Thursday, February 26, 2009

Kurdish Road Trip

Massif-Salahaddin, Kurdistan, N. Iraq
September 8, 2006

Thursday I drove with friends to visit their families in the town of Diana. The drive is a familiar one, but it always makes me marvel at the beauty—and harshness—of this land.

Tire check
Before setting out, we stopped at a small shop which sells oil and other car products. A young boy (approx. age of 5) came out to check the pressure in our tires. While he worked, his father sat and smoked a cigarette. About 10 feet away sat 15 5-gallon jugs of gasoline. (Gas shortages are common enough here that gas stations are closed and instead the roadside business of selling gas has expanded into a full-blown mini-industry.) This short distance between the gas jugs and the cigarette brought to mind the family I visited the night before. Frank’s friend and former chess partner recently married a woman named P, who is now 3 months pregnant. Two weeks ago, P’s 16-year old sister mistakenly poured gasoline (instead of oil) into a water-heating samovar. Upon lighting the samovar, she died a fiery death. It was only after our visit that I understood why my friend went home to change from a pink dress to a black one—out of respect for the mourning period.

I could HARDLY wait to get away from that gas “shop”.

“fruit curves”
As the road from Shaqlawa bends down into the valley one passes 9-10 fruit stalls catering to passing holiday drivers. The view from the “fruit curves” (as I like to call them) is a spectacular one: a vast expanse of dry pasture land which covers gently rolling hills. Sheep and goats are everywhere--what exactly are they eating this time of year? There are also smaller areas of cultivation that are, at times, so rocky it looks as if they are GROWING rocks. In the near distance rises a rugged mesa with jagged bone-dry canyons.

“banana switchbacks”
Throughout Kurdistan, young boys sell seasonal produce--and bananas--by the side of the road. Often these boys take advantage of geography and stand in places along the roads where drivers naturally have to slow down—such as on switchbacks. Other, more enterprising individuals actually make bumps in the road so that drivers HAVE to slow down—thus creating an opportunity to sell their wares. As we head up the “banana switchbacks” (it’s always bananas on this section of road for some reason), it strikes me as ironic that in a land with shortages of water, electricity, gas and kerosene, boxes of Chiquita bananas have somehow made it here from Central America to be sold by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

Driving habits
Those of you who have traveled in other parts of the world know that different places observe vastly different driving customs. Here, it is common for cars to speed down the center of the road (trying to avoid bumps) only to have them swerve to the side when an oncoming car finally gets too close. Drivers here also feel free to pass on blind curves and to come up behind you at 80 miles an hour flashing their high beams (read: get out of my way). And then there are the donkeys, cows and sheep who wander at will onto the road--and the wedding caravans that pass with children hanging out of the windows, horns honking, video camera rolling…

The Village in Eden
After lunch with friends in Diana and the requisite viewing of not one, but two, sets of wedding pictures, we set out again. On our way back to Salahaddin, we stop for 45 minutes in a tiny village, the home of my friend's ancient grandmother. About 4 feet 6 inches tall and perhaps 90 years old, this wizened woman smokes like a chimney (VERY unusual for Kurdish women) and seems to have a lot of energy. For the first time in a week, it is cool outside, as we are in a deep and well-watered valley. Around the grandmother’s house are abandoned apple, fig, pomegranate, and walnut trees—and grapes. We pick fruit and marvel at the lushness of the vegetation and the cool breezes.

Finally, we head back in the fading light--and into the night. We slow down to accommodate the dark roads and a full moon rises over the mountains.

The three of us end the day back in Salahaddin with my first-ever Kurdish hamburger. What food more appropriate to end a road trip with?

150 Kurds (and me w/ a head cold)

Salahaddin, Kurdistan, N. Iraq
Sunday, Sept 3, 2006

After 10 lovely days in Denmark & Sweden, Frank and I set off in different directions: on Saturday I headed to Stockholm’s Arlanda Airport, and Frank headed down to the waterfront to take a ferry to Helsinki. At Arlanda, I joined a line of some 100+ Kurds and checked in for my first direct flight to Erbil. I had a bit of a scare when I read “Baghdad/Erbil” on my boarding card. But, no, the manager assured me, we were most certainly NOT landing in Baghdad. There was another interesting moment before we boarded the plane--an announcement was made and a sort of disgruntled wave seemed to spread through the crowd. It seems that the flight would be making an unscheduled stop in southern Sweden to pick up some Kurdish passengers who were stranded by another airline. As we boarded, one of the Swedish stewardesses remarked that I was not one of their “usual passengers”. Yeah, well, 150 Kurds--and me--on their way home...

But, despite a horrible head-cold and a long flight from Stockholm (five hours plus the stopover in Malmö), the flight was wonderfully uneventful. This flight represents a HUGE improvement of how we used to get to Erbil: flying to eastern Turkey and driving 7 hours (and spending who knows how much time at the Kurdistan-Turkish border.) Kurds feel very proud of these flights because they have finally found a way (albeit an expensive one) around the troubles caused by the Turkish border guards. When the flight touched down at 1:45 am, the Kurds cheered. The drive back to my hotel through the deserted streets of Erbil revealed that the building boom here continues unabated.

