On Visiting

My definition of hospitality has changed dramatically over the past two years. I grew up in what I considered a very hospitable home, there was a near constant stream of visitors from all over which I quite enjoyed. However, none of this compares to the sheer effusiveness that I have experienced here. Last week, the cleaning lady from work, Nawras, invited me back to her home for dinner. I knew this was going to be a fairly stressful event as she doesn't speak any English, my Kurdish is non-existent, and no one in her family speaks English either. I know enough Arabic to generally muddle along through everyday life so I had some vague hope there. In the end, I lucked out. Nawras is a champion talker. She babbled at me all afternoon as I nodded encouragingly. There is something to be said for that skill.



We arrived at her home and the first thing that struck me was, there was no tile. Tile is ubiquitous in all the houses I have ever been in here in Kurdistan. It is largely covered in carpet, but all houses have tile. This house had bare, exposed, bumpy, concrete. There was no furniture excepting the TV on it's stand, a few cupboards, the sink and a stove. No couch, no table, no chairs, no beds.

I'm not sure what I was expecting to find. Perhaps I simply expected what I had seen before. Loads of couches and chairs choking the living area with a plethora of tables for the absurd amount of beverages served. Sparkly fabrics, thick rugs, loud printed curtains, frills, lace, glitter all the things I normally associate with Kurdish decor. It was a realization that I have been to rather select part of the Iraqi Kurdish population. Even the village homes I had been in before had beds. Evidently I have been missing something quite large. The poor.

Nawras is my age, yet has two children, one of which is probably 7 or 8. Her husband runs one of the ubiquitous tiny neighborhood shops. This was one of those moments when I realize just how differently my life could have gone, if I had been born in a different context, society or culture.



I learned quite a lot in that afternoon, the majority of which was Kurdish cooking. I have wanted a lesson for ages, but it is just not done for guests to help out. In this case I ignored social convention and Nawras seemed tickled pink that I was interested. So that worked out well.



There are two things about Kurdish food that struck me, lots of meat, and even more salt. I have never seen that much salt used in cooking in my life. She had a bucket of salt that lives next to the stove. Periodically she would scoop out another bit and add it to whatever was bubbling away on the stove. I am astonished that I escaped without hypertension. There were three different kinds of meat, chicken, beef and lamb. As we were cooking, it occurred to me just how much food we were making. Could they afford to do this? According to their very strict rules of hosting, did that matter? I happen to know that kima (ground beef) is nastily expensive at 8 dinar for half a kilo. Yet, there it was on the table. Should I eat away? Eat little so they could have more? This is something new to deal with.

Ahmad Awa

A few weeks ago, myself and a friend (Rachel) started out on what promised to be yet another adventure. It was relatively well planned, at least according my admittedly lax standards, with food in hand and a map to Ahmad Awa. This waterfall is by all intents and purposes on the Iranian/Iraqi border and is near where those American “hikers” were arrested a few years ago. We had no intention of venturing off the beaten path to experience that international incident. We were simply going to soak up the sight of water, a rare thing indeed here.

A Suly at night picture, just for fun

Aso, Rachel’s Kurdish friend, arrived at ridiculous o’clock for a Friday morning. And by ridiculous I mean 6 a.m. but my point still stands. It was already bright sunny and cheerful edging on hot by the time we got started. We were relaxing and chatting when the car died. Full stop. After several attempts to get it started again, we trooped out to look under the hood. None of us had any idea about what to look for. After about 20 minutes of staring a friendly taxi driver stopped to aid us. He pointed out a broken belt, shocked that we knew so little about car maintenance that we did not see it was missing. Randomly enough there was a spare belt in the trunk. Still, none of the necessary tools to replace it were to be had. Lucky for us we were waylaid right next to someone’s homestead. Aso took us back to see if we could avail ourselves of the famous Kurdish hospitality.

We lucked out. They welcomed us warmly and I got a lesson in something I have been itching to watch since I got here. The making of the traditional Kurdish bread. 

