Dear world, I request a leave.

The doctor instructed I rest. 

And for a good five weeks I spent my days half asleep on the sofa, sitting in the garden and in between having needles drain out the slight bit of blood I have in my little body. I was on sick leave. This, my dear reader, made me realize we all need a leave, not from work, but from the world. 

Photo: Pennlive

I was on leave not just at work, but leave from Twitter tweets, from Instagram pictures, Facebook feeds, leave from shopping, and ladies and gentleman, sick leave from the world’s news. 

Hibernating has taught me quite a bit. 

So many of our illness come from stress, and something us Kurds call ‘kham’ (the definition I can think of here is grief). My people happen to know Mr. Kham a little too well as life hasn't always been rosy for our people.

I learned ignorance is bliss. Before this sick leave for nights on end I had nightmares of pictures I saw, families I witnessed mourning the loss of their loved ones and children crying. The harsh reality of our world haunted me in my sleep. Then again, in real life we can’t live in blindness, nor can we stay silent against the atrocities we see.

Mentally I felt so much at peace not knowing much. I remember at one point a dear one switched off the Wifi at home when the owner of my favourite teashop in Erbil died. Just so I could sleep that night without finding out. 

I spent hours on end sitting, observing the birds in my father’s garden. He would tell me about their different personalities while I watched how they ate, how they interact with one another and heard their tweeting. My friend, I heard the tweeting of real birds that flap their wings and fly, not the twitter feed tweeting on my phone.

As much as I was pushing people away- literally! There were individuals who would drop off a plate of dolma, or come by and sit with me in the garden when I couldn’t move a single muscle. I would find surprises behind our entrance door, letters and lots of miss calls (let’s just ignore the fact that more than half were work related!). I was reminded once again the close people in our life matter.

During my 'sick' days a friend, J.J. on holiday, who was thinking of me. Little things make a huge difference. 

It doesn’t make a difference how many Twitter followers you have, how many Facebook likes you get, or how many people double tap your Instagram picture. You can have four hundred Facebook friends, but when you have no one to ask how you're doing when you are down and unwell then what’s the use?!

I am back now. No longer on leave. But I carry the lessons with me. 

• When with people, the phone should be not seen, not heard. 

• When at home put the Wifi on, use the internet when needed then turn it back off. The continuous notifications give a sense that it’s the end of the world if one doesn’t see the new comment made.

• Stock up on new books and board games to enjoy. Once there is less internet in your life you realize that 24 hours is actually a lot of time (that is, if you don’t have an 8-5 job).

•  Follow the news. But not every minute of every day. You could, and you would love to, but a morning and an evening read suffices.

• Make a solid effort to appreciate and notice the little things- like the new plant in the garden or the flower that has just flourished.  

• Finally, our body is the most precious machine. The mind and soul above all; look after them well. Don’t take your good health for granted. 

Enjoying pomegranate with none other than my baaba

Writing all this makes me wonder: Wouldn't it be great if we were all able to take a leave from the world every now and then? I feel so many people in Kurdistan need a leave. They need to live stress free days without Kham, days without fearing their or their children's future, days without hearing news that shatters their heart. The people of my land deserve to be happy.

My heart goes out to all the families suffering in Kurdistan right now, in particular those who have lost their loved ones on the front lines to keep our land safe. I feel your pain.

I don’t know how long I will last, but for the time being, I feel much lighter, happier and above all, healthier.

Meanwhile, blogging is back on my 'to do' list, and I have some amazing people, places and things to tell you about, so please drop by (with your cup of chai) when you can.

Lots of love

From my nest in Kurdistan 

Sazan,

Adoption in my society

Dear loyal blog readers,

Adoption in Kurdistan, socially and legally unacceptable
photo: http://www.socialistrevolution.org/

Before I continue let me tell you something, even before my marriage, I have always wanted to adopt children. Yes, not one child, but children. I knew it had to happen in my life. Maybe because of my experience with orphans, maybe I saw too many children in pain without a mother or a father, maybe the incidents in our families where some of my own cousins unfortunately lost their parents in tragedies and I saw them grow without a parent... maybe it was the occasional visit to the orphanage.

The reason, I don't know, but I knew I have enough love to give to any child I adopt. I would raise it as if it was a fetus in my own womb and would love the child as much I would if I went through labor and  gave birth myself (without an epidural).

When you are 26 and 27 in a Kurdish society, once you are settled with a partner, the expectations for a little baby keep rising. First, time was ticking to get married now time is ticking to have a baby. Let me take a momentary pause here; I am honestly not sure what the next ticking is, but for some reason for a woman a clock is always ticking and a train is always ready to pass.