I spent today catching up with old friends (and nursing my cold). Now I have six more days to get all the news and gossip--and drink as much tea as I can.

I had a thought today about the idea of language being related to a place. Today, words I had not thought of for a year came floating back. It seemed only to be a matter of re-living certain experiences in a familiar setting. At a friend’s house today, the electricity went off--and I remembered “karaba nia!”--Kurdish for “the electricity is off!” This evening, as the heat cooled and the moon rose in the dusty haze, I remembered the words for “wind” and “moon” in Kurdish. A plate of fruit arrived and I found several more words--

Here it is hot, dusty, and starkly beautiful--cooling to 85 at night and up around 105 in the day time. It’s good to be back.

Breaking the fast with friends

Salahaddin, Kurdistan, N. Iraq
November 1, 2005

Since we arrived in Kurdistan a week ago, eating--and not eating--has been a major theme. In the Islamic world, it is currently Ramadan, the month of fasting that commemorates the revelation of the Quran to the Prophet Mohammed. Traditionally, people get up before dawn to eat and then they neither eat nor drink until the sun sets again. This evening we waited until after 11pm for news of the sighting of the moon (which ends the month of Ramadan). Just now, I received a text message from one of my friends telling me that the fast will be extended by one day--as the moon was not yet sighted.

The observance of Ramadan (and in particular, fasting) is a bit of a patchwork experience in both Turkey and Iraqi Kurdistan. In Turkey, many restaurants remained open during the day, at least in the bigger, more western cities we were in. In addition, certain categories of people have exemptions from fasting, such as children, old people, and travelers. At any rate, there were certainly a good number of Turks eating in restaurants during the day.

The Islamic calendar is based on the lunar calendar which means that the month of Ramadan moves from year to year. Fasting is more difficult when Ramadan falls in the hot summer months, when the hours of daylight are longer and the weather is so brutally hot.

Here in Kurdistan, all restaurants are closed during the day during Ramadan (except those in Christian neighborhoods). Nonetheless, fasting remains a very personal/individual decision, and I have been surprised to learn which of my friends fast and which do not. In any case, around 4:30pm or so, there is a mad rush to get home for sunset (around 5:10pm by now), to break the fast with a big family dinner.

Over the past four nights, we have been invited to "break the fast" with four different families. Meals traditionally include rice, bulgur, Kurdish flat bread (see picture), tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, onions, fresh herbs, lamb, chicken, dolma (vegetables stuffed with rice and meat), lentil stew--or some combination thereof. Some families eat on the floor in their living rooms, some eat at tables. Some families eat together and others have men in one room and women in another. At one family's house, I chose to join the women for dinner although I was welcome to eat with the men. It was only after we left that Frank learned that there were 10 women in the house. Over the course of 4 hours, Frank had only seen one. Most Kurdish families, however, are not so shy between men and women. At another friend's house, our dessert was a cake (see picture) which had just arrived from Baghdad with her mother. I just kept looking at that cake and wondering how it made it all the way to Kurdistan in such good shape...

So, one more day of fasting and then the three day holiday of Aed-al-Fatr begins--a time for visiting friends and family--and for eating sweets and drinking more tea--

To learn more about Ramadan: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramadan

Borderland Hell

Turkey-Iraq Border
October 31, 2005

Frank and I have been in Iraqi Kurdistan for nearly a week now--today we took a lovely drive in the countryside and visited a number of old friends.

Last Wednesday (10/26), we flew from Izmir in western Turkey to Diyarbakir in eastern Turkey. From the airport, we left directly for the border as it was already 12 noon. We were more than 20 miles from the border when the line of fuel trucks began. Sometimes in a single line and sometimes in a double line, Turkish fuel trucks lined the right side of the road as far as the eye could see. Frank and I estimated that the line contained somewhere between 2,000-3,000 fuel trucks. We learned that the tanker drivers spend anywhere from 5 to 20 days waiting in this endless queue--sleeping, cooking, playing cards--or just waiting.

As we got nearer to the border, a line of trucks carrying other types of goods began to line the left side of the road, while the fuel trucks continued to line the right side of the road. As we got within 1-2 km of the border, the four-lane highway became impassable. The two lanes on the right were blocked with parked trucks. The far left-hand lane was also filled with parked trucks that were headed TOWARD the border. Trucks were also parked along the shoulders of the road. That left only one lane open for cars (like us) to get to the border AND for cars and trucks to come FROM the border.

We could see through the gaps between vehicles that some cars and trucks had left the highway completely and were driving through the fields. Our driver had to back up until he found a place where he could drive off the highway, and then we, too, began to drive through the fields. When we got near the border, there was no way to break back through the jungle of vehicles (there was no semblance of lines anymore) to get to the customs post. After a few minutes, we saw a Turkish army jeep that was forcing vehicles to move so that it could get to customs. Our driver quickly got behind the jeep and followed it to customs.

Surprisingly, no one stopped us as we entered the Passport/Customs area through an official-looking gate--one that was not meant for use by travelers. The driver handled the paperwork for us, but the Turkish border guard seemed to find some problem with Frank's passport and didn't want to let him leave the country. Just the day before, we had left and re-entered Turkey without any problems when we visited Samos (Greece). This suggests that the problem was with this particular border and NOT Frank's passport.

