A Dream is Born

Dear: Most loyal blog readers on the WWW!!

"When I was a child my father would sit me on his lap and tell me, 'You will fly like a bird, to all countries and palces, you will become familair with the most amazing experiences. You will fly to have fun, to learn, to discover, to be adventurous and to find yourself, but in the end you will always go back to your nest.' By the nest he was clearly refering to Kurdistan. Years later, when I spread my wings and began to fly, fall, and fly again, I realize Dad's words were correct-- every single word."

This, my dear reader, is the little paragraph at the back of my book: "My Nest in Kurdistan".

May 16, 2011. The birth of one of the biggest achievements in my 21 year old life so far. It was a simple phone call. In fact a 30 second phone call, I can't remember much (fish memory!) but Kak Publisher asked me to visit when ever I had time. And of course I leave everything and rush out (what could be more important at that second?!).

Since then, what a week it has been! My book, "My Nest in Kurdistan" came to live.

My first look at the stack of books...

I get my share.

 I only have three pictures of my childhood years, and one in particular stands out to me (I just took a picture of it with my phone-- shows you how friendly I am with techonology. I could have easily scanned it!) I am lying on my tummy on a mountain top --surprise surprise-- with dad next to me, and there is a pen in my hand, and if its clear enough you can tell there is a paper also. Even when I was a child I seemed to be ahead of my years...

I was just telling my father how this exact scene in the picture above is repeated almost every single day in my life even now. I write in a little notepad or on the laptop, and dad is there with his chay ... we grow up, but somethings just never change!

When I look at those pictures of my childhood, they don't bring back memories. Nothing comes to mind except one occasion. Only one event from my childhood. I remember it clearly. A summer evening, before it was completely dark. Grandma was at our place, there was a knock at the door and within minutes we heard gunshots. I don't recall what happened in between, but I clearly see my mother grab my baby brother and we went under the stairs. We hid, holding each other tightly. My mother was crying. And the gunshots continued. Dad, we thought, was gone; we'd lost him. Four men had come on a mission to kill.

Not long ago, before the book was published, I went to see the bullet holes still on the walls of the house where we once lived. The house where I hid under the stairs, in the arms of my mother, listening to gunshots and thinking "dad is gone." After the silence outside, mom lost consciousness and I was on her chest, crying. Moments later, I saw my father with a large Kalashnikov over his shoulder, and then I fell into his arms. This is all I remember from my childhood.


  The second I saw my book, My Nest in Kurdistan, at the publishing house, dozens of them stacked on top of each other, that's what I remembered. Could it be, that same girl, who sat in fear under the stairs? That same girl refers to the same place as a Nest? Today, I feel as though my pen is a bullet. A soft bullet. A bullet of hope.

What was the most amazing part of this experience is that when I came home with about 75 of my personal copies of the book, on the way home I began to brainstorm all the people who I had to give a copy to. Back home on the kitchen table I wrote a list, and had to give priority of who are the individuals who I was going to dedicated a copy to.

Only on the kitchen table did I realize how lucky I am. I realized the number of people who have influenced my life. All those names who have inspired me, all those names who have touched my life in the simplest ways, but they have made the greatest difference. All those individuals who have inspired me-- from my little cousins Lava and Haval to Pura Gulizard at the Erbil Retirement Home. From my parents, to some of my Twitter friends. From my cousins, to well known Kurdish personalities. From my next door neighbours to decision makers at the state level.

 

(I did try to rotate this picture... [don't laugh] but I just couldn't figure out how to)



I wished to dedicate copies of the book to so many people, the elderly friends in the Retirement home, the men in the Erbil Retirement Garden, the man who looks after insane individuals in the back room of his Chaykhana, the gardener, the many women who I have met in the villages and on Kurdish mountains. The problem is that all these people can't read in English. These people, the simplest in the world, are those who have inspired me the most.

It is funny, the amount of books I have signed and dedicated to "my second parents" and "my sister..." many of the people who are close to me have adopted me as their daughter, and many others have become sisters over the years.

It was true. This book, an achievement of mine, could not have been possible without these individuals to believe in me, to encourage me with their words, and more importantly to inspire me! I don't think many of them realized how important they were in my life, in fact until I sat on the kitchen table I didn't realize there were this many of them.

