving there and starting over, fearing the violence targeting Shi’ites in her neighbourhood.

She has scrapped those plans, and is instead trying to expand her business in Baghdad.

Life truly is changing in Baghdad. The place I used to call a ‘city of ghosts’ is being resurrected.

(Aseel Kami is an Iraqi reporter in the Baghdad bureau of Reuters)