We were totally clueless but the women who were doing the baking were pros

They kindly offered to give us a hands on lesson, but I refused on the grounds that I did not want to cause a disaster, which I am sure it would have been. It is a surprisingly delicate operation and if not made thin enough it will go bad very quickly. Personally, I thought it was one of the best parts of the trip, though it no way planned. It was very fun watching Rachel practice her Kurdish while I sat there smiling and nodding. I have become gifted at pretending like I know what is happening.

The bread is so thin that you can see light through it

About two hours after we drifted to the unanticipated stop, we were on our way again. Unlucky for us, this meant that all the good picnic spots were taken and that we had to park about a kilometer away. Bit of a side note. When we went through the last checkpoint before the border, the guards at the check point took my residency card away with them to ensure that I would return. Made me a bit nervous but I got it back with no issues.

Of course I could not take pictures of the actual checkpoint, but this is good enough, right?

It was hot. Really really hot. In the end we hiked into the water.  I fully intend on seeing those falls someday, alas, it was not to be on that day. As we wandered around trying to find a spare couple of inches to perch near the water, it became increasingly clear to me just how popular a picnic spot this place is for the Kurds. There were probably thousands of people tucked under the greenery (Green! In Iraq! I nearly fell over in shock) whiling away time as the barbeque cooked large amounts of kebab. We accidentally wandered into what were apparently male only areas – have rarely felt so uncomfortable in my life. Eventually we simply made our way down to the water and sat on some rocks.

Very sweaty, but happy to be near water

Kurdish hospitality set in again as we were provided with kebab from this family, grapes and peaches from another, and watermelon from yet another. We did end up being in some pictures with a family in exchange but it was worth it. After about 2 hours of sitting there Rachel and I were actually cold, something we have not experienced in months.

Traditional Kurdish garb there, still have not figured out the turban thing entirely

The natural beauty of the area was astonishing. I kept taking pictures of the cliffs surrounding the falls all day. Between the glee of seeing green again and these tall reddish cliffs I was in picture heaven. It would be great if my photography ability matched, but you cannot have everything in life, I suppose.

At the end of the day, I posted on facebook about what a wonderful time I had. Rachel reminded me that it really was only a one day weekend. Amazing how much you can pack into those 24 hours if you are really determined to.

I remember doing this as a child

Amna Suraka - The Red Museum

*Warning*  Entry talks about potential triggers - Rape, Torture. Read with caution.

In many ways, Iraqis are far more fatalistic then Americans. I was talking to my co-workers the other day about why smoking was so prevalent here, the answer? “We’re going to die, might as well have a bit of pleasure before we go.” I’ve heard this attitude over and over again since I have come here and in many different guises ranging from why horror movies are not that bad (I’ve seen worse in real life) to my experience s this past weekend. In the middle of Sulaimaniya is the Red Museum. This building still holds all the bullet holes and craters from the Kurdish uprising in 1991 and a great deal more of horrific memories.

Kurdish IDPs attempting to escape to Turkey

                                                                

A friend of mine and I decided to go together after we had heard from others that the visit is more than a bit mentally debilitating and I am ever so glad I did not go alone. We had a very nice tour guide who took us through the facility. For about 15 years this was the center of imprisonment, torture and propaganda for the north. Parts of the building have been taken over for a celebration of Kurdish culture but the majority is left as they were back during the worst times. The first part of the tour was a representation done in mirrored glass and lights.  180,000 pieces of mirror for the number of people killed during Sadaam’s  Anfal campaign against the Kurds and there were 4,500 lights to represent the villages that were destroyed. 

The mirrored room was commissioned by Hero Talabani - the first lady of Iraq

                          

We moved on to what was the hardest section for me to get through. The imprisonment and torture center has been left basically untouched. We were taken first to the woman’s part. I asked how many would be in there at one time and was told “As many as would fit”. It really wasn’t a large room at all. Just four concrete walls with some blankets thrown down. Apparently one woman was pregnant was she was brought in and gave birth while still imprisoned. There is a statue of her and her child in the room. Where I had my first moment of near mind numbing horror was when our guide pointed to the small room right next to the woman’s quarters and pronounced “This is rape room.”  The nausea started to churn my stomach then as I stared at this unassuming space imagining the fear of the women who could hear all that was happening there, knowing that they could be next.