I won't make this too personal about myself, but for anyone to have an idea to adopt a child or to even mention it is almost like admitting you're about to commit a crime. From those dearest to me I have heard remarks and replies that come across as rude and offensive.

I know religion plays a major role in this issue, as a practicing Muslim I understand some of those view points. However, even those who don't practice the religion remain strictly against adoption. I believe it is one of those things we refuse because socially it's unacceptable... but why don't we give ourselves a chance to have second thoughts about it?

Why should we bring more and more little innocent beings into this world when there are already children who are neglected? Why don't I take an orphan from Sinjar, Kobane or my own Mandali, Khanaqin or even Hawler? How I would love to give such a child endless affection, the best quality education I can afford and my time to raise it in the best possible ways.

Why is it every time I mention the idea of adoption I need to bow my head down in shame as if I have just cursed? Or, even worse, as if you are admitting out loud your infertility. Not sure how people make such a quick linkage. Why must one be infertile to adopt?

The reaction on some people's face when I even mention it, let alone say I would love to do it, immediately makes me feel an outcast. Sometimes you think to yourself even if you adopted a child (that is if the laws and regulations ever allow you...after a good hundred years of paperwork) society will not fairly treat that child. Your own relatives will point at him/her as the 'adopted one' I guess a time will come where you feel sorry for whoever it is you make your child by law.

Fine. Forget adoption. Why not be able to bring a child into foster care? You know, a foster family? Is it not better than living alone, living without a family? Is it not better than not having anyone to help with your homework or guide you to what is good and bad behavior?

Deep down inside me, the idea of adoption will never disappear, but with the years I have realized not everything is as simple as it is in my own mind. After all, there is always something called society.

Until next time I have a complaint, you know, bolla-bol
Lots of love from
My Nest in Kurdistan

Sazan,

Dear 2014

Loyal Blog Readers, here is the final post for a year that was packed with everything bitter and sweet,

2014...

For me you were the year of many engagements, weddings and new born babies. You witnessed my wedding day, a new career pathway and it was definitely the year where I changed a lot of my views and perspectives about people and life in general. Every year I say this was a self discovery year, and you were no different. But, by far, in your year I discovered capacities in me that I never believed existed. In 2014 my paths crossed with some amazing individuals (Farah, Shan, D.M. and S.E. kurm) and you brought to me two sister-in-law who I love dearly.

While doing peer education training with the refugee youth
Photo: START NGO

It was a year of many trainings and meeting some amazing youth from the refugee camps across Erbil and Duhok in particular. I managed to form a special and unique friendship with the youth in the Erbil camps as  I met them more often than others. I was inspired by the energy and the way they cling onto life despite all the challenges they face living under a tent.

Life changing moments with my Peer Education co-trainer, Rasti Nuri Brimo
Photo: START NGO

You were sweet in all your ways.

2014...

You will also be the year that will be written in many history books, researches and dissertations as people will reflect on the emergence and threats of ISIS beasts on my peace loving society. In your year children became orphans, our Yazidi girls were kidnaped, raped and sold; mothers cried as the bodies of their sons returned as martyrs and hundreds and  thousands became homeless and helpless as they fled their homes and cities. Thousands of others were left working without a monthly income... only barely making a living. For many you were a dark, bitter, haunted year.

IDP camp, where many fled their homes after ISIS threats
Photo: Rewan Kakl

Your bitterness left deep wounds behind.

Among this bitterness I watched as the volunteers in Dilvia alongside Shan Kameran achieve some astounding things that the eye could not believe. I watched this young girl lead the way and make thousands of people smile. I was inspired by her willingness to help, plant a smile and make a change. Through the use of social media thousands of dollars was collected to assist those who had fled their homes, those who needed to keep warm at night or have a meal under their tin roofs.

Our youth peer educators at the refugee camp
Photo: Taken from Aral and Rewan Kakl, but not sure who took the photo

In 2014 I learned how any individual can change the lives of others. I met Shan, sadly I couldn't give my time as much as I wanted to, but from far I watched her and her volunteers change lives, I saw these young people dedicating their lives to make others live happier and more in peace. Despite all the bitterness I always managed to look up and thank God for putting in this world such amazing people.

May your 2014 be filled with sweet moments enjoyed with those dearest to you
Photo: By me at Mam Khalil's teahouse.

I wish you all, my dearest loyal blog readers a very happy new year. May 2015 bring more happiness and sweetness, may it be a year of love, peace and great memories for you and all your loves ones.

Forgive me if anywhere in 2014 in some or another I hurt you.