Just before I finish off, thank you for all of you, my blog readers* for reading these entries! (By the way, now that the book is published, it doesn't mean you stop following the blog!)
When you're a Kurd, expect the unexpected.

* Zor Supas!!

(this is part of this week's "Memoirs" column in the Globe. It was written on two seperate days)

Village Life - Memoirs!

To my dearest, most loyal, and greatest readerS*

Let me introduce you to village life in Kurdistan

If I described the atmosphere to you right now as I am writing, you would envy me. It is dark, pitch black, but somehow you can just see the outline of a giant mountain in front of you in front of the dark sky. There's a gentle breeze, a little cold, but you can smell nature, and the earth after it has rained. Every now and then there is the mooing of the cows from our neighbor's place. The breeze and the sound of trees take me away. There's not a single star in the sky.

Above is a picture of me taken by M. M. as I was writing this, (on word, obviously there was no internet access)

Beside me is a fire, which we started with a few of the stack of wood on my left. Unlike any fire before, this burns rapidly -- must be the fresh bark -- and on it sits the tea pot, now charred black. Dad, like any typical Kurdish father, eagerly waits for the tea.

I wonder what the neighbors are doing right now.

This evening there is no television, there is no Internet and no phone calls or "beep, beep" sound of one text following the other: "Don't forget this, do that, bring this, fill that," and so on. This is exactly what I have purposely left behind. I have escaped the city life in Erbil and gone to heaven. Heaven, in my dictionary is nowhere else but in Kurdistan's own mountains, in one of its exquisite villages.

And look who welcomed me first...

As we arrived earlier today, I took a walk around this small village, I have already made many friends. In fact, you would, too. Almost everyone you say "hello" to insists you visit their homes. This is not one of those semi-developed villages. No, this is a real village, where people live in mud houses, there is a barrel outside with a tap attached for a sink and the toilet is outside -- you are lucky if there is a tin door (which by the way, never closes entirely), but usually a cloth covering acts as a door.

Through the walk, I began to wonder, and now, by the wood fire outside, I am beginning to think: Does life have to be that difficult? It does not. Here I am, at my happiest, with only the basic necessities.

Somewhere above the mountains of Kurdistan lays the village of Haladen-- Just by looking at it I remember the fresh oxygen I breathed in over there.

The people are lovely. They are polite. The people here are family you have never met. They are simple. The simplest you could ever imagine. What are these people, I wonder. Angels? Two minutes after meeting you, they would give you're their lives if you asked for it. These are the real Kurds that I know. Of course when you are a guest you can't by shy and must take everything you are offered (if you're thin--a little too thin-- like myself, then expect to be fed food enough for an entire month in one evening. "You need to eat my daughter, Alhamdulila har xwardn zora!" I remember one of the elderly man and his wife told me when I accepted to have only chay in their little house. (I must mention here, chay turned into mastaw, fruits, rewas, chay; rice, chicken; chay etc...)

Poora and Maama, they are my new aunt and uncle. As a total stranger they invited me inside their house, just as they saw me walking around the village

Earlier, for lunch, onions and celery, picked only steps away from where I am sitting. Today, I ate all sorts of wild things that you can only find in nature -- unwashed. Yogurt and milk come from the animals here -- not sure about the health issues though -- I could bid that the Poora and Mama I had dinner/ afternoon tea with (probably 75 to 80 year old) are stronger and healthier than I am.

The fresh mastaw

The Chay, rosary, Kurdish clothing...

When you are in a village in Kurdistan, you almost feel ashamed that you have too much, you realize that there is no need for everything that you have. If you are still wondering if you should get that Dior handbag or you don't have the new iPhone yet, then I remind you here, simplicity is everything. Good health is a priority.

Another Poora, pouring the third pyala of chay from the Samawar

As I am writing, little drops of rain are falling onto the keyboard, just in time, as I am finishing for today. Tonight I am not sleeping on my queen size bed, I am not watching BBC before bed nor am I putting a facial mask on looking like an alien from out of space** for 20 minutes. 

