Next Generation Doctors
Saleem's first conference for doctors in Iraq: the brand, the campaign, the website, registration, QR check-in at the door, and everything on the walls and the stage.
- Areas
- Media · Software
- Who worked on it
- Raghad and Awab
- When
- July to October 2026
- Where
- Baghdad, Iraq
A conference has no second take
A note first: Raghad and Awab work for Saleem. They made the things on this page. The event itself was the work of a whole team.
Next Generation Doctors is Saleem's event series for doctors in Iraq. Its subject is what clinical training leaves out: running a clinic, building a name, and putting technology to work.
The first, Conference I, was on August 14, 2026, at Dijla Village in Baghdad, for licensed physicians. Each of them had to hear about it, register, get through a door and sit in a room worth the afternoon.
Events don't get a soft launch. A wrong banner stays wrong all day, and a scanner that stalls sends the queue out the door.
Two people, one look
Raghad made the brand, the campaign, the badges, the banners, the roll-ups and the art on the screens. Awab built the website, the registration form and the QR check-in.
So the post on a doctor's phone, the form it led to and the badge at the door all looked like one event.
A mark with a pulse
The mark joins three ideas: a connection, a heartbeat and an arrow going up. A dot becomes a line, the line becomes a pulse, and the pulse climbs.
Raghad set it in Montserrat and Noto Kufi, in one deep blue, black and white. It had to work as small as a badge and as large as a stage, with Arabic standing next to English.




Posts in the doctors' own words
The campaign talked to doctors in Iraqi Arabic about things already on their minds: why a clinic is a business too, and what technology is about to change in their work.
One post says even a sharp doctor runs into trouble without a management plan, and that the trouble has nothing to do with medicine. Later ones get to the point: register and book your seat.
Raghad kept every post in the same dark rooms and the same blue light, so you knew whose it was before you read a word.




Built for a phone in a WhatsApp chat
Doctors arrive on a phone, mostly from a WhatsApp broadcast or a Meta ad, and often in Arabic. So Arabic comes first, right to left, with an English switch shared by every page and the form.
The home page hangs the event's badge from the top of the screen on its lanyard. Grab it and throw it, and it swings and twists on the strap. Tap it, and it flips over to the QR code on its back. A weak phone, or a visitor who asked for less motion, gets the same badge standing still, and the page never waits for it.
The form writes straight into the system the team uses to review applications, with nothing to copy across by hand.
When the day was over, the page kept working. It's now the record of the conference, with the photos and the recorded talks, each under its speaker's name.


The door can't buffer
Every approved doctor got a ticket with a QR code. Staff scanned it on their own phones, so there was no special hardware to hand out.
That took more work than it sounds. Not every phone's browser can read a QR code on its own, so the decoder ships with the app, from our own address, because venue wifi can't be trusted to reach anything else.
The first version stopped the camera after every check-in. Days before the conference we rebuilt it. The camera stays live, a green screen shows the name and clears itself, and a red one waits for a tap, because an error nobody sees is a doctor walking in unchecked. A beep and a buzz carry the result, since nobody in a full hall is looking at the phone.
Each scan queues a badge at a laptop beside a thermal printer. A doctor who never registered goes through a walk-in form and gets a badge from the same queue.
The video below is that path running for real, on a copy of the portal filled with made-up doctors. The phone reads the QR code on a ticket the portal issued, the name goes green, and seconds later the station prints it. Only the printer and the badge sliding out of it are drawn in.
One part let us down on the day. The screen couldn't check a registered doctor in by name, and its search refused the spellings staff actually typed, so some doctors got a badge without a check-in. We've rebuilt that search since.


What the team saw
The team ran all of this from one portal. Every application lands in a list with its specialty and workplace, and one press approves or rejects it. The overview counts who applied, who got in and who's in the room, and shows the spread of specialties as it grows.
At the door the same portal becomes the check-in screen, with the attendance rate, the people in the room, and a reprint button beside every name.
These screens come from a copy of the portal filled with made-up doctors and made-up numbers, so nobody's phone number ends up on our website.




What people carried
A bag, a booklet, a table flag, a badge on a lanyard, and roll-ups along the wall. The roll-ups had a job too: one walks through how to build a clinic in 2026, and another explains telemedicine.
The bag, the booklet, the flag and the roll-ups standing in the venue are photos from the day. The lanyards, the notebook and the two roll-ups beside it are mockups.






Then the lights went down
Raghad drew a doctor in lines of blue light for the backdrop, and a suit in the same light for the screens. The logo stood off the lectern in raised letters, and the same blue ran along the front of the stage.
The screens were art direction too. One speaker joined by video call and appeared inside a phone on the stage screen, at the same height as the people in the room.






What the day came to
More than 200 doctors came, from 15 specialties, for six hours.
The work outlasted the day. The site now lists every event in the series, the same portal runs their registrations and check-ins, and the brand carries on without us having to redraw it.