Oh yes, one last point, in 2014 I blogged the most posts out of my six-year blogging journey! That, my friend, is an accomplishment.

Lots of love from
My Nest in Kurdistan

Sazan,

 

25 things I have learned in 25 years

Dear loyal blog reader,

Today, I turned 25 years old. What a year it has been for me, a lot happened, a lot changed and along the way I have learned a lot. Tonight, I won't go through the past year in my life (will do this when we're closer to new year) but will share with you 25 things I have learned in my 25 year life. Are you ready?

Here we go. 

1. The simplest thing you can do in life is be nice. Be nice to all those around you. It's not hard.

2. Always know what you want. Believe in what you want. Be persistent to get there. 

3. The key to successful, happy people is the way they deal with their tough moments. Take control of your emotions when confronted with difficult times. 

4. Finding the right friend is hard. Very hard. But once you've found them hang on to them tight

5. Express yourself. Tell those you love that you love them. 

6. Never talk bad about anyone. If you don't have anything good to say about someone, then just don't say anything. 

7. Live knowing you will get what you deserve. No need to look at what others have, no need to compare yourself. 

8. You don't need to drive a Ferrari, live in a castle or have a designer hand bag to be respected and loved. Don't ever be pressured into doing or having something just for the sake of society. Spend your money wisely, there are those who have no money for food. I know I probably sound like an old woman talking, sorry! 

9. Set goals. Have aims. Give yourself something to work towards, something to strive for. Even if you don't get to exactly where you want to be, still write all your goals. For today, tomorrow and ten years too.

10. Family is first. Don't neglect the mother whose womb you were born from, or the father whose wings you grew under. 

11. Practice a hobby you love. Discover within you something that makes you happy. Know what it is, do it when you need to. 

12.  When you reach success never forget those who supported you, stood by you and above all believed in you. 

13. Travel. When the opportunity comes whether it's a nearby village or a country miles and miles apart

14. Look at those under you, less privileged than yourself, those that never got the opportunities that you did. Keep those in mind not to only appreciate what you have more, but because sometimes we can be the type of people who keep wanting more and more. Looking at those less privileged at a point will make us want less and less.

15. When choosing your life partner, make sure they are first your best friend. 

16. Don't be afraid of making mistakes, you will always make them but learn from every mistake or wrong decision you make in your life.

17. Forgive. There is nothing more beautiful that a forgiving heart. As for those who hurt you very deep, forgive and forget. Life is too precious and short to hold grudges against people. 

18. Be honest, be yourself. No need to be someone else, no need to change yourself for anyone. If you want someone to love you, they better love you for who you are. 

19. Breathe in, breathe out. Anger won't solve anything. No need to raise your voice at anyone or anything. 

20.    A happy person is he who makes others happy. Trust me on this one! No need to be selfish about everything, give people chances, give them opportunities, applaud their successes. Their success is not your failure. 

21. Listen to people. Listen to people's pains, listen to their heart pouring out, listen to their laughter, listen to them cry on your shoulder. 

22. A book is the best gift you can give or receive from anyone.

23. Always make time to socialize, to sit face to face in front of people without it being work related. 

24. Don't judge people. Don't judge the snobbish girl, the angry man, or even the prostitute. I learned this lesson as I trained youth to be Peer Educators. I have come to believe every person is influenced by factors or experiences in their lives.  

25. Support a football team. Says my husband.   APPRECIATE. Appreciate all that you have, and all those around you. 

Until next time

Lots of love from

My Nest in Kurdistan 

Sazan,

Dear Me

My dearest, Loyal Reader…

Back then, I used to make time  have time to visit the little children in the orphanage. I used to help with their homework, play games and run around like a child in the garden. Dear Me, how many times I sang songs running in circles holding little children's hands; or the times I drew butterflies and love-hearts on innocent faces.

A day I will never forget. We (Ashna, Bewar, Ruwayda and many others) joined
the children to the airport

Back then, I used to go and visit Pura Gulizard at the elderly people's home in Erbil. I used to take her home-made cakes or cookies (all sugar free) and listen to endless complaints- about her children, life, her deteriorating health… and about her crush. I used to hug her tight and laugh at her teenage heart as she asked me to pluck her eye-brows. I used to sit down and sing along sometimes, or listen to their stories. At times I drove home in tears, other times I was the happiest girl on this planet.

Back then, I went on adventures in my own city. I would walk up the citadel and make my way through the busy alleyways of Erbil's Qaysari bazaar. The experience used to tickle all my senses, I would breathe in the smell of strong spices, the not-so-appetising odour of fresh cheese (with few flies visiting for a taste) and I'd admire the sight of the rainbow of bright coloured material in so many shops for Kurdish clothes (Jli Kurdi).  I would make time to appreciate the poor, but very patient, shop owners laying down colourful pieces of material on the tiles for very picky Kurdish girls to choose from.