Already feeling a bit off, I was unprepared for the next rooms. With a wry twist of his mouth our guide pointed to a room proclaiming it as “Court”. Evidently being proved innocent was a no go. Around two corners we were deposited in a dark room lined in wood paneling. After knocking his knuckles on it, “Sound proofing”, he pointed to a large metal bar with two hooks. “Torture rack, original model.” As if the tag line mattered at all. About four feet back from the bar was metal desk that had a metal box on it. Not sure if I wanted to know the answer, I asked what it was. “Electrical pulses”. I was right. I didn’t want to know that.

On the other side of the hall was a matching room and just down the corridor the metal cages of the male quarters bisected a large room. Just outside of that room in the hallway was a ring disturbingly reminiscent of what we tied the cows to when we needed them to stay put. After the torture the victims would be shackled to the wall here for 24 hours, the chain too short for them to lie down. It left them in full view of the rest of the prisoners.

The male imprisonment cages are off to the right of this picture

In stark contrast to the inside of these buildings, the grounds were immaculately kept. Trees have grown around the walls providing a pleasant shade to escape the heat of the day. One of the other buildings has been converted into a coffee shop. Neatly arranged gravel resides under captured tanks and anti-aircraft guns while nearby a series of vines have been trained to provide a cool tunnel of green. We asked the guide if he thinks he will ever get used to working in such a place. “Never”.

I just couldn't bring myself to smile

The Kurds have long memories as evidenced by their continued irritation at the Brits for the reneging of their promise for a Kurdish homeland after the breakup of the Ottoman Empire. Ba’athists are still not allowed to visit the cemetery in Halabjah. Enmity between Arabs and Kurds is still high. But times are a-changing. Despite the actions of the PKK (either Kurdish freedom fighters or terrorists depending on who you ask) in Turkey, new trade deals are being struck and an oil pipeline is planned. Syrians refugees are being quietly welcomed in the West. The 21^st century has stared the Kurds in the face and they are eager to embrace a new period of peace and prosperity. What remains to be seen is whether the rest of the world will let them.

Vacation and Post-vacation Blues

I promised this update... quite some time ago. Apologies all! As many
of you know, I went on vacation to London, Istanbul and the Black Sea
at the beginning of May. What a sorely needed respite! Just getting
out of the country was interesting in and of itself. My plan was
delayed leaving Sulaimaniya because of a dust storm, which meant that
I missed my connection in Istanbul which means that my luggage got
misplaced in the shuffle and I missed meeting my wonderful traveling
companions at Heathrow. I really felt for the poor woman at the lost
luggage counter as I definitely started weeping (sleep deprivation and
seriously messed travel plans will do that to me). Between her
graciousness, Stephanie's directions and the help of the man who
figured out the Tube for my distraught self I managed to meet up with
Stephanie Fagerstrom and Marlene Cross at our hotel. They took me
under their wings and started one of my best vacations yet! I had
almost forgotten how nice it is to not be stared at all the time as if
I was some kind of oddity. Wonderful stuff. I am neither too tall, too
white or too odd to stick out in London. We cooed over the shiny
sparkelies in the Tower of London and I got totally absorbed in the
National Gallery. I also got to marvel at the green, something I miss
dreadfully about home.

The highlights of Istanbul included a Turkish bath (never been so
clean in my life), basically finishing out my Christmas shopping (ever
prepared, that me) and the "wonderful" comments from men trying to get
us to come into their shops to buy things (I am Charlie and you are my
angles). We ended up writing down most of the awesome shopkeeper
comments simply because they were so ridiculous.

Look, it's the Spice Girls!
I only want to know what country you are from, I don't want to take it.
Buy a beer and get a free boy!
Want to come buy some stuff you don't need?