When we arrived in Kurdistan, we asked a number of people about this near-closure of the border. On and off for more than a year, the Turks have either closed or "squeezed" the border at random intervals. What was the reason for this latest spasm? One of the likeliest explanations appears to be that when President Bush met recently with Masoud Barzani, he addressed him as "President Barzani". President of what? The President of Iraq is Jalal Talibani. During the recent elections here, Masoud Barzani was elected President of the Kurdistan Regional Government.

The Turks are adamant about the fact that there is no such place as Kurdistan. They complained vigorously to the US government about Bush's comment--and coincidentally (?) we found ourselves in the middle of this near stale-mate at the border. This situation is adding to/causing a fuel shortage in Kurdistan. Although there are oil wells here, there are no refineries. Oil has to be sent to Turkey where it is refined--and then shipped back to Kurdistan.

The rest of the trip from the border to Erbil was uneventful, and by now we have been back in "eagle country" for nearly a week. The eagle is the symbol of the KDP (Kuridstan Democratic Party)--which is the predominant party in the northern part of Iraqi Kurdistan.
Besides several pictures from the traffic jam on the Turkish side of the border, I attach two of Frank.

It is wonderful to be back in Kurdistan with our good friends.

Lesser Known Myths from the Island of Samos‏

Samos, Greece
October 27, 2005

I have changed my mind. Initially, I thought that our day-trip to Samos Town on the Island of Samos, Greece, was not worthy of an e-mail, but then, in a dream, it came to me…

"As in the days of yore, the gods sometimes try to warn travelers against making certain journeys. The gods can choose different forms for their warnings. In our case, the warning came in the form of a terrible (but short-lived) illness, which was visited upon me several hours before our departure for Samos. However, as is often the problem with mere mortals, we did not recognize the warning for what it was. After two days rest on the Turkish shores of the Aegean Sea, we set sail for Samos.

Our departure was amply recorded, not in hexameter verse as in ancient times, but by the cameras, both moving and still, of the denizens of a great ship which lay near by. (These ships are known in the modern world as "cruise ships," and they are mighty indeed.) From its high and distant balconies, we were mistaken (our motley crew of Brits, Americans, Germans, and Taiwanese) for "locals". Our fate in Samos Town yet unknown, we waved gaily to the passengers on this great ship—they, who were ALSO from foreign lands.

Now, I am sure you are familiar with the many myths which surround the Greek Islands: of the Sirens who lead sailors to their deaths by luring them with beautiful songs against the rocks; Scylla, the monster who devoured sailors who sailed too close to her rock; and Charybdis, the giant whirlpool that sucked down ships. There are many other such stories, but today I will speak of some of the lesser well-known tales from mythology. Read on.

The Amber Disk of Samos
It is told that the Tourist Information Office in Samos is hidden from mortal eyes by an enchantment. There is a legend of an amber disk that, when one looks through it, lifts the veil of invisibility that shrouds the tourism office. Without the assistance of this disk, wayfarers search in vain for this treasure trove of information and are condemned to a (seeming) eternity of pointless wandering by the seaside. These disks may be purchased from street vendors in Atlantis, but unfortunately none are available on Samos. Consequently, no one has ever seen the Tourist Information Office. Myths circulate amongst the townspeople about where it might be located. "It's just 400 meters that way." "It's just 300 meters THIS way."

Some apostates deny the existence of the Tourist Information Office, though those who blaspheme in this manner are punished by the great goddess Bron of Ephesus.

The Dreaded Grape Crone
Those condemned to pointless wandering along the Samos quay face more perils than those who are condemned to the safer Christian Purgatory. Among the hazards of this bleak void, none are so fearsome as the Dreaded Grape Crone (DGC). The DGC appears to be a kindly, grandmotherly figure who has a smile that convinces the unwary that she has only their best interests at heart. As you enter her cave, she will present you with grapes, insisting that you taste them. With many a gesture toward her grapes, towards her heart, and towards you, she will guile you into thinking that she wants to give them to you. "No!" and vigorous pushing-away-motions will not prevent the grapes from sliding into a plastic bag and being rung up on your bill. Desperate measures are required to avoid the grapes, and even then you will be double charged for your water.

Churches and Cemeteries of Samos Town
Despite these aforementioned hazards, there are some lovely places in Samos Town known as churches and cemeteries. Perhaps they are even similar to those of ancient times. We wandered for a while in a hillside graveyard crowded with ornate tombstones. Each tombstone has tiny sliding glass doors, behind which are pictures of the departed and oil lamps, many of which are kept burning. The wind in the graveyard gently rattles the sliding glass doors, making a magical tinkling noise...

The Limbo of Samos
In the streets of Samos, one encounters other wayfarers (a.k.a. Lost Souls) whom one vaguely remembers from the crossing by boat to the island. As if they had taken the wrong ferry and crossed the river Styx instead, they wander with a vacant stare between the shops and refreshment stands that attempt to ensnare them and relieve them of their money. At last, even these places close for the afternoon siesta. Time itself stands still. Without knowledge of the disk, travelers to Samos can remember neither when they arrived nor imagine that they will ever be able to leave...