Back then, my Loyal Blog Reader, was only few years ago. A lot of these still live in me, sometimes priorities change. Now I dream of the families under tents in refugee camps. I think of how much donations one must collect and try to fit everything in with long working hours. I have nightmares of ISIS. But these aren't adequate excuses, right?

Dear Me, do I put the blame on myself, or let the blame free from within and surrender to believe this is life? C'est la Vie. 

Lots of love from 
My Nest in Kurdistan,

Sazan,

A day... in my life

Dear Blog Loyal Blog Readers,

Have I ever mentioned how much I love you all?


Photo: Olivia Steele

I had a few lovely emails in my inbox from a few of you who read the blog regularly. To address one of the comments, yes, I will create a website and post a lot of different updates. Just bare with me, those of you who have read Mandalawi.blogpsot over the years would have probably realized by now I am not the best of friends with technology. Sadly.

I wanted to do a day in my life (Recap and Rewind) every now and then, just to give a feel of how young (25 next month, I guess I can still call myself young! Yes? No?) Kurdish girls spend their day-to-day life here and also for me to look back on when I have grey hairs and have grandchildren sitting on my lap.

I was at a meeting (6-hours, so it was more like a workshop), we were planning how to improve the situation of young boys and girls in rehabilitation centers (doesn't sound familiar to you right? How about the prisons? Aha! You knew that didn't you?). This reminded me of the research I did with women in prison. I genuinely hope we can do something to make them positive individuals within their society once they leave the centers, yup, I refuse to call it prison.

Something that I am excited about is that me and a friend might actually train some of the youth that have been 'sentenced' and acquaint them with the peer education program. Nothing confirmed, but very exiting! Having said this I learned a lot about the situation of our rehabilitations for youth in particular, while staff have a lot of training, still we lack in spaces and organized systematic way of working.

So, that was my day yesterday! Oh yes, and the beautiful Huda joined me for a quick shopping in Rhein Mall. Don't you feel the days go pass so fast? Or is it just me?

One last note, if you would like to guest blog then just drop me an email, would love to have more Kurdish girls here!

Until next time lots of love from
My Nest in Kurdistan

Sazan,


 

Hello November

Dearest Loyal Blog Reader,

WOW! November already? 

In part of the world, here in Kurdistan, October has been a month filled with  tears. Tears, because our men and women in uniform are fighting monsters (ISIS) to keep our land safe.. mothers said good bye to their children in the hope they will see them again, some come back safe and sound, and others return in coffins. The harsh reality that leaves a wound in all our hearts. Meanwhile thousands have fled their homes in Kobane, and still refugees and IDPs living under tents this winter.

Let's hope for a great November, 2014
Photo: Me, today

My visit to the refugee and IDP camps constantly remind me how blessed I am for everything and everyone in my life. I can only hope and pray for the best. 

This November I hope to:

1.  Get some sport in my life in addition to continuing the Yoga (blog post coming on that very soon. I promise. Baxwa!) I have started. 

2. Improve my photography techniques so I can treat you Loyal Blog Readers with some good quality pictures that are nice to look at it. 

I am also super doooper excited for our very first book club meeting on 26th of November. 

Then there is two special birthdays and my parents' wedding anniversary which is of course one of the most special days in the year. The union of two of the greatest people in my life, so I have a reason to celebrate! 

I hope I can spend my November nights by the window writing away, and I wouldn't mind few walks under the rain ;) 

Lots of love from

My Nest in Kurdistan

Sazan

Dear little boy

little Kurdish boy struggles to protect his two canary birds at Turkey border - MiddleEastEye

Dear little boy,

 

I wish they were all like you,

I wish they cared for one another as much as you care for your two birds,

I wish they had a soul as loving as yours,

I wish they had a mind as thoughtful as yours,

 

I wish I can build a huge cage for your canaries in the garden of your own home in Kobane,

I wish they can fly freely inside,

I wish you can come back everyday after school and see them,

feed them,

look after them,
 

I wish to see them fly freely, just as I wish to see you be free of pains

 

Little Boy, I wish everyone's heart was like yours,

filled with love, affection and care

 

I wish us humans loved one another as much as you love your animals,
I wish we treated one another the way your treat your pets,

 

Innocent little boy,

I wish you grow up in a time and place where humanity matters

where kids like yourself are well looked after,

 

I wish I knew till when you and your canaries will be homeless,

I wish I knew when you will both fly back to your home

 

I wish I saw your smile when you receive the first bottle of water

I wish I saw you as you empty it out for your canaries to drink,

then you will drink what's left...