No. 

Tonight, as soon as I put my head on the pillow I will be asleep before I know it. No tossing and turning worrying about the stresses of tomorrow and brainstorming a check list in my head of what needs to be done. Here, on top of the mountains of Kurdistan, hidden in a small village surrounded by nature, I know tonight before reaching to count three sheep I will be fast asleep.

On that note, the cows seem to have fallen asleep. Nature says its bedtime. And you, still in the city, you're probably just about to open Facebook right now.

When Kurds say: Sar Sar o Sar Chaw, this is what they mean!!

So, you are welcome, sar sar o sar chaw this time next week to read another entry on my journey through the village that is above the clouds and over the mountains of Kurdistan. You don't believe me?

for a writer, this is heaven

*(S.I, H.S, L, K, B.A, A.S, .... sadly mum is no longer a fan!).  I wrote this last weekend, in a little trip I took to the village with my family. It was this weeks column in the Globe, but I thought I would share it with you here anyway, with some pictures as well.
All pictures, but one, were taken by me for this blog only :) somehow I am always thinking of you--even when I am in the village for vacation 

"No one dare touch my daughter"

To the greatest reader*

When I go missing for a while, you would probably realize by now that I get up to something.

Bale! Bale! Bale!

"I was a victim, but no one dare touch my daughter!"
One of the female participants in the awareness sessions, with her daughter. Observe the facial expressions closely....

And that's what I have been reading for the past few days now.

Paper after paper yelling out silent tears of "Bale" (Yes!) that is: Bale, I am circumcised.

Welcome to the miserable world of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM)--something that I have been working with closely in the recent weeks.

Aside from a health awareness campaign that we are currently undertaking for women in the Choman district in Erbil I have also been working on a survey we did at the Salahaddin girl's school. Basically on a piece of paper the girls wrote the occupation of their parents (not suprising almost every mother in that area was a housewife) and whether or not they had undergone the FGM process.  

As I was reading what they'd written my eyes filled with tears, a large number of the girls said they were circumcised. It’s either that I have a tenth senses or it was clear. I felt as though the words on the paper were silent screams, silent tears. For some reason I felt as though the handwriting of the girls
were telling a story. Could hand writing be emotional? (or am I just over emotional myself?!)


One of the papers received from the girls-- the last word reads: Bale

Whether we like it or not, FGM exists in some parts of the region. It's not smart to turn a blind eye on a phenomenon that is life shattering for many young girls. Which is why I am so proud of this project, especially because we managed to reach out to the village areas, reach out to women who don't even know the etiquette of talking in a group. Women and girls who had never attended a talk in their lives. Women who have not been given the chance to be educated--to gain awareness and knowledge. It's unfortunate that they are so negleted, because in other parts of the region it is not like that. But in the areas we are working in--borderline--there is neglect. Which is why it is worth the dedication that our team has put in- waking up 5 in the morning, and staying in the office till late evening hours to plan for the next day, to travel for over two hours for every session.

One of our members at the organization has an entire long list in their phone of Mulla A, Mulla X, Mulla Y etc... that is how it is. But it is all worth it. The six week campaign is almost ending, but I have this feeling that even the unmade  fetuses and unborn baby girls are smiling, and that, my dear reader makes it all worth more than you can ever imagine 

In one of our sessions where a doctor spoke to women in a village about FGM and after they watched a video we had a few of the women crying. I started to shiver. Despite all my sadness I managed to smile, I knew right then and there that we were changing lives.  Here is what we managed to understand from the sniffing, crying, women**:

Khadija (over 45 years old): [Sniffing] "My daughter keeps reminding me of the time I held her hand to the lady with the razor"

Gulabakh (in her 30s): [wiping a tear] "When we were circumcised, my friend, who was our neighbor was with me. She bled too much and then died!" (If you know Sazan well, at this point of listening to the story she is no sobbing—but I didn't.)

I have a question

So many women have been victims of breast cancer because by the time they detect something is definitely wrong it is too late. So the session on self examination has also been beneficial. Most of the participants spend a lot of time sharing stories of women they knew in their villages who died because of it. They are interested to learn, and that is a great help for us to be able to send the message through.