The harbor glimmers blue and light. The entrancing breeze blows. The banners of the Greek state snap blue and white…

Come to this enchanting place—or escape—at your peril…"

With thanks to Frank, the Great Scribe of the Modern Odyssey

greetings from Ruins Central!

Priene, Miletus & Didyma, Turkey
October 25, 2005


Yesterday was the big Ruins Day for Frank and me. Actually, we had a wonderful time despite the fact that we spent the day on a dreaded "tour". Really, it was the only way to see everything we wanted to in one day--and they said "no shopping stops, promise!" (there was one tiny exception to this rule, but we did manage to wriggle out of it...)

Our first stop was the ancient Hellenic city of Priene, built at the base of a giant stony mountain. Picture 1 is of the Athena Temple at Priene. I think this is one of my favorite pictures because the pieces of fallen columns all around remind me of the giant cogs in some ancient (and humongous) factory.



Picture 2 is a remarkably well preserved theater--this one seating only 6,000 people, but the seats still have some lovely stone work.







Next we travelled to Miletus, another of the famous cities of this era (400BC to about 400 AD). The Roman Baths (partially pictured in Pic 3) are the largest in this province in Turkey--can you see the lovely stone lion? (Foryou lovers of "The Narnia Series", the word "aslan" in Turkish means" lion".) This city was not as well preserved as some of the others, but still worth the wander around. More on Miletus: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miletus

Finally, on to the Apollo Temple at Didima, site of great pilgrimages to the Oracle who lived there. This place was spectacular! Picture 4 shows an overview of this enormous place.










Picture 5 shows Frank kindly giving some scale to the enormous columns, most of which only remain only partially intact.


Finally, my favorite picture, which is also from Apollo's Temple. Behind the temple lies this fallen column, a giant of a thing, which reminded me for ALL the world of a giant, giant sausage, cut in thick slices on a cuttingboard. More on Didyma: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Didyma

Today was our day for the Greek Island of Samos, a fairly forgettable experience, and perhaps the subject of another e-mail...but I doubt it.

We are off in the morning for another adventure in another part of the country. Stay tuned.

Ephesus & Market Day

Selçuk & Ephesus, Turkey
October 22, 2005

We are here in the lovely little town of Selçuk, which lies only 3 km from the ancient Roman ruins of Ephesus. We arrived here through a combination of bus, plane, bus, bus and bus. Phew. On the next leg of our journey, we'll try a simpler combination of taxi and airplane.

Today we wandered through the fantastic ruins of Ephesus (approx 500 BC to 600 AD). Pictured below is the amazing library which was built complete with a cooling system to keep the 12,000 scrolls at the right temperature. Also, one of several surviving roads through the city--this one called the Sacred Way. Also at Ephesus is the Great Amphitheater, which could seat 25,000 people. While in days of old it seated the locals for theater performances etc, today it fills daily with groups of (mostly European) tourists, all of whom seem to receive similar performances by guides in all languages (at least based on the hand gestures and antics of the guides).

At left you will see that apparently a "Kate" has been here before to Ephesus...






After walking the 3 km back to Selçuk, we found that it was market day. The produce was truly amazing--radishes the size of your fist, eggplants of all shapes and sizes, figs (fresh and dried), huge quinces--and here is Frank, modelling the biggest cabbage I have ever seen!

Labou (the Turkish Rabbit) lives!‏

Istanbul, Turkey
October 20, 2005

Frank and I arrived in Istanbul two days ago, and we've spent our time so far wandering around this amazing city, sleeping--and, yes, enjoying the company of Labou, the Turkish Rabbit. As some of you are aware, Frank first met Labou two years ago on his way to meet me in Kurdistan. We saw him again last June on our way home to Seattle.

But rabbits don't live forever, you know, so we were prepared for the worst on this trip. Frank was overjoyed, then, to get an e-mail from the hotel staff informing us that "Labou is still with us." (Did I forget to mention that Labou lives in the lobby of the Avropa Hotel in downtown Istanbul?) There are a number of downsides to this particular hotel (it's a bit noisy, there are Ukrainian "dancers" living there--but that's another story--and then there is Casper, the evil carrot-stealing dog) but, rest assured, that Labou's presence more than makes up for it all. Pictures of this wonderful (and ancient--he's 6 years-old) beast are attached for your viewing pleasure.

Today we saw the marvelous Topkapi Palace and some of its many treasures--two pictures of this spectacular place are attached as well as an overlook of Istanbul from the Palace. It was a gorgeous fall day: sunny, cool, bright, occasional showers. A perfect day for fall sightseeing--and lots of tourists, too, to our surprise!

Tomorrow we leave for the Coast and all the ruins of Ephesus, Pergamon, and more. Frank's favorite stuff (besides rabbits): ruins!

Coat racks make great IV stands

Massif-Salahaddin, Kurdistan, N. Iraq
Sunday, Sep. 19, 2004

As some, but not most, of you know, I am back in Kurdistan for 11 days to visit friends. Things are mostly very peaceful here although there is a marked increase in security in the streets of Erbil/Hawler. This is a very low-key trip for me, and I would be hard pressed to explain what I have "done" in the past seven days: drink tea, visit, drive in the countryside and, yes, get very sick for a day or so.