I wish I could help you protect your canaries from the winter coldness
that is to come very soon,

 

If only we were all like you.

 

If only I can do something for you.

 

Please support and #SaveKobane from ISIS.

Happy Birthday Mandalawi.blogpost.com - 6 years!

Today marks 6 years since I wrote my first ever blog post, it was called "I was born to try." I honestly feel like over the past six years I have raised a child. Six years of stories, experiences, people and adventures.

Sazan M. Mandalawi
Writing a blog post in a teahouse in Erbil

Through the past six years mandalawi.blogspot.com was a getaway for me, it as a place where I shared my thoughts, experiences, introduced people to Kurdistan, answered questions, collected donations and above all through the blog I met people who are an important part of my life now. 

Over the years the blog transformed, it grew and changed with me. The blog inspired a column, the column a book and now I hope a website is in the making. Thank you to every single person who inspired every sentence on mandalawi.blogspot.  

love
from My Nest in Kurdistan!

Saza,

Sleepless and helpless...

Dearest Loyal Reader,

it's exactly 1:51 AM. I can't sleep.

H.S. and I listening to one of the young girls in the camp today

Today, my friend Huda and I met with 115 young in one of the refugee camps in Erbil; that is 115 stories, 115 eyes that write novels, 115 desperate young people who want to make something out of their life. Some we spoke to for 10 minutes, other just two minutes, all for a peer education course we are planning to run in coordination with START NGO very soon. I don't know who to think of, the young girl who has 11 people in her family, one of her sister works and her father is disabled? Or the 16 year old who will get married soon? Do I think of the young boys who over and over said they are bored and there are no jobs or the girls who said their future is over and they dream of going back to their studies?

Anyhow,  life goes on. On a better note one of my good friends gave birth to baby Leen today. Leen means easy. I am going to take life easy.

love from
My Nest in Kurdistan

Saza,

The power in our youth

Today I am wounded. My mind is with the pershmerga, it’s with our yazidi brothers and sisters who have no food and stuck on Mount Sinjar. My heart is with the girls and women who were kidnapped – some raped, others sold. Yet, my life has to continue. I am a guest, hosted at the amazing city of Slemani, my friend and I are training young people peer education skills so they can go to high schools and in their own colleges do life skills sessions for their peers and other youth.

group work! 

There is something special about training youth. For five days from early morning till early evening I am with 20 young boys and girls. I we (my colleague and I) become part of their life, I begin to understand their different personalities and see the great side of each and every single one of them. Good bye becomes difficult. 

One of the sessions today on emotions and anger management 

When I am training and working with young people I go to a different world. I love working with people my own age. I still say my own age, even though I am constantly reminded that in few years time I wont be able to classify myself under this category of young people, Anyyyyhow... Today I learned one of them is a cancer survivor, another has lost her father yet she is determined to keep going, another was absent today because her father is having an operation. In five days you get to really know some of them closely. Even the very quiet who rarely take part in the group conversations, they still have a lot to express, they have good things to say.

An activity/ session on inequality in society-

I see these young people grow as individuals; I see them become close friends. I watch them share facts about themselves and their lives with their peers that they wouldn’t normally do.

Sometimes we go an extra mile to make a point

I love seeing these young boys and girls laugh till their tummies hurt; And sometimes I see their tears. I am a firm believer there is no such thing as a ‘bad’ young person. Although their society and their experiences take them on a certain path – a path that may not always be the best choice. They are at an age where you can mould them how you want, therefore, a very sensitive time in their life. We must invest in our youth if we want a prosperous future for our country.

Friendly discussions

As I write this I am listening to so much chaos, so much noise; I am listening to shouting, to negotiating, to laughter to NOs and Yeses, to energetic voices explaining different things. They are preparing to do an interactive theatre performance on violence and its different forms.

Using materials to send messages through 

The young people in my country have gone through tough experiences. Some of them have witnessed genocide, some of their fmailies have gone through times that no one can imagine. With no doubt this has impacted who they are, how they act and what they think. Sometimes the youth in my coutry can feel lost. Lost between the older generation and their parents expectations and between their lives now and peers' expectations – lost between mountains and technology – lost between who they are expected to be and who they really are.

I hope in the little things we do we can be a positive force in allowing young people to find themselves in order to better adapt to a fast changing society. I dream of the day where our students in schools across Kurdistan can have this Peer Education program in their curriculum. 

They are about to begin their sketches. Gosh! I love how motivated this group is! Better go. Bye for now!

