The city that never stops growing!

My dearest most loyal reader…

I haven’t blogged for so long, it is not because nothing has happened, in fact the opposite is true, a lot has happened and I was just not in the right state of mind to sit and write. But here we are, yesterday President Talabani was announced as Iraq’s President for a second term and just around my house the first meeting was held in Erbil because of President Barzani’s initiative two days prior– all Iraqi leaders and politicians were in Erbil. Below is a picture from my balcony of the cars on the same road of Martyr Saad palace, where the meeting was held.

I realize I have more than one follower (yes!! Mum you’re not alone!) and that gives me enough encouragement to post some of the pictures I have taken in the past months or so and give a brief update about the city that never stops developing.

First of all J.A, a Lebanese friend who was a close follower of my blog from Dubai is now living in Erbil with her partner, I am glad the blog gave a ‘little’ insight to life in Kurdistan for her during when planning to move to Erbil. After her arrival we took a small journey through real Kurdish life and documented parts of our day.

J.A discovered the Persian Qurmay Sabzi for the first time- full of healthy greens.

Our day began in Shansheen restaurant around noon. Not the best food in Erbil (specially if you suffer from high cholesterol levels) but certainly a real taste of Kurdish culture, in particular with the seating area on the floor.

The pictures below are of Mala Hamid and his little treasure shop of old Kurdish antiques in Erbil’s Qaysari bazaar, of course for J.A and I it was like discovering a chest of diamonds, except these ones were more special. It is like a small museum of its own. Mala Hamid answered some of our questions and gave us a brief history of his little shop. If you happen to be in Erbil, pay him a visit and don’t hesitate to have a Pyalay Chay (tea) with him and take the effort to look through the small bits and pieces he has in his little corner store.

A 60-year-old anklet made by Jews that lived in Kurdistan, in Mala Hamid's antique shop

Mala hamid such a great man- loves what he does for a living**

The view from the top of the citadel, I remember going in the same place this time last year (actually have blog pics of it, if you like go into the archive) and it looked nothing like this. They are building the other side as well, this will look spectacular in the near future once completely finished. It already does!
And J.A manages to find little tiny Kurdish Klash,
Who said nature is not the best medicine? Hair straightening, skin clearing and even mind relaxation herbs and natural medicine in the Qaysari bazaar.

Sometimes I realize I feel like a stranger driving around Erbil. Once you live here you will realize if you don’t visit a particular area at least twice a week the next time you go there you won’t know it’s the same place. The city is literally a big construction site. I took these pictures just on the way from home to uncle’s place. I do have one fear and that is the quality of the buildings in the long run. With this city everything is unpredictable, you don’t know what crazy idea will hit the mind of any person tomorrow and a new project will begin construction work next week.

I saw this when driving past, they are a new set of shops near Ainkawa that I haven't had the chance to discover yet, but will give you an update of how it is once I make an effort to visit it
The new Noble Hotel just outside Ainkawa





Construction is ongoing on the Gulan Tower

I am aware that in the Bakhtiary area a large piece of land is dedicated now to a women’s swimming pool, sports facilities and beauty center. Not too far away the first and finest movie theatres is being created and the list just continues… what amazes me is the speed at which all this is taking place (and I will admit sometimes a concern emerges from this as well).

There are cities around the world that are always noisy; there are cities that never sleep, and cities that are always glittering with lights; there are cities for lovers and cities for shoppers. Around the world there are cities offering the finest cuisines and others the best limousines. My city offers affection and love, my city is the city that never stops growing and is somehow always smiling. Erbil has become a special part of me, even though I am not originally from here, though I feel it’s a city that can be home to anyone and any person and anytime- not many places in the world are like this.

Since the last time I blogged I have discovered a new leisure pursuit. Watching Oprah and cleaning Sawza (greens). Believe me there is an art to separating the greens. I have seen women sit together and talk (gossip!) while cleaning or separating the edible from the ummmm un-edible^? though I have never actually realized what they really do and how they separate them, but believe it or not it's fun. I tried, and I think from the picture it looks right.

All clear! All clean!
I mean there are three different groups and they all look different – right? The one on the right is the rubbish... is it supposed to be rubbish?