Attitudes about the situation to the south range from pessimistic to something akin to "well, let the Arabs kill each other off" -- always a very difficult point of view for me to get my mind around. One Kurd from Baghdad that I talked to extensively seemed genuinely disbelieving at the thought that Americans DIDN'T actually know what they were doing. After all, aren't we the most powerful nation on earth? Kurds remain strong supporters of keeping Americans here in Iraq--they don't want to be left alone in a "bad neighborhood," as they say. In fact, there are really only two points of consensus among those I have talked to: the U.S. was right to come in and remove Saddam--and that the rest has been a disaster.

Although I came to visit friends, this has turned out to be a wonderful "linguistic holiday" for me: I really haven't "done" anything except visit, drink tea, and listen to people talk. In some odd way, studying Arabic this summer gave me a boost in both my Persian and Kurdish pursuits. I feel as if I have learned a lot of Kurdish and Persian in these few days--while my Arabic lags. Now and then, however, I am able to express a complete thought in Arabic--which most people around here do understand--although they often consider Arabic to be the "language of the oppressor".

One small but interesting development since I left in May: the opening of a small "body-building" gym here in Salahaddin. Open in the mornings to women and in the afternoons to men, this gym represents (for me) some small step of progress toward giving women (and men) and place to go, exercise, and mingle. Women (and men) are not expected to be seen walking (or heaven forbid: riding a bike--this means they can't afford a car!) around with no purpose (i.e. just for exercise).

As far as being sick goes, suffice it to say, it was very bad. I am feeling better now after being peppered with pills, an injection, and a saline IV (that's a first)--and the attendance of a wonderful doctor. Can't say really what helped but at least the injection (they LOVE injections in Kurdistan--pills just do NOT get the same regard) helped with the nausea. I must say that, temporarily, Kurdistan's wonderful food lost ALL appeal. It turns out that coat racks make great IV stands.

Fairy Chimneys

Cappadocia, Turkey
May 29, 2004

Look for the tiny window with a white frame & you'll see the window of our pension...

Throne of the Gods

Nemrut Dagh, Kayseri, Turkey
May 27, 2004

Come see this fantastic place!



Some random thoughts on leaving Kurdistan

Erbil, Kurdistan, N. Iraq
May 22, 2004

I leave for the Kurdish-Turkish border in just 24 hours. Lots to do before that. Frank left a week ago and is now wandering about in Turkey waiting for me to join him in Diyarbakir (Eastern Turkey). In the next 24 hours, I have numerous good-byes to make, a brochure to print, stuff to get RID OFF, and my bags to pack. Before coming home on June 3rd, Frank and I will spend nine days travelling across Turkey to see the sights. I am excited!

Last week I had the chance to meet the family of an acquaintance of mine. I was ushered into the carpeted sitting room (for women) and there, in the corner, was a hospital bed. Under a blanket, with a towel covering her head, lay the mother of the family. Injured in the head and body in one of Saddam's bombing raids in IRAN, the mother has lain in that bed (and in others) for NINETEEN years. A complete invalid, unable to speak or care for herself in any way, she has been the charge of one of the family's daughters, a woman who never married in order to care for her mother.

Last week I also had a chance to spend two days with the family of another friend of mine. They welcomed me into their home, and took me on a long drive near the Iranian border through spectacularly moutainous countryside. When we finally reached our picnicking destination, one of the family members joked that they decided to drive this road that day "for remembrance's sake": in 1975 they came that way WALKING as 500,000 Kurds fled to Iran to escape Saddam. Only in the past 5-12 years have tens and tens of thousands of those Kurds returned from Iran.

What will happen to Kurdistan as the situation in Iraq continues to disintegrate? Will the country be split into three countries (Kurd, Shia, and Sunni)? Will the violence and instability spread to Kurdistan? The pressure that American officials are putting on Kurds to accept a lesser role in the "New Iraq" is said to be quite intense. These weighty questions are the ones I ponder as I prepare to leave this beautiful country and the many new friends I have made here. Trite to say so, perhaps, but this is a place of both incredible beauty and incredible suffering.

Finally, before Frank left for Turkey he took a drive to Southern Kurdistan to see some parts of Kurdistan that we haven't had a chance to visit. He took a guide for the part of the drive that took him through the still heavily mined area near the border with Iran.

I've attached some photos from his trip.

1) Giant Kurdish flag flying from a truck above the city of Suleimania
2) Spring in the rolling hills of southern Kurdistan
3) Lake Dukan -- sorry I missed that view!
4) Frank with chopped up tanks (they are being sold for scrap metal to Iran)

And, for now, that's all from Kurdistan.




The Wrong Bride

Erbil, Kurdistan, N. Iraq
April 25, 2004

When Kurdish bridal couples arrive at their wedding and engagement parties, they are accompanied by parades of honking cars with people hanging dangerously out of the windows waving scarves—and, of course, a video camera to record the whole event.