It's not all sweet. Due to the degree of sensitivity of the matter we are dealing with we have had our share of confrontations and negotiations. But the result that we get is amazing. We have been working in the village more than district itself. In one of them for example some of the women had never ever seen a gynecologist before--in fact 90% hadn't. We were listening to stories from the participants in our sessions that few months back a women died while giving birth. She could have easily lived, but how could she? No doctor, no trained midwife (and for god sakes in good old Kurdish there wasn't even the Mu'awen tubi—who basically works as a doctor!).

NOTE: I have to point out here that you shouldn't feel sad for a single second. We promise these women will have a gynecologist visiting them once a month free of charge to answer all their medical questions and do examinations (and we are trying to see if we can link up with a pharmacy so we can take medication too for those who need it).  

So! Back to why I am writing this entry today (back to the argument, can't go off topic). A large portion of the stack of surveys say 'bale'. But the surprise and amazement we witness on the expressions of the females is beyond what words can ever describe.

A pile of the girls' surveys on my desk. All giving the same information, whether or not they have gone through the FGM process. I learned that a large portion of my girls who I did the training were actually circumcized. By observing the surveys in the village surrouding Choman the numbers are.... well, very high, sadly

They don't do it because they are cruel. No! These women choose for their girls to undertake the process because they think that it is the right decision. The number of times we have heard mothers say: "If only you told me earlier, I wouldn’t have done it on my daughters" are infinite.  

When there are high school girls sitting and listening to the words of a doctor, a religious man and watching a video… you can just feel that you are changing lives right then and there. All the female fetuses in the wombs of their mothers don't need to fear going under the 'razor' for any reason.  

The women learn the science behind what is happening to the body and its consequences when that process is undertaken on a young girl. Just imagine, she is free but in chains at the same time. When they learn that no, it's not religion and no it doesn’t mean that the girl's food is haram to eat they won't do it on their daughters.

Education and knowledge is power.

Most, if not all of them, share the same silent pain. But through this awareness and knowledge, I can say with complete confidence their daughters are going to be FGM free. With complete confidence I write that of the 1200 women who we have held sessions for, will not allow for any of their daughters, sisters, grandchildren, nieces or even the neighbor's baby girl to undertake the procedure. Those days are over. That is accomplishment!  

If this entry put you in a 'blue' mood then wait for Saturday's entry! I promise it's going to be full of smiles. Tune in. By the way, I am still on with my project for my girls at the high schools.

*How do I know that you're great? Because you have chosen to take few minutes of your precious time to read this blog!

**Names changed

All pictures are taken by and belong to START Social Development Organization 

My dream for their dreams

My dearest reader…

You can tell she has so much to say

My bedroom floor is covered with a large piece of white cloth with young girls' dreams written all over it in their own hand writing. I have been staring and studying it closely for the past hour or so. Asking mum and dad to read some of the ones for me that I couldn't read—I read the dreams of my girls.

Here is a test for you: (to see if you're a loyal follower of this blog or not) Do you remember once I blogged past midnight, writing about the project that I was going to start about empowerment workshops for girls in highschools?

Well, I started those.  It was worth all the sacrifice, all the dedication, and all the paper work-- from ministry to ministry and building to building (indeed a tour to most of the government offices). Until I got two pieces of paper with many signatures and stamps—basically those two papers were signs of 'authorization' for me to enter the schools and begin my mission, a mission that I had set myself, and asked START (NGO) to adopt me.

It was a difficult time for me after graduation, some of my study ambitions didn't go as planned, and to some degree I felt shattered to pieces. Through these girls, I feel like my masters didn't work out this year for a purpose. I wasn't supposed to go and study. So that I could stay and experience this (which I have come to believe is greater than any postgraduate degree I will ever receive.)*

With one of the groups that I worked with-- end of session photo

Let me tell you a little about my girls. They belong to one of the most underprivileged areas in Erbil, and they are deprived from the many things that you and I have and take for granted everyday. If you happen to be at our house on a day that I have held the sessions in then I feel sorry for you (mum and dad bmburn) I brag on and on of what the girls said, how they said what they said (if that makes any sense), what they did, how they smiled and I keep going. It's not my fault, I just feel I have to talk about it (and mum you have to listen!!!!).