People this is how it's done*. You know I think you're just supposed to just take the yellow leaves out and wash it.

While the camera was in the kitchen I thought I would show you something else exclusive to Kurdistan. These are little touches that make this place so wonderful.

Pomegranates in a bowl on the kitchen table. Let me tell you: with a little bit of salt and a nice big spoon watching the speeches of Iraqi leaders could never be more fun and interesting!

This is Naana Teeri, (search for this in a cloth and large plastic bag on the fridge of Kurdish households). Basically it looks like dried bread which is really thin. It is almost magic how sprinkling this with a tiny bit of water makes it softer and fresher than any bread you can imagine. Only Kurdish women can make this the way it should be. Try it the next time you are here!! Trust me!!

I couldn’t skip these two pictures. I am so proud of my new KURIDSTAN handbag, though I am really upset that it is often so difficult to find Kurdish souvenirs around the city, which is also rather surprising. This bag came from Naza Mall and if you think its cute then look at the picture under it.

The perfect handbag!

I hadn’t blogged as I was busy at home as well as my commitments outside. But one of the main reasons was this little angel here. The newest edition to the Mandalawi family– Baby Hunar! Who came to visit us for a while.

*Thanks to M.M. for this picture. And yes I did clean all those greens and washed them too – and I must add to that ate them as well.

** This one was taken by J.A. didn't need any begging - Zor Supas!

All other pictures in this blog entry was taken by me.

My dear daughter

As a young child I was always amazed by the experiences of my father and the stories he told me as I sat on his lap. He would continue speaking as my eyelids closed and I fell asleep in his arms. The person I am today is a result of the endless talks and stories that he whispered in my ears before I fell asleep every night as I spent my childhood continents away from a place called home.

Every story began with: “My dear daughter…at that time….”

As I grew up I began to fear that there was nothing for me to pass to my children, if I ever had any. I feared that my experiences were not exciting enough to pass on. I began to find the stories of my parents inspiring and interesting, and each had a deep meaning about the beauty and lessons of life.

As I flip through the pages of a draft book I have been working on, I realize that since the past four years--after my return to Kurdistan--I have had the most tremendous experiences and witnessed many historic events. I too will tell stories that begin with “My dear daughter… at that time….”

I will tell her how I came in my teenage years to Erbil and how I grew up in it. I grew watching the development of roads, bridges, and buildings that grow taller and higher every day. I will say: “You see that building over there? I watched it being built.”

A great number of my experiences are happy memories: I watched Barzani and Talabani shake hands and refer to each other as brothers. I took pictures as the French foreign minister opened the French consulate in Erbil. I was there when the wheel spun for the first time as our oil started to “glug” through pipelines. I saw the rise of an opposition in our Parliament for the first time.

I lived the day where for the first time a Kurd became the President of Iraq. I saw prime ministers come into Cabinet and leave. I visited Koreans as they built and finished the largest public library in the Region. I listened as Halabja was finally recognized as genocide. I watched as record number of women took oath to be sworn in as Kurdish lawmakers.

I had the honor to meet families who went to court in Baghdad to testify against Chemical Ali. I went to the openings of the first shopping malls in what was once a big village. I rode the rides of the first proper theme park. I witnessed the controversy of the rising of new, “modern singers” in Kurdistan.

I watched as thousands of martyrs in mass graves were brought back and buried under Kurdish soil. I was present when thousands of people and journalists flooded the streets and protested for freedom of expression. I remember the first time I ever voted in Kurdistan and sunk my finger deep into the blue ink. And I was graduating university when the first Kurd in history became a member of Parliament in Great Britain. These are just few of the stories that I will tell. But you know what will be great?

My grandfather was not only oppressed by Saddam Hussein’s regime, but the regime killed one of his sons. My father fought against the regime and was part of the revolution that brought autonomy to the Kurds. I, however, was lucky to see the former dictator hide in a hole underground and later be detained behind bars.

My dear daughter may be lucky enough to see the day when Kurdistan will be declared a country on the international map, and only God knows what stories she will pass on.

Just like my parents’ stories that brought tears to my eyes, that made me think for days and nights and made me become a better person. I hope that my stories passed to my children in future will carry the same meaning to them as Dad’s stories did to me.