Friday afternoon I headed down the hill to Erbil as part of a small caravan of people that was to carry a bride and groom to their engagement party. I was asked along both for my company—and the use of my nice big car. When we arrived at the Bridal Salon (where the women go to get all dolled up for their weddings), I was excited to see that there were older men with drums and traditional tin horns camped outside. This was the “real thing”, I thought. The bride emerged, the drummer drummed, and the horn player wailed away. The women members of the bridal party made that ululation sound and people started dancing—and I started taking pictures.
Then my friend irritatedly remarked that THAT was NOT his family member's bride-to-be. (All of this excitement takes place before the bridal caravan drives off to the wedding celebration.) Then the bride emerged from the Salon, and the whole process started up again. And I took more pictures. “Wrong bride” I was tersely informed again.

When at last the CORRECT bride was safely ensconced in a white BMW sedan, we climbed into my car with the bride’s relatives and prepared to follow the BMW up the hill. Alas, because of flooding from the rain, all the cars that had driven to the Salon to accompany the bride became separated from the BMW. As we drove along toward Salahaddin, we caught sight of the BMW and sped up to catch up with it. Oh dear. Wrong BMW. Amazingly, we did eventually find the correct BMW and ALMOST manage to keep up with it for the rest of the trip up the hill.

In addition to teaching and attending various wedding parties, I spend a bit of time every day shopping and walking in the neighborhood, taking in our laundry and such. In my wanderings I have become such a regular figure in town that I am recognized by everyone. One of the most common comments by my friends and acquaintances is “Katherine, I waved at you but you didn’t wave back!” Well, the fact is that EVERYONE waves, honks, or flashes their headlights at me. (Kurds greet all their friends--and anyone else they deem interesting--in these ways.) Either I need to start waving at everyone or just give up trying to wave at anyone. The other day I recognized our garbage collection man at the side of road 10 miles from town. When I waved to him, he returned my greeting with such enthusiasm that I thought he might fall over. Ah, a small taste of celebrity…

Learn some Kurdish: It could save your life

Erbil, Kurdistan, N. Iraq
March 3, 2004

My work schedule continues to be abbreviated a full month after the bombings here in Erbil. The bombings, combined with the frantic negotiations in Baghdad over the Interim Constitution, have left my employers busy and distracted. I am hoping that things will continue to “normalize,” even though the aftershocks of the bombings will be felt for some time to come.

Yesterday was the 10th day of Shia Islam’s biggest holiday (the martyrdom of Imam Hussein)—so we had the day off. We had both the first and tenth days off. Sadly, terrorists struck at about 10 a.m. yesterday in Baghdad and the Shia religious cities in the south as worshippers were gathered at their holy places killing AT LEAST 143 people. The bombings clearly seemed aimed at setting Sunni and Shia Muslims against one another. I surely hope we (the U.S. government) don’t let things devolve into a civil war here between religious and ethnic groups. That would be a terrible, terrible thing.

One interesting feature of life here: there is no list of public holidays available. When does one find out about holidays? The day before they happen. Quite literally. Not even my friend who runs a school was able to get a list of holidays from the Ministry of Education about upcoming holidays.

Last week Frank invited an American Army Reservist to dinner. We’ll call him Joe, and he shall remain otherwise unidentifiable, as it seems that not even his wife knows this story. We met Joe at a reception a month ago, and it turns out that he and Frank share an interest in archeology. Frank is still hoping to get to the ancient sites of Nineveh, Nimrud and Hatra, but it seems that going with an army convoy might be the only way to get there. The closest of these sites lies about 37 km from Erbil (and OUTSIDE the borders of the Kurdish Autonomous Region), so it’s NOT far distance-wise.

So, Joe has been with the Reserves for many years and seems to enjoy getting away from his “regular” life every few years. He has served in Korea, Bosnia, Kosovo, and other places. He works in civil affairs, though, and is certainly not a “gung-ho” type. Anyhow, on the day of the February 1st bombings in Erbil, he headed into the KDP headquarters followed at close pace by his interpreter. This being the first day of Eid, a four-day Muslim holiday, he decides that he should learn how to say “Happy Holidays” in Kurdish. Now, Joe doesn’t speak more than a few words of Kurdish, but this time he really wants to make an effort. Throughout the morning he will be greeting much of the KDP and PUK leadership. In the crowded hallway outside the reception hall, Joe stops three or four times to turn to his interpreter: “How do you say that again?” Having finally mastered the phrase to his satisfaction, Joe and his interpreter approach the hall. Ten feet from the door to the reception hall, there is an enormous explosion.

The only American in the building at the time, Joe escaped with cuts on his hands. He helped an injured man to get outside and then returned to help others. When Joe tried to help a second person, the man died as Joe reached down to help him. Joe went into shock and wandered back outside where he was found by another Army person. Joe tells this story in a matter-of-fact way, but I think it will be a long time before he really comes to terms with what happened.

Those two words of Kurdish will likely be the ones Joe remembers for the rest of his life: The time it took to learn them saved his life. Eid Piroz-bit.

Kurdish Wedding Party

Salahaddin, Kurdistan, N. Iraq
January 23, 2004

This afternoon I attended my first Kurdish wedding party. This wedding party was not the actual ceremony but instead a big dance party. The large open room was divided into two areas with chairs facing in opposite directions. Each half of the room had large open spaces for dancing, with rows of chairs surrounding each dance floor. Just like at an orthodox Jewish wedding, the men danced with the men, and the women with the women. I tried some dancing and enjoyed in a great deal. Just as we were really getting going, the electricity went off and plunged us into relative darkness--and killed the music, of course. After a time, the electricity went back on (via generator?) and the dancing resumed. Wow, they have some amazing dresses here...