With each group of 25 girls I have four hours—that is, four hours of their time to instill in them something that they will carry for the next four years of their lives: through high school and hopefully early university years too.

An activity with a discussion to follow

tIn the four hours I cover everything from how to express ideas in front of a group of people confidently to managing friendship, confronting life's problems and all the way to early marriage, women rights and sensitive 'girl' issues. We cover the whole spectrum through different workshop activities and discussions. Slowly, they open up and share their stories, they share their experiences, confrontations and thoughts. I listen. I observe. I only lead the direction, and they speak. I open the way, they finish it off. Everyday the girls amaze me.

Group work, for some this was the first time they worked in teams

I often feel ashamed of myself because of the way they treat me. Their respect, their warm heartedness, kindness, love and affection-- they’re an inspiration.  

For such young girls—ages range from 14 to 20 sometimes—to live the life that they do and be full of ambition inspires me. But as I leave their school after the last bell rings, as they wait outside so that they could wave good-bye to me I leave home in pain. I sleep smiling, but in pain.

Now what? Just four hours and that's it? What will happen next? Some of them in less than two months time they will walk into an exam room that will determine their entire future.



The cloth with the girls' dreams



What if it doesn't go as planned? Their families, unlike others, can't afford private tutors for seven subjects all year long. Their schools aren't the most prestigious, and so their teachers will probably not even care if they don't cover the entire curriculum with them. Inequality in education, my dear reader, is a crime against humanity.  

It hurts me that these young women aren't given the chance to speak, to express, to discuss. They don't have the opportunity to be themselves and discover their talents. But it makes me happy to see Kurdish girls like these, despite many confrontations they are doing the impossible to complete their studies and I learned every single one of them has dreams.

A moment in my life that I don't think I will ever forget was a few days back-- I asked a group of the girls to close their eyes, as their eyes were closed they were to imagine their life in the future. I posed questions; they answered the questions in their minds, with visions. When they finally opened… I could see the smiles—not on their lips, but in their eyes. Their eyes were smiling. That, to me, was… beyond what words can ever describe.  



She writes her dream and ambition in life with passion, after much thought

What makes me proud, is that the girl who was uncomfortable to say her name and her hobby in the introduction game five minutes into the session was the same girl who had the courage to write: "I want to become a chief in the police force" as her dream four hours later.

Together, with each group of girls I take we talk, debate, play, and act. We do group activities, present ideas, play games and share experiences.  

Among the girls I see Hollywood actresses, I see activists, artists. I can see Nobel Prize winners; I see future writers, doctors, decision makers and even comedians. I can see that. But do their families? I believe in them. But does our society? More importantly, do they believe in themselves? Now my girls do.

This is an old library in the school... it was small, but was the perfect place for our gathering

 My mission in the first high school is coming to an end. Soon, I will pack my flip chart, paint, pens, papers and two rubber balls to another school. It will be the same ideas, the same activities, the same workshop curriculum, but different group of girls.

I can say with confidence in the past two months I haven't had a social life. I am probably losing many friends due to my neglect. But I am learning a lot about life—it is not all about sitting in a coffee shop and listing all the things that are wrong in Kurdistan. No, it is about going out there and doing your part.  

I am alone, but not alone (if you know what I mean), but from what I am going through and what I am seeing with the girls it appears as though loneliness is my remedy. I like to sit alone and think of them, plan for them. Almost every second I ask myself the same question over and over again: "What else can I do?" I want to feel like a genie in a bottle and grant them all their wishes, I want to sprinkle dust and change their lives forever. But that's not how it works, actually it's against what I preach. I try, in the smallest ways, provide them with the necessary life skills and implant the word "believe" within their hearts and minds. The rest is up to them.

Tried to encourage group work among the girls

I can't write that I am happy. Because deep down inside I am not-- I write with sadness.  I know the future waiting for a number of these girls is not going to be easy, and right now it appears I am doing the most that I can. But guilt and depression come and knock on my door from time to time.