My friend and co-trainer,  R.B., at times we laugh our tears away

Until next time, much love from My Nest...
in Kurdistan
Saza,

It's an important day...

Dearest,

Tonight is laylat-el-qader. In the room I am in lights are dim. The prayer mat is waiting for me to sit before God and pray. It is going to be a long night. Today was/is an important day.

My dearest reader, as we approach the days of Jezhn (Eid) thousands of families in my city will have not purchased their new clothes, neither have they purchased celebratory food, nor have they planned anything special. Do you know why? Because the leader of the country that I supposedly belong to has cut off my people's salaries. He wants us to die of starvation. He wants us to cause war and rebel against our government. He wants us to blow ourselves up. He is committing a genocide against us. My people are still going to work, they are working for no income.  

I open Facebook and the first thing I see is a picture of the Muslim shrine of Prophet Younis blown up in Mosul, next door to the city I live in. It's an important day.

60 people were killed in a bomb and car attack in Baghdad as prisoners were evacuated. I will point out my uncles, cousins and dear ones still live in Baghdad. Yes, this also happened today. After all, it's an important day.

I am living in a time, age and place where not too far away my Christian brothers and sisters get a letter 'N' drawn on their houses: They either convert their religion, pay money or get killed. Did Nazi Germany do this?

Today, my fellow Kurdistani brothers and sisters, Christians, Muslims and all the other religious and cultural colors  held hands, side by side, they demonstrated. My friend organized this walk, asking for peace, coexistence. Are we asking for too much? It's an important day.

Few years back I dealt with girls in high schools who had been through Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) when they were younger. I was close to their stories, their difficult secret lives and muted pains. The Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) worked hard to put an end to this, the KRG made FGM illegal. Today, the ISIS announced every girl in Mosul must be circumcised. Two million girls' lives will officially be ruined. It's an important day.

This evening the white UN car with a convoy drove right past me, Ban Ki Moon was in my city. It's an important day.

Earlier today in between meetings I couldn't get my eyes off  Twitter, the new President of Iraq was announced. Still not sure what I think of this. But it's an important day. 

My dearest reader, yes the list is incomplete, this is my little part of the world. What happened near you today? This is aside from the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, aside from the planes falling, crashing, and getting lost; aside from the silent killings and cruel punishments of my Kurdish family in Iran, and the innocent children sleeping under bombshells in Syria; Aside from the Kurdish women in uniform fighting injustice.

As for me, I belong to a country that no one else wants to recognize. I belong to a stateless nation of pain and suffering. A nation of peace lovers, but like a tree we are trying to grow in an environment where the harsh winds of our surrounding is trying to break us apart, push us down. I have hope.

We have strong roots. Yet we are watering ourselves and carrying with us our own sunshine.

I laugh at myself. I studied politics, international relations, I read more books than my own weight on diplomacy, who was I fooling? 

I am sitting with my laptop, reading news, in tears.
My husband is sitting on the floor listening to du'as watching people pray on TV.

He is silent. I am silent. The world is silent. It's a very silent night. 

I will go now. My prayer mat is calling me. I have a lot to pray for. 

My dear, it's an important day, because "it's a night where Muslims believe that God blesses everyone, and forgive all sins, accept all prayers as you wish, and the angels come down." 

Wednesday Memoirs

The column below was published in 2009, in the Kurdish Globe newspaper in Erbil.

Village girl vs. city girl

By Sazan Mandalawi

Picture C. Jan Sefti Kurdish Girl

I have previously stated there is no woman in the world like a Kurdish woman, and I stand by those words--although I have decided to take the challenge further and look at the difference between a city girl and a village girl in Kurdistan.

So what brought this peculiar and rather strange idea to my mind now? Aside from the fact that stereotypical, negative views dominate our society about village girls, I had the privilege to spend the Jezhn break in a village near the Mergasoor area of the region. Having spent all my life in a city and never having lived in a village or country, I came to realize just how "girlie," frail and delicate we--the city girls--can be.

The young women or the girls in general in the villages differ to a large degree than the girls who have grown in the city. A new groom would have to spend half his paycheck every month on clothes for his bride who has lived in the city all her life and would most likely consider shopping as one of her hobbies. In the areas I visited, the girls wore simple Kurdish clothing at home and had another set--with more details and colors--for when they go out.

Apart from the housework of running around cooking and cleaning for the guests who continuously walk in and out the house, these women also do the men's work in their small farms or look after the animals if they have any.

I was proud of the fact that I can cook rice, eggs, and potatoes; but after what I have seen I feel foolish and?let's just say?not so proud.