*This was published in an issue of the Kurdish Globe, in my "Memoirs" Column

A morning with beggars

I told my family last night that I was thinking of dressing and acting like a beggar in one of the traffic lights in Erbil to go deep into the issue, since it is Ramadan more of them are filling the traffic lights and I am always doubtful to pay them or not. So I gave myself a mission: spend a day with beggars!

“Tomorrow is the only off day I have at work and I don’t have a report for this week’s issue of the paper. So I am going to do it.”

Of course my mum thought I was out of my mind, saying “why don’t you make us Ftoor instead” (dinner to break the fast with) but dad understood where I was coming from.
No. I did not dress like a beggar, but instead I put on a scarf (I am after all fasting and it is Ramadan) took a telescope, camera, pens, notepad and dad had called one of my cousins who came knocking at the door 9 a.m. sharp.
Khosga's brother.

I was ready. I planned to spy on the beggars the entire day and my cousin was going to be there to a) take pictures and b) so dad doesn’t worry about me being frightened or worse eaten.

My morning with the beggars was definitely a worthy experience.
Y.M. (the cousin): “I have left my wife and kids so you can talk to beggars. Just write my name and I will tell you their stories,”

Me: “Will you come or shall I call someone else to come with me?”
Y.M.: “Fine, where do you want to go?”

Me: “A Traffic light, a place where I can find them.”

I could tell as we were driving, he was also interested in what we might come across. So we went to one of the many traffic lights in Erbil and saw on each side of the lights a number of beggars. We parked at a distance and did some spying, (never realized I was born to be a detective!) After 10 minutes I had seen enough, I was out the car and went to meet my suspects.

Three things that I cannot leave the house without: Pen, notepad, camera and this time I took dad’s telescope to spy from a distance first – I must admit it was useful.

Of course the beggars refused to speak to me, so I lied a few lies (lying for a good cause – even if you’re fasting – is not sinful… is it?) and I promised to give them money in return after we had finished our conversation. So we crossed the road to the park and sat under the shade for what was going to be a long conversation. I tried to be as casual as possible, and became friends (yes, friends) with them before I went into the details of their lives.



Suspect 1: I realized she lied to me after she said one of her kids was 8 years old and she got married after the fall of the regime. I asked if it was from a different husband or if she was pregnant before her marriage but she said no. From the human biology that I remember from school days this did not make sense, so I knew I should be cautious with this one.



Khadija only spoke Kurdish with me, but I later realized her Arabic was very fluent and so was another language she spoke, which I could not understand a single word from. But she was from Mosul, and said they escaped the insecurity in the area – fleeing to Erbil.

Not realizing I knew Arabic too well she told one of her friends (or relatives, I didn’t get the family connection there, but it was clear she knew the other beggars with her) “this one is rich, she paid me $--!” Obviously with the Arabic word ‘Haya’ she was referring to me.

She has three children at home and the baby in her arms is only 3 months old. She brings the baby with her when she begs. I asked why she does not leave the little one at home, “she drinks my milk, I can’t leave her” she told me, though it is clear people are more sympathetic with a baby in her hands and it is a tactic.

As she told me about her living conditions, her husband is a government employee – cleaner – and they live in a house with her mother-in-law. The family of six receive food rations from the government and she seems to earn at least 15 000 to 20 000 (ID) a day, I did some mathematics in my head and on average she collects about $400 a month from her begging.

I must mention this is part time, 9 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. job.

The ones I spoke to and met let me in on their secret. Every two days they go to a new traffic light.

She says they will not go to where there are police because they will take them to Shekhala (a place near the Erbil Citadel) where there is a shelter and the securities keep them there until past midnight. Although it is clear that is not holding the beggars from going out again the next morning. They see it as their jobs. But I could tell they do not do it because they enjoy it, but they think they have to in order to survive. What bothered me about Khadija was that I told her I have found a job for her (really, If she accepted I would have definitely searched for a job for her) somewhere appropriate but she said she will not work and refused the job offer, saying “I have a baby.” When I told her she can take the little one with her she said, “I can’t my health is not good, it is difficult to work.” I wanted to say a lot, but realized this was about her and not me. So I just listened instead.