Fridays are our days off here, and today was a pleasant one despite the rain, cold, and fog. We started the day out with a mid–morning walk in the freezing cold. By the time we’d walked down the road and home again (about 35 minutes), my face hurt from the cold. Next, Frank and I took a drive to the Khanzad Hotel which is Erbil’s finest hotel, located ½ way between Erbil and Salahaddin. The CPA (Coalition Provisional Authority) has taken it over and it’s full of American military and civilian officials. We went there to meet with one of Frank’s new colleagues and ended up staying for lunch. The GREAT view of the surrounding countryside from the hotel ALMOST made up for the terrible “western” food. But, hey, it was an excuse to go for a drive…

After the wedding party, we were invited to join some people at their house for dinner. We had a lovely dinner in the darkened house (no electricity until 7pm). There was just enough light from the kerosene heaters and one lantern to see what we were eating. Before dinner, Frank played his first round of Kurdish dominoes with the men and I think his team won by 5 points. We feel so warmly welcomed here.

And, just a few minutes ago, we arrived home in fog so thick I could only see 15 feet ahead of the car. Another week begins in the morning: Saturdays are Mondays here…

Erbil Bazaar

Erbil, Kurdistan, N. Iraq
January 17, 2004

We spent the morning exploring the Erbil bazaar and found this sweetshop, which serves baklava, yellow puddings, and sweet hot tea. Outside of this sweetshop, is the section of the Erbil bazaar where radios and stereos are tested (or maybe they are testing out music cassettes—we are not entirely sure). The noise is so deafening that we thought they might serve up earplugs with their goodies.

One of the things that strikes me over and over when we go to the Erbil bazaar, which is an ever-winding, twisting, and never-ending series of alley ways and covered halls, is the nearly complete absence of women. All the shops, including the women’s clothing shops, are staffed by men. Yes, there are some women shoppers but the place is about 95% men. I keep wondering: WHERE are the women?

At left you can see the Erbil Citadel rising in the background of the bazaar. The Citadel rises about 200 feet above the flat plain in which Erbil is located. Frank describes it as a “man-made mesa topped by ancient masonry in the middle of the city”, i.e. piles of bricks trying to be homes and inhabited by hundreds of squatters. So far that doesn’t sound very interesting, but it is said to have been inhabited continuously for over 4,000 years---and it looks it! Frank and I hope to spend more time investigating it in the future.

Frank’s job: in addition to running his sweetshop, it looks as if Frank will be managing some large warehouses full of U.N. goods which have been turned over to the Kurds. They are interested in putting a foreigner in the post of warehouse manager because they need someone who is not susceptible to pressure by the Ministries to release goods without proper approval. And someone who can organize a HUGE inventory – these goods were purchased under the U.N.’s Oil for Food program, a program which has now been turned over to the Kurdistan Regional Government.

My hospital adventure (not pictured here…): I recently had the chance to visit a Kurdish hospital to follow up on a possible infection. My visit followed a huge rainstorm and as a result, my impression of the place was a rather “wet” one. First, the parking lot had been transformed into such a lake that Frank was forced to stay in the car after he had parked—the water was too deep for him to get out. Inside the hospital was quite dark (but heated, fortunately) and dripping EVERYWHERE. The elevator shafts were empty—apparently they had never gotten their elevators, and the courtyards were filled with abandoned hospital beds (for children) in various stages of disrepair. (It’s a Maternity and Pediatric Hospital.) On the up side, the doctors with whom I interacted seemed professional and spoke good English, and I left feeling satisfied with my visit. The conditions are a stark reminder, however, of how much of the world gets its medical care.

We are both well and learning lots.

Home Sweet Home (in Kurdistan)

Salahaddin, Kurdistan, N. Iraq
January 9, 2004

Today is Friday, January 9th, and it’s snowing gently away outside… There was a big electrical storm on January 2nd and there has been virtually no phone or Internet service since then. In order to get to the Internet, we’ve been camping out at the local Internet café-which has been a fun experience in and of itself, although not as convenient. Just as the phones were starting to recover, we had another storm two nights ago. I have made a Swedish acquaintance here who has renamed the mobile phone service company: instead of “Korek Telecom”, he now calls it “Korek Inshallah”-or, “Korek, God Willing." (I do not mean to be disrespectful, but it can be quite amusing trying to function without any form of communication...)