We were invited for dinner at one of the local houses--in the two-hour span they knew we were going to be their guests that evening the girls had cooked all the difficult foods that Kurds have, including the dreadful Yapragh. We (the city girls, that is), on the other hand, with two days prior notice and following the cooking methods in a few cookbooks--other than the salad nothing seemed to turn out right!

One thing that amazed me the most is that if these people had a dishwasher it would not wash the dishes as clean and fast as young women can. Meal after meal, the girls tuck their long Kurdish dress under the rope on their waist, pin the sleeves on their shoulders, and wash the dishes better than three working dishwashers. Then there is us--the pitiable city girls-we wash the dishes one day and go on about it for the next two days. Did I mention one person uses the detergent and another washes it away with water, and usually a third person would also be helpful to remove the wet dishes from the rack so it gets out of the way?

In the city, on almost every second street there is a local salon--and I assure you they make better money than many businessmen in Erbil. Whether for a party, at any hairdresser or in any beauty parlor it is worse than a doctor's clinic where sometimes, even with an appointment, you can wait up to half an hour before your turn.

We are all about makeup and dying our hair with multiple colors, and now even manicures are becoming popular. The village girl, on the other hand, needs no layers of foundation as her skin is naturally smooth; she posses the natural beauty that looks more dazzling because of the natural environment she grows up in. Her hair does not need to be dyed in three different colors to look good, because the natural henna she uses gives extra shine and strength to her already eye-catching long black hair.

Even when it comes to fitness, the village girls seem to be a leap ahead of us. With the many gyms and swimming pools now, many girls are members at local fitness centers to get that "perfect body." From her constant work in the house and on the farms, the village girl has a body of a model hidden in her loose Kurdish clothing. We indulge in chocolates like Galaxy and Ferrero Rocher; they, on the other hand, enjoy natural foods freshly picked from the trees--the way she can break a date and peel the skin with her hand is admirable, or the way she treats herself to berries sitting by the shade of a berry tree.

A typical girl who has grown up in the city would most likely be well educated and go to a university. This does not undermine the intelligence of a village girl, who knows all about natural remedies. A village girl learns from life's experiences-something you cannot gain from reading thick books and highlighting all the important details.

Show a city girl a cockroach and she will scream her lungs out--literally. On the other hand, the bravery a village girl possesses is immense; she can confront a wild animal to protect the family's herd of sheep.

Finally, village girl or city girl? You be the judge, but keep in mind even though they may not go to the best English-speaking universities or might not be involved in the train of globalization that is apparent in city life, a village girl in Kurdistan is a young woman that must be respected and admired in her own rights, because if not worse, we are certainly not better than she is! 

Why Kurdistan?

Dearest Loyal Blog Reader,

Erbil, Hawler at night. (Pic. from Caitlin In Kurdistan)

So many years have passed since I first landed in the Erbil International Airport, at that time, it wasn't even a proper airport. So many years have gone pass since my first tears of the big return 'home' and so many years have passed about me learning about this place which I now call My Nest.

The memories I had of Kurdistan in my childhood years were not great ones, but I am glad my later teenage and early adulthood years memories of Kurdistan are pleasant ones. I will have a lot of stories to tell once I grow old. Once I have wrinkles and grey hairs, once I have grandchildren sitting on my lap (not sure if by then grandchildren will even have time to sit on an old granny's lap, but anyhow, you get my point).

I am not originally from Erbil, or Hawler. But for some reason I feel it is my own city, I share a beautiful bond of love and appreciation with Hawler and it's people as well. They're warm hearted, loyal, friendly and every time I meet someone for the first time, they make me feel like I have known them all of my life, that's one of the beautifies of this city.

I share a bond with the people here, because I have come to understand where they were and where they are. They are people who appreciate things they have (most of them) and they appreciate the fact they live in a safe place that is a result of years of sacrifice. They're just lovely people who are going through an intense transition phase.

So many years have passed, yet it has been too fast. Too fast to to even sit back and compare where we were and where we are. Too fast to sit back and comprehend. But I have come to love it here. I love the summer picnics, the winter seatings with family around a heater. I have come to love the little bits and pieces that we so often complain about (but I know it will get better); I love how the youth love their nation, they want progress and development and they want it fast. I love every inch and every bit of this city.

So many years later, they still manage to ask me, "so, why Kurdistan?" and all I can reply is "why not?!"

Maybe this is why I want so many people to come back. I want them to feel the tough pains but also the fruits of success and accomplishment; I want people to know here, they are not working in a system, but they are helping to create and build a system so that many future generations can work within and improve.