By begging Khadija earns enough to make a living, pay her rent (which she says is 160 000 ID), buy food but as she said “I have no money for new clothes for the kids for Jezhn”** and “what I earn in begging is only enough for less than a day.”

She swore many times when I asked her if she was telling the truth, and she repeated that she was fasting and had no option but to beg under the warm sun.

Khosga*, however, was a 14-year-old girl that brought tears to my eyes. Her story was believable, and I believed every word of it. Her story was touching. But I later learned her brothers and sisters also beg, some in the same traffic and those who are not with her she knows exactly where and when they are begging.

Speaking to the girls privately as we walked off, I asked if they are sexually harassed and they admitted that they hear hurtful words and requests from certain drivers. I made sure to do my part and gave them the best of advice that I could. Not as a journalist or a reporter, but an individual who cares about young people, and is sympathetic towards the vulnerable.


I promised I will search for a job for Khosga, as she vowed to me that if she works she will no longer beg. At 14, there is more to her life than to knock on car windows asking for money. I will rescue her.

I learned some of these people are real beggars with no other option, and for others it is pure laziness and has, to a degree, become a business, a business that they are well acquainted with.

I will not talk about Khosga’s heart aching story in this blog entry, as I will report on it in this week’s issue of the Kurdish Globe, and I will put it on the blog after its publication.


For the past week every time I come back from work there is a lady (covering her face) in the exact same traffic light. I think that is what prompted me to go on this mission because I always have money in a small Quran I place in the car, and I do not hesitate to give 1 000 ID or 2 000 ID but the entire week the same lady, at the same spot and at the same time raised suspensions, “does she deserve it or not?” I would ask myself everyday as I reached to my purse.

Unfortunately, begging is an issue in our society that we must tackle before it spreads further.

The government is doing its part in catching the beggars and putting them in a shelter for the rest of the day before letting them go again, but that is not tackling the problem as they are back on the streets the next day.

Some sell tissues, little Qurans, car-fragrance or chewing gum in traffic lights, others like Khosga and Khadija who I spent my morning with just take out their hands, pray for you and beg that you give them some money.

So, next time I see someone at the traffic light, will I pay them or no? I will. Even though I know they will and can survive without it. But I feel guilty driving pass in an air-conditioned car as they knock on windows under 45 degree heat. If not for the mother, then for the sake of the little child, but I know the government is requesting that no one pays them so that they stop the begging and find a job instead (which is why most of them say that they have a disease).
If anyone happens to have a solution, please let me know. I am thinking of raising the matter and search for method to tackle this problem. If you are interested to help, then I beg you.


* The names have been changed
** Jezhn is what Kurds refer to Eid, or the celebration to mark the end of fasting and the holy month of Ramadan.

Ramadan in Kurdistan

Ramadan is here and funny enough I am writing this entry at work – it’s Friday and Iraqi politicians are surprisingly not giving any press conferences or press releases. The reason? – It’s either “no agreement has been reached on the formation of the new government” or they’re fasting! – I think both!

Which brings me to the fasting,

Ramadan (asides from Newroz) is one of the best times of year to be in Kurdistan. Don’t get me wrong, the weather is S.S.S. – Sizzling Sweaty Sticky – but the fasting is amazing.

If you live in the neighborhoods, before the sun begins to set neighbors run around knocking doors exchanging plates of food or small bowls of soup.

I have taken an evening shift of being ‘door opener’ – between 6:30 and 7 p.m. Mums send their little kids with a plate of this and a plate of that. I can’t explain how beautiful the feeling is when I open the door and see a little child holding up a plate of something.

It is not about the food. But about the tradition, thinking of others and the feeling of giving that I love the most. Let us be frank – a good portion of the people do not fast for no apparent reason, but the respect, and the general atmosphere of the holy month really does bring people together.

Having been back home for four years now I have come to realize Kurds are generally moderate Muslims. We function on the basis of: “You have your religion and I have mine, you are free and so am I” no one asks you why you are not fasting or why you chose to wear a scarf during the holy month. But somehow we seem to come together in a surreal way during this time of year in particular.

The feeling of shopping, the cars on the road, the mosques, the evening calls for prayers, the family gathering and of course the best food of the best Kurdish mother are all things I seem to notice and appreciate more whilst living in Kurdistan.