Our last two days were spent in the town of Agva on the Black Sea. By
this point we were touristed out and the resort we stayed at there was
absolutely wonderful in it's lack of hustle and bustle. We spent hours
playing cards, talking, soaking up the sun and getting a lot of
reading done. When we did go to the Black Sea we got to see dolphins!
My very first wild dolphin experience and my, are they beautiful.

Enough of vacation stories and back to real life. Coming home from
vacation is never easy but I am surviving. I just had another very
interesting run in with the Iraqi medical care system. I notice a
distinctly large "bubble" of swelling in my left wrist and after
dealing with pain and numbness for a few weeks decided I should do
something about it. I consulted my co-workers and the company driver
took me over to my appointment. Let me just say that this is a
remarkably efficient system. I got an appointment the same day I asked
for one. The entire consultation and fix was done in less the 15
minutes. Apparently, I had strained the wrist at some point and some
of the joint fluid escaped and created a bubble. The doctor took out a
very large needle poked it into the joint, pulled out the fluid and
that was that. No painkillers. No armrest (I literally had to hold my
own arm up across my body while he did this). Of course, I did cry
like a little girl (excruciating pain does that) while my driver
fluttered around helplessly. Poor guy. Didn't know quite what to do
with me. He was nice and took me out for ice cream though, ice cream
makes everything better. I will let you know if this works or not.
Hopefully everything is fixed now.

Anyone else have interesting adventures lately?


Vacation pics can be found at the following link or on facebook.
https://picasaweb.google.com/107932409366814870776/May2012Vacation?authkey=Gv1sRgCNCSgbKhh4ipcA

Nawroz

I was super super happy to have a few days off this past month and the occasion happened to be NAWROZ! (Pronounced nay-rooz) This holiday is huge around here and celebrates a Spring/New Year kind of thing. Also called Nouruz, Norouz, Norooz, Narooz, Nawruz, Newroz, Newruz, Nauruz, Nawroz, Noruz, Nohrooz, Novruz, Nauroz, Navroz, Naw-Rúz, Nowroj, Navroj, Nevruz, Наврӯз, Navruz, Navrez, Nooruz, Nauryz, Nevruz, Nowrouz,ნავრუზი. Just in case you wanted to know. There was a distinct holiday like feel around the office, the men sporting new clothing, people itching to leave ect. The best part of this holiday was Friday evening when thousands upon thousands of Suli people took to the streets. This is a fire based festival here and there were large bonfires burning as people danced around them. The hills of Suli rang with deafening Kurdish and Persian music and the Kurdish flag was waving everywhere. Little boys ran around selling bunches of narjes (like a mini daffodil) to the women. Everyone was dressed in their best. Men wearing the traditional Kurdish dress

And women wearing the glittery, gaudy, and ridiculously uncomfortable traditional Kurdish dress.

There were fireworks galore, and it was interesting to note that when the first boom went off that evening everything went silent for about five seconds. After people realized that it was fireworks, noise resumed as normal.

 The light poles were decorated with lights in the shape of narjes flowers.

 Evidence of the prevalence of the Kurdish flag at this event.

I had the great fortune to be included into a group of internationals and Kurds that were all getting together above the madness in a cafe. We sat there for hours watching the celebrations below and then descended into the hordes later.

In more personal news. I have moved. I promise to post pictures at some point. But let me just say I am remarkably happy that I have moved and I am in a much better situation now.

Views of Halabja

Yesterday I was treated to a very unique and educational experience. Those are adjectives that I can use talking about it while enjoyable and fun are not. The place that we visited is called Halabja and it is located just 10 miles from the Iranian border.
Google Map - Halabja

Twenty four years ago on March 16th (the end of the Iran/Iraq war), this town was bombarded with chemicals killing around 5,000 and wounding around 10,000 inhabitants of Halabja and surrounding villages. Theories about as to the reason behind the attack. Some say it was an attack on the Kurds to prevent rebellion, others say that it was because it was overrun with Iranian soldiers and the civilian casualties were simply a by product of taking back that area. What is known is that there are two rivers that cut Halabja off from the rest of Iraq and the bridges over them were destroyed. There were Iranian soldiers in the area and it was under fierce contention.