It is definitely not an easy journey, it is definitely not all smiles and laughter. No, by far not. But it is a journey of self realization, a journey that will let you grow as a person, a journey of finding out more about yourself as you attempt to find who you are.

My dearest reader, if you're thinking of a return, don't have second thoughts. Come back! Give it ago!

Wednesday Memoirs

The column below was published in 2009, in the Kurdish Globe newspaper in Erbil.

Garage School

By Sazan Mandalawi

'Dara Du Dari Dee; Du Dari Dur Dur!!' (Dara saw two trees, two far, far trees) about 15 to 18 of us would call out as loudly as we possibly could.

These words are famous sentences from the first pages of the grade-1 Kurdish book. We were not in Kurdistan when we learned this; we were in Australia, in Garage School-- that is what we called it, and every Sunday morning that is where all the local Kurdish children met.

At that time we were all 8- or 9-year-olds. Nevertheless, a decade later I remember every word I studied. I recall every week the kids would get together in one house--or should I say--the garage of a house, and learn Kurdish. We only had two copies of the grade-1 Kurdish book; we waited months until a family returned and brought back a few others with them so we could at least share some copies. A pack of chalk, a black board and bean bags were the mobile equipment we carried with us every week from house to house--correction, from garage to garage.

Every Sunday one of the parents volunteered to teach us in his or her garage. (Just some extra information--a few times we had school inside the house, but then there were complaints that we messed things up and there was too many of us. The excuse was there was no room, but it took a week to clean up after 18 hyperactive kids.)

Now I know this was a strategic and well thought-out plan by our parents to keep us attached to our roots. The rules of Garage School were simple: Once a week we would be there for four hours, and sometimes we would go to the movies or a park together in the evening after the so-called "lectures" were over. We also had to do our homework, which was writing the letters of the alphabet a hundred times--row after row--and we had to speak Kurdish while we were there, I can still recall the colorful "NO ENGLISH" signs we drew on the wall.

We were taught simple things, although I must admit most of the time we were fooling around. Since it was a "Kurdish" school, a few of us got a slap or two on the hands when we fooled around too much. After all, we had to feel like we were in Kurdistan.

Every Kurd works as an ambassador abroad--male or female, young or old. Having spent my childhood and teenage years on foreign land, I can not emphasize this enough.

This is rather contradictory, considering the fact that Kurdish people back home normally criticize much of the situations that are taking place in their daily lives. Nevertheless, abroad the state of affairs is different.

Living in Australia, the small Kurdish community we had was diverse in all sorts of ways: Kurds from Iran, Iraq, Turkey; the Badini, Sorani, Luri--there was no difference. We were Kurds and that was what held us all together.

What is amazing is that in every possible way the Kurds attempted to absorb the attention and sympathy of the Australians. All the Kurds would invite their "Aussie" friends to our picnics where Yaprax and Bryani (Kurdish foods) were prepared (that day had to be the diet-free day). They would bring them along to our celebrations of Newroz and many other occasions. (Soon the Aussies learned that Kurdish time means arriving one hour after the time written on the invitation) All this was so that they would learn more about the culture of music and dancing that exists in Kurdistan. In times of seriousness or political instability, we would form demonstrations and involve our Australian friends as well.

The Kurdish people saw it as their responsibility to inform the Aussies about who they are and what they are. From events of Halabja or celebrations of Newroz, we tried to inform and involve them at the same time. This feeling of patriotism and faithfulness to one's land abroad is something I will forever be proud of about the Kurds in Perth.

Elderly Kurdish men formed a soccer team where they played two afternoons a week. The kids came along to support their fathers, and the women came to cheer on their husbands. It was also a get together where we spoke Kurdish and met with people who shared the same culture and traditions as we did at home.

At Garage School, however, we would complain and whine about the homework and request to go to Kurdistan as an educational trip. "If you finish the book this year, we will take you for the education trip to Kurdistan," the parents promised us--or rather fooled us into thinking was the truth. But it kept us motivated to continue the classes. Who would have imagined that some of us would one day be back here for good?

I wish I could say all those Kurds living abroad have the same community spirit that we had; unfortunately this is not the case. I was lucky to be part of such a "Kurdish atmosphere," even though I was abroad.

So where are the kids of Garage School today? Most are now graduating university; few have children of their own, and a handful is back in Kurdistan with well-established jobs.

As for me, here I am--a personal decision made to live nowhere else in the world but Kurdistan. Who knows? Perhaps if it weren't for Garage School I would not have formed this affection and love toward this land--maybe it was motive for my return to Kurdistan. Now every time I hear "Dara Doo Dari Dee," I pause for a smile and remember the sentence that is nailed in my mind and that turned my life around