In the years I lived abroad – if I chose to fast – I dreaded it!

Here, I take the time to enjoy every second of the Holy month. There is something in the Kurdish culture that is apparent in the region that – despite the S.S.S. weather – makes me want to be here right now than any other corner of the world.

If you think the atmosphere in Ramadan is beautiful, just wait for my blog for Jezhn (Eid) as we begin preparing to celebrate days that mark the end of the Holy month!

My dear reader (or readers if I am lucky enough!) Happy Ramadan! Enjoy the family time and the uniqueness of this holy month no matter in which corner of the world you are in.

As for me I can't wait to get home right now and follow my nose to the smell of mum's food and the noise of my little cousins and relatives!


--
Please note: This blog was written on Friday at work but only just managed to put it on my blog. Please accept the apology! :)

hair color- the 50's style!

If you are a Kurdish girl reading this blog you probably think I am out of my mind. If you are someone from any other part of the world please take note that this entry does not in any way reflect the ideas, values or beliefs of all Kurdish girls (It sounds like a big warning, but this is just a kind note for you to keep in mind).

I am not a girl who has a new-look 12 times a year, once every four weeks, as a matter of fact I do not have a new-look even once a year, so the idea of changing my hair colour – a single tone – was a revolution to me.

You see, modern day Kurdish girls, in particular those living in the cities have a passion for beautifying themselves (first on the list is hair-color and makeup!). A close female friend* kindly noted to me “since the first day of Uni up to graduation day you looked exactly the same,” I must say she was right.

Once, not too long ago, I visited a village in Mergasoor – I was amazed by the long, healthy and beautiful coloured hair of the stunning girls in the village. With my infinite complements they insisted to give me the magic- Khana! (Or Henna in Arabic)

Traditionally, (like in the era of my grand parents) Khana was probably the only thing they had to color their hair with at the time. It is all natural. So I went under their hands [my new friends in the village] in less than 30 minutes my head was tied with a few plastic bags and a scarf and I was told to sleep with it till the next morning. The next day they washed it off over the sink and I was ‘ready to go.’

I must say I liked the result – because there was not much of a difference to how it originally was.

Hence, months later, after the very positive complement of the good friend! I decided to put Khana on at home.

So here is how it went:

WARNING: Please do not try this at home (unless you have an expert) it can otherwise be dangerous, smelly, dirty and suicidal. It is best if these procedures were not undertaken in the presence of a mother who nags over a speck of dust on the table.

Make sure you save the entire week’s newspapers to spread on the bathroom floors, have plenty of plastic bags at hand and Good-Luck!

I remember the girl in the village mixed water with the sand-like Khana until it became almost like runny mud, so I did the same, except it was too hard, so I added more water – a little more than more – so it became too runny (of course you must knead it like dough). Wearing gloves is a MUST – unless you are looking for a bright orange hand.

Another good advice from the experienced (that’s me!): normal plastic gloves you find in hair dye packages will not work. So I went for the tough plastic gloves that are designed for dishwashing.

Kneading is the fun part, the difficulty is when you must rub or put the chunks of runny mud-like Khana onto your hair. I made my attempt.

It is best to wear the oldest shirt you have, because the chances are that you won’t be able to wear it again. It is difficult if you do not have a volunteer to help. As one strand of hair is put up another goes down, I still have not figured out how the girl did it the first time.

You are supposed to sleep with the Khana on your head overnight. Put it on, then put lots of plastic bags around your head, then cover it up with a scarf (tightly!) then … just…. Try to sleep!

As for the smell – I do not think any 21st Century girl would think it is a complement if her father asked her to sit next to him because she smells like his mother back in the day.


Just for your information among the new generation Khana is considered so not cool that even if you request from some of the hair salons they will not agree to put it on your hair.

What happened to natural remedies? natural beauty care? but saying it to my senseless self – what happened to having natural hair color? I guess peer-pressure works, even when you are almost 21.

The point of this blog is that sometimes we ‘develop’ and ‘modernize’ in ways that are not necessarily beneficial. So what if Khana is an old way of changing your hair color? So what if your grandmother used it? So what if it gets you down and dirty? It is best if certain things are just left the traditional way.