In this picture you can see the memorial in the background, two fists rising to the sky, and the hoards of people that were there for the commemoration. Security was tight to get near the memorial and my camera was confiscated for a time (got it back! Yay!) but inside it reminded me of visiting the Holocaust Museum. Horribly grotesque images of victims, relics of the time and macabre mementos of the punishments of the perpetrators. One of the things that I noticed when perusing the "before" pictures was the remarkable change that took place between the years of 1970 and today. There was little difference in the dress of the people of Halabja in the 1970's and the people of the U.S. during that same time. The girls were wearing knee length skirts and there were no head scarves to be seen. A picture of a local soccer team showed men sporting those ridiculous short shorts and snazzy mustaches, similar to pictures I have seen of my father. Now, there were very few women who are not wearing the headscarf and most of the men I saw were in traditional Kurdish clothing.

There were lots of artistic pieces there as well, one of the most disturbing to me was this bomb shell that was painted and then curved into a plaything for children.

There are three mass graves in the Halabja graveyard for the victims of the bombardment. This is the largest one. The headstone is depicted here, but it is set on a massive marble structure. We arrived at the graveyard at the same time the Iraqi dignitaries were leaving. Security was highly visible all day - they were literally lining the highways on our drive down from Suli. I'm not sure what good they were doing, standing by the side of the road seems kind of strange to me, but what do I know of security protocols.

Eventually they created gravestones to represent the people who died there. Each of gravestones has a family inscribed on it.

Just outside the graveyard was this sign, as symbol of the hatred still felt towards Sadaam's political
party. It's also a good way to show the insane weather of the day. I think I experienced just about all the kinds of weather possible. There was snow, rain, hail, wind, sun, hot and cold. It was like that day had multiple personality disorder. I was very glad I had worn layers.

 Peshawa Ahmad is the reason I got invited on this soiree. He is a student at the American University and is interning at my company. The entire trip was arranged by him in two days and the reason he is so invested is that he is from Halabja. The wall that he is standing in front of is the place of one of the most famous pictures from that day.

This father is curled over his only son, neither survived to escape the attack. We later visited the site of the man's house. The house has long since disappeared, but a museum has been erected in it's place. Inside the museum are the Iraqi ID cards of all the victims.

Not much is left from the Halabja of 1988, the town is full of new and renovated homes. Most of the people I talked to would rather forget this painful past, but there is a lingering legacy in elevated cancer rates. Additionally, fueling the anger of the inhabitants, the focus of the government has been on preserving the past, not helping in the present. As a student of history, I feel like it should never be forgotten, but I fully understand why these people do not want it to be the focus of the beautiful place.

But for now, whenever you type in Halabja, the overwhelming majority of the hits are not about new prosperity or opportunities, it is about the past.

Abrupt Change

Every Thursday afternoon I walk to the nearest supermarket to get all the things I can't at surrounding local stores. It's a good 20-30 minute walk one way and when carrying groceries, not to be taken lightly. After figuring out a good route I started experimenting with taking different roads, purely for the sake of variety. Plus it's just about the only time I get contact with the world outside of a building during the week. My routes have become more and more circuitous over the months that I've been there and it was during these meanderings that I noticed something very interesting. Iraq has experienced some rather wrenching changes over the past decades, war, peace, war and now tentative peace. This tentative period of peace has allowed the immense wealth contained beneath the ground (ie oil) to be tapped again and the effect of that revenue can be seen everywhere. There is not one street that I walk down that isn't interrupted by renovation projects or new building. Piles of construction materials block sidewalks (when they exist) and roadways. It is also clear though that this new found wealth is decidedly unevenly spread. One of the streets that I frequent has three opulent houses right next to each other and cheek and jowl with them is a broken down concrete structure that looks like it was built during the height of the sanctions. The whole city is the same patchwork of dilapidation and extravagance. It looks decidedly odd to my North American view of neighborhood segregation. Interestingly enough, my boss was complaining about that the other day. His basic idea (paraphrased of course) "I can't get away from the riff raff! Where is my gated community?" I may find the idea of complete mixing odd, but kind of appealing. Forced interaction! Forced viewing of inequality! Forced mixing with riff raff! Could be good.