We moved into our new house four days ago. Originally the word was that we would be moving to Erbil (a city of 1.5 million people which lies in the valley below). At first it seemed like a good thing that we were moving to Erbil because Salahaddin is a pretty tiny little town with not much “to do.” However, the traffic in Erbil is pretty darn crazy, and it’s pretty dirty, too. (Certainly, though, it’s a fascinating place!) Our new house is quite lovely-slightly larger than our apartment and, yes, it has TWO bedrooms! It has an enormous generator out behind the house which virtually guarantees us steady power: this is probably the biggest sign of our good fortune. For now we have to switch it over manually to the generator when the power goes out, but they have sent to Baghdad for a part which will make the switching over automatic in the future. This is amazing luxury.
The past three days have been very busy ones here in Salahaddin. First Bremer was here to have discussions with the KDP (my employer) and the PUK (these are Kurdistan’s two main political parties) about the future status of Kurdistan. The question is whether or not Kurdistan will retain its special status as an autonomous region, especially in regards to security issues. Kurdistan is much more secure than the rest of Iraq, and the Kurds are determined to maintain this situation. After the meetings with Bremer, the members of the Iraqi Governing Council were invited up from Baghdad to partake in similar discussions about the future of Kurdistan. I have no idea how either of these sets of meetings went…but the security has been tight all over town with road blocks and soldiers everywhere. Our big white car (and foreign faces?) seems to work like a charm as far as getting past checkpoints goes, however…

To get around the problem of no internet connection, I am composing this e-mail here at home and then I will take it on disk to the café and send it.

Frank has been working hard to learn the Persian alphabet. He is taking the more formal, straightforward route toward learning Persian: studying the alphabet carefully and the grammar rules. I have been trying out the more organic approach: learning a few nouns and verbs here and trying to parrot folks. It does help me to go back and review the rules in the textbook which Frank brought, but it’s kind of fun trying to put it together like a puzzle in which one doesn’t have the box with the picture on it…

The snow falls more heavily now, and Frank and I will try making our way (by foot) toward the Internet café. Inshallah, this e-mail will be on its way to you soon.

Impressions from Ruhengeri, Northwestern Rwanda

Ruhengeri, Rwanda
August 7, 2003

I am in Rwanda in Central Africa visiting my husband for two weeks. Here are some impressions and two photos, brought to you courtesy of F's incredible computer persistence...

"Talking about a Revolution"
After breakfast this morning, Frank and I prepared to set out on a walk to his office, but as we emerged from the front gate, we found CARE's car and driver were waiting for us. Thus it was that we came to ride to his office, rather short walk in any case. Much to my surprise and amusement we got into the SUV to hear Tracy Chapman's "Talking about a Revolution" blasting away on the radio. The words "the poor people are going to rise up and take their share" somehow had a different sense of urgency...

Pink uniformed prisoners
Frank is living at the ER (or Episcopalian Resthouse) which is a very pleasant place with a lovely courtyard, cool high ceiling-ed rooms, and comfortable beds. Near to the Resthouse is a prison, and today I could see some of the prisoners out walking the roads in their faded pink uniforms somehow they looked like school uniforms for girls but, alas, it is a lot more serious than that. I am not sure how many tens of thousands of Genocide-related prisoners there are in Rwanda (100,000 maybe?), but they say if they continue to "process" them through the justice system at the present rate that it will take 100 years. Not a very cheerful prospect.

We clothe the world
Ever wonder where all those t-shirts go? Well, you guessed it: Africa. Already today I spotted two t-shirts from the University of Washington and one from Spokane. This crazy assortment of t-shirts is worn mostly by the men, however, while the women still mostly wear more traditional dress. The fabrics worn by the women are wonderful, but ironically most seem to be produced in Holland!

Muzungu! ("white people!")
Yesterday Frank and I arrived in Ruhengeri after a beautiful (and not TOO bumpy) ride through the Rwandan countryside. After arriving at the ER, we took a walk around Ruhengeri with JC, Frank's new friend. We climbed up one of the hills on the edge of town to get a nice view of the city with the hazy outlines of volcanoes in several directions. As we proceeded through the town, bands of small children followed us shouting “Muzungu, muzungu!? They seem to be more curious than trying to beg (at least for the most part), but it IS odd to be the object of so much attention. Oddly reminiscent of our family’s trip to China 20 years ago.

Ren shan, ren hai (Chinese for "people mountain, people sea")
Even in Ruhengeri, a relatively small city of 70,000 people, people are everywhere. The constant flow of humanity is quite remarkable and overwhelming at times. People seem very friendly here which makes for a strong contrast to what I remember from my time in Zaire. Although a former Belgian colony (and thus French-speaking), many people seem to speak English here. As Frank points out, we are only 10 miles from the Ugandan border and there are people in Ruhengeri from other parts of Africa. Still, that doesn’t really explain why the several Congolese that I’ve met so far speak such good English?

Food
So far the biggest daily challenge appears to be finding places to eat. There are certainly a number of restaurants here in Ruhengeri, and most of the food I’ve eaten in the past 48 hours has been quite good—but it takes a long time to establish that what one has ordered is, in fact, available that day, and then even longer for it to be served. Eggs, bread and fruit for breakfast and meat/beans/peas/carrots for dinner. It IS an adventure most of the time, but we are in no danger of not getting something to eat.

Which brings one to the point of the dual economy here. It IS very hard to accommodate oneself to the fact that ones meal, however modest, is almost certain to cost 3-4 times the average daily salary of a Rwandan. And that 1.5 liters of bottled water costs a day’s wages. These things are truly hard for me to get my mind around. Of course, most Rwandans are subsistence farmers so their "salaries" don’t tell the whole story but in any case, 64% of Rwandans are said to earn less than a dollar a day. That is, we are still magnificently rich by almost any comparison.
PS: Here I am with the gorillas that made Diane Fossey famous...