If you wish to give Khana a go, please do not hesitate to write a comment or inbox me… because trust me “let experience speak!”


I did take SO MANY pictures, I knew I had to write about it, but because of the flash the color was just not right for this blog - I am sure you would not want to see it -





* Yes you know who you are!! S.I.

Class of 2010!

July 10th marked our graduation at the University of Kurdistan- Hawler. I had the honor of giving the students' commencement speech. For this blog I thought it would be a good idea to write to you what I said, and here it is:

Vice chancellor, distinguished guests, professors and lecturers, parents, siblings, relatives, friends and last but definitely not least the class of 2010!

Good evening,

In one of our initial classes on political philosophy, it was Dr. Greaves who introduced us to John Lock and his ideas of the Tabula Rasa- he said the human mind is like a white paper and with education it begins to be filled. That is how I can sum-up our educational journey in the University of Kurdistan Hawler, a Tabula Rasa that is now filled with knowledge, information, experience and most importantly lessons for life.

For most of us we leaped into an education system unfamiliar in many ways, like the Greek Philosopher Aristotle wrote, “The root of education is better but the fruit is sweet”. We certainly tasted much bitterness in our four year journey.

We wrote essays and undertook research in a different language and we endured the many changes of the university. But here we are today, in what seemed like a never ending voyage, has come to its end with a blink of an eye. The sleepless nights have paid off. We conquered C++ and eradicated plagiarism. Every single one of us, as we receive our degrees we know too well that we have put our hearts and souls into this. The fruit is indeed very sweet.

As I stand here and look into your sparkling eyes, I have flashbacks of our time in UKH. Together in the past four years we have laughed, cried, danced and mourned. The university became a second home, and the students a second family.

It is difficult to say good bye and know that our paths will leads us to different directions. Goodbye is undeniably that saddest and hardest word we will ever say. But for all of us this is the beginning of another road, and we ought to be excited because the future is waiting for us.

I don’t want to say something cliché like UKH gave me wings to fly, no. In fact UKH did not give me wings, although it taught me how to fly, how to keep flying in the sky and how to take off from the ground. Isn’t this the best way to be equipped to face the world?

We quoted and cited many scholars. Soon our names will be on the back page of essay papers cited as references. Days will come where our books will be on library shelves, and our decisions and actions will influence not only us, but our society, for so many people, their future is in our hands!

As we climb the ladder to the top we should not forget what it was that originally began our journey. Dreams at the back of the mind of our grandparents are reality today. As victims of genocide, ethnic cleansing and people who were forbidden to dress in our traditional clothing and speak our mother tongue, today we are empowered by education to secure our identity and existence.

Over two decades ago our future lay in the hands of cruel regimes that detested who we were. Those days are over, today, as young people full of hopes and dreams, the future is in our hands, the future is ours! We are in control of our future, because we are empowered by quality education.

We believe that we are what Kurdistan needs!
We believe we have the audacity to confront and take on any challenge!
We believe this nation can stand on its feet and teach the world many things!
We believe we have the potential to accomplish what is otherwise the impossible!
And we must believe the future is in our hands!

Class of 2010, finally I want to remind you of what Elenour Roosevelt said “the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams” my message to you this evening is “let your dreams take you to the mountain peeks of Kurdistan” together we can move a mountain. You must have dreams not just for yourself, but for this region, because after all the future is ours.

Ladies and gentle man, distinguished guests, I assure you, today the University of Kurdistan- Hawler has just unleashed a new millennium of young people who are eager for prosperity, development, success and who will make fruitful citizens of this society. The university has cultivated seeds that will be trees of the forest in the years to come.

To the first undergraduates of an English language University in Iraq!
To the future leaders, decision makers and visionaries!
To the class of 2010!
Yes! We graduated!
Yes! The future is ours!


Thanks to Photographer S. Hamed
Speech by- me!!

Summer days!

The weather is really hot! And life here seems to begin after 6 p.m. Although if you are like me and can never take a mid-day nap and can’t stay up after 10 p.m. then summer still has its good side in Kurdistan.

When life gets busy with exam, exam results, an unexpected viva voce, and of course the World Cup then you can forget about a social life no matter where you are in the world, including Kurdistan.