In other news completely, I made croissants. From scratch. And learned why one never needs to butter the buggers. Completely redundant! For 20 croissants I used three and 2/3 sticks of butter.

Also, my lunch today? Get a load of this sandwich. There is a standard sheet of paper right next to this enormous thing. It is stuffed with chicken (shwarma style), sumac, and tomatoes. Note: it was delicious and I ate it all.

Coming Back

Dear All,

Occasionally I am inundated by golden moments and other times it will be weeks of grey before I have something to look forward to again. One of those golden moments occurred just this week. I was finished with work for the day and our driver, Peshtiwan, was giving me a ride back to the house.  As I came out of the office I realized that the mountains that Sulimaniya is nestled between had been covered with snow while I sat in the office. I was enchanted. I love that first snow and didn’t get the chance to see any while I was home in the States over Christmas. Peshtiwan doesn’t speak any English and has limited Arabic. I don’t speak Kurdish and have extremely limited Arabic. He saw that I was rather excited about the “thellidge” snow in Arabic and rattled off something in Kurdish. I do what I always do and nodded agreeably. The next thing I know, he was zooming off to the road that zig zags up the mountains. That dear man decided I had been deprived of snow for long enough and took matters into his own hands. We went careening up the mountain, there is no other way to do – it’s one of those glorious roads with no guard rails, room for one and half cars and everyone is going far faster than they should be. The whole trip I sat there wiggling with joy as Peshtiwan laughed at the foreigner’s weirdness. Once we reached the top of the mountain there was about 3-4 inches on snow on the ground, more than enough to have a really decent snowball fight as I quickly proved to him. I somehow doubt that he had ever seen a girl involved in such endeavors. I rather shocked myself by having decent aim for once. I wanted to bottle that feeling for a later grey day.

For those of you that I didn’t tell before, my trip back to Iraq was rather more eventful then I would have wished. That was a mildly horrific journey. It went smoothly until I reached Istanbul where things started going wrong. After my gate number was posted on the screen I went through the final security
screening at the gate and was waiting for about two hours. I was double checking the screen for my gate number when all of the sudden in switched to "delayed for 9 hours" and the gate number changed. I
made my way to the new gate where there were a bunch of confused Iraqis in the same boat I was. An hour later I checked the screen again and we were only delayed for 2 hours. We gleefully boarded the
plane and were on our way. Around half way through the flight the captain came on the speaker and announced "They refused us in Baghdad so we are turning around for Istanbul." I didn't discover the fact
that this was caused by bad weather till I finally landed in Sulaymaniyah nearly a day later. We landed back in Istanbul and they shuttled us off to the food court as if feeding us would make it
better. They then said we would be leaving at 7 am so there would be no point in offering us hotel rooms and such. They then decided that the flight would be delayed until noon so they would be giving us a hotel for a while. I have never been so grateful for a shower my whole life and a chance to be horizontal. That was reaching a critical point as well. After all that we came back to the airport (of course we had to pay for a 20 dollar visa to leave the airport in the first place to get to the hotel) we stood in lines again to get checked in and went through security another four times. I finally ended up
getting to Sulaymaniyah around 5:30 and my house at 6 pm. My room is still a disaster of clothing, laundry and gifts but I managed to sleep through the night and I'm back to work this morning. There is a metric ton of email for me to sort through and deal with which will make life interesting for the next few days. All in all a trip worth taking though, in spite of the inconveniences.

Nothing else really to report, still alive, still working and still kicking. I hope all of you are well, please do write and tell me how you’ve been getting on while I’ve been gone.