Sar-u-peh or Kala Pacha!

WARNING!!

This blog entry may contain disturbing images for some audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.

Sar-u-peh, Kala Pacha, Bacha, or what ever you like to refer to it as, I just call it the Sheep's head. Here is the story, I went to Khanaqeen during the Jezhn (Eid) break with my family and I discovered more about my own people and culture. The one thing that really got my attention from the trip was in fact the Sheep's head.

The learning journey began on the first morning of Jezhn as I watched a group of women sitting together in the yard cleaning and cooking ‘Sar-u-peh’ after an animal was sacrificed. Not the perfect scene for a predominantly vegetarian person, but squeezing my eyes together, and winching my nose there was a beauty in watching the women laughing and talking in a circle in what appeared perfect group work activity. Each woman had her own duty in cleaning the head of the sheep, “This is the ears, that is the eye and oh the most delicious part is this, the tongue” said one of the woman with her sleeves pulled right back well beyond her elbow as she pointed with her blood stained hands.

Above: This is when she was telling me 'and this is the tongue'

As she continued pointed to the different parts trying to familiarize me with her family’s favourite meal all I could think of was how once upon a time (before he knew about cholesterol) this was in fact one of my fathers favorite meals. Another woman started teaching me cleaning tricks and techniques (for when I cook Sar-u-peh at home- as if.) I politely nodded my head and began brainstorming excuses of how I could skip dinner that evening.

Above: Burning the skin. No, sorry let me rephrase- above: This is the sterilization process.

Meanwhile at dinner time, everyone sat on the ground forming a perfect long rectangle, I watched from under my eyes how all the attention seemed to be on the sheep’s brain. As a guest it was typical that everyone insisted that I eat a large portion of it – their way of saying “you’re special”. After my courteous refusals the younger cousin on my right elbowed me whispering “just take it and pass it to me!”

When you sit with a large family having Sar-u-peh then etiquette doesn’t exist and there is no such thing as knife and fork. I listened to the sucking sounds of bones, gobbling of the eye balls, and crunchy sound of the ear cartilage (or was that a different cartilage?).

Above: Oh so clean! - yeah right -

As I kept quiet eating my salad and plane white rice I knew I was acting like an alien to all the others. But I witnessed quality family time. As I watched this large family make all sorts of jokes, laugh and talk during the long dinner it was better than any five-star open buffer dinner experience I have ever had in my life.

Above: The brain* (I don't think any additional comment is necessary)

I wish I could tell you how it tasted. I am sure it is nice but I will let that for you. Apparently there are various restaurants that sell Sar-u-peh in Erbil and I am told that you can even eat it at breakfast, and by the time the sun rises they are all sold out. So next time you come to Kurdistan, you know what to try!

This is a section from this weeks 'Memoirs' column in the Kurdish Globe, see www.kurdishglobe.net titled 'The Sheep's Head'

*All pictures in this blog were taken by me, except this one. unfortunately I didn't want to look so much like an outsider to friends and relatives by taking out a camera taking pictures of what they thought was 'normal' food. So I resorted to Google for an image of a cooked sheep's brain.

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.