I have not been blogging for a while, not because nothing has happened. Believe me in my part of the world there is something new and interesting every day but just did not get around to sitting down and writing something.

Since I am here now let us recap my series of quests since the last entry:
Quest I: Met Boran Zaza, a talented female musician, only 18, Zaza is already juggling a hectic life of a musician. I had the chance to catch up with her in the Institute of Fine Arts in Erbil where she was playing behind her piano. A young girl with boundless talent and ambitions in her life, her day begins at 6 a.m. and does not end till past midnight (and I thought I was a busy bee).

I am always proud to see young girls like her having goals in their life and doing the impossible to achieve them. Zaza admitted it is never easy to be a female (even worse a female musician) in any Middle Eastern culture and achieve your goals without confrontations. “There are always limits and boundaries… but we just have to push forward” she told me.

Zaza is one of the many young females in Kurdistan who have set their goals in life and are doing the impossible to reach their dreams. Although she is a role model for those still at the beginning of their journey, when I listened to her playing the piano I began to shiver. The softness of this young girl, the way she fulfills her job, her volunteering, her dedication to what she loved was inspiring, even to me! Keep an eye for Boran Zaza in the near future, a rising star who is reaching the sky on her own!

Quest II: Between the end of the exams and the time results came out Y-Peer Kurdistan undertook a series of workshops, it was an interesting three days and I tried to train young people about women’s rights, inequality, public speaking and awareness of other issues in the Sorani dialect, it went great. I must say I am very proud of the team who voluntarily work hard just to raise awareness and increase the confidence of youth to be able to leave their homes and be part of the process in building their society. I shamefully forgot about the second set of workshops (because the second round was after my results came out!)* but there is a lot of Y-Peer activity coming up including an environment awareness campaign later this month!! (Keep an eye out)

Quest III: I thought it was time for another visit to the nursing home, after I began thinking of Daya Gulizard at the elderly people’s home in Erbil. We had been planning to take another trip for a while, but were busy with exams (that’s no excuse I know) so Bewar ** and I prepared some sweets, snacks and off we went. Met our elderly friends, got lots of hugs, we spoke for a while, laughed and cried.

I still think there is a lot that can be done for these elderlies. I feel as though people are just waiting for them to die. They are wonderful individuals who need love and care. Our trip lasted just over two hours, Bewar and I sat in the garden with a group of them after going around to every single room (hint: elderlies absolutely LOVE sweets) with our goodies, almost all of them wanted long conversations –and we tried our best--. I feel so great when I visit the elderlies in Erbil, they love and respect me so much considering the fact that most of them do not remember that I was the same person who they were with last week. I think that is the magical feeling I feel every time I visit them.

Quest IV: With guests arriving from Australia we thought it was perfect timing for our first summer visit to the Bekhal waterfall. (If you spend the summer in Kurdistan without actually visiting Bekhal for one day then it is like going to Paris and not seeing the Eifel tower or going to Sydney without taking a picture with the Opera House or the Harbour Bridge—simply, you better GO!) I will not write much about this special adventure, instead will put a post exclusively on Bekhal!!




Quest V: After a hectic week I thought I should spend the day at home, I completed Elizabeth Gilbert’s book: Eat Pray Love (if you are a young girl and have not read it yet then you BETTER get your hands on a copy). After much reading and seeing that ‘she lives happily ever after’ my stomach began to rumble, with no one at home but a brother who is no better than I am in cooking I thought it was time. Time to cook my first PROPER meal (I should footnote this section and state that: I consider myself a typical Kurdish girl although when it comes to cooking it is the one thing that I just can’t get right, which is opposite to most Kurdish girls who can cook up the most mouthwatering meal in less than an hour). Anyhow, I called my aunt for instructions and recipe and made the famous Brnj & Bamya without burning the kitchen or breaking a plate. For further information on my cooking adventure just ask my family. I’m officially a chef!

The point is that there is so much out there for a Kurdish girl to do these days, if only she had support and the encouragement from family and relatives. There is a lot to discover in our society and so much that we can give to the community that we live in. it’s a beautiful world here, if we only see the bright side of life.

*Not that I did really bad- but there’s a long story you surely wouldn’t want to read about.

**A friend who I wish you could meet. Sweet, kind, intelligent and with heart like no other!