Having said this, each of those girls I meet are like a star in my sky; a rose in my garden. Through them I see the future of this nation. This nation is lucky to have young women like these.

As a 21-year-old Kurdish girl, in this point in my life I feel this is my achievement. My girls are a success story of what someone can do if they set their minds to it, and if they believe in it. My dream is for their dreams to come true....

Another dream written by one of the girls

*After my second session with the Salahaddin girls' school I have been inspired for my future plans.

All pictures in this entry were taken by me- Sazan M

Newroz is back... in style!

My dear reader.

It's midnight, for a chicken to stay up this late there must be something huge going on. Well earlier, I got my laptop ready, I made myself a nice Chaay (tea) and I was about to sit and write a blog entry about Newroz in Kuridstan when mum called: "Saaaaaazooo" that's the tone that she uses when she really means: "Sweetie, I love you. Can you please come and help me!" and my response was "and here it goes again…"

Above: Earlier today--before landing in the kitchen-- that's where I was.

Anyhow,

I have just helped make over 150 pieces of Shefta (minced meat with onions, greens and a few other bits and pieces) and washed two mountains of dishes (I must make clear to you here—so I receive more sympathy—that I don't believe in the use dish washers for environmental reasons) that was used in the process of making an oversize pot of Yapragh (Dolma). I managed to put some of our guests to sleep, clean up the kitchen, wash more dishes, help the other girls prepare their Kurdish clothes, wash more dishes, and after this I have to go and make some sweets in the oven—what can I say, a Kurdish girl has got duties to fulfill.

But you know what? I am not complaining. I enjoyed every single moment of my evening in the kitchen (I'm sorry that there are no pictorial proof of my cooking and washing because if mum saw me taking pictures, when we had so much to do, then she would simply ask me to "Get out!") because we will be waking up around 5 a.m. well mum will, but still. The food will be put on the stove until we get prepared and leave in the early morning to find a good spot to spend our day. Tomorrow is the year's most important picnic. Newroz! That will be spoken about all year long.

As for earlier today…I actually have to thank some of the guests for dragging me out, it was Shanadar Park. I won't talk about the atmosphere, because the pictures—poorly taken by my phone—will probably tell you more than I can. Beautiful is such a small term to use, to describe the overall sentiment of today's celebration.

Since I hadn't planned on leaving the house we got there a little late. We parked almost half an hour walk away, because there was NO ROOM for parking. From a distance the song echoed in my ears …"Amrozhy, Sali tazaya nawroza hatawa" (the greatest song ever sang on Newroz) I felt like a butterfly flying towards it.

Soon, we pushed and pulled and shoved our way to where some of my relatives were seated. (By the way, today I met about 15 people who I am related to—by blood apparently—but I had never met before. For them, it was like we were born and grown up together.)

First came two singers, then came the beautiful Chopy and then Him—Mr. Aziz Waysi. Famous for his thick black moustache, this man has fans who are crazy for him. And if I say so myself: he rocked the park!!

What was amazing at Shanadar, from where I was seated I couldn’t see any difference. Everyone was carrying the Kurdish flag. There was no separation or affiliation. We were all celebration together, we were celebrating our Kurdishness (basically it was Kurdayaty—though I was told this was not the case outside the Park, but I didn't see anything).

Girls, boys, women, men; the old and the young. We clapped, we danced, we sang. We had our arms waving in the air. We were out there for six entire hours, it felt like 6 minutes. There was something unique about the atmosphere.

I must admit, tapping your feet in high heels, moving your shoulders back and forth—non stop, your arms waving in the air or clapping all along and then singing (who said we can't multi-task?) is no easy work, but it was all joy. For those six hours we forgot all the miseries, all the pains, we enjoyed moments with our families and friends.

Above: This was one of the many scenes I saw today: A young couple, and their small child had come out to enjoy their time.

I observed that it was not just our big group, but there were many families out there who'd come along. This was a party for all—and that's why I enjoyed it so much. The poor and the rich sat together on the same grass, watched the same fireworks and listened to the same songs. People of different political and religious backgrounds, from different parts of Kurdistan (and for that matter, Iraq) were all there celebrating, singing and dancing together…

The party was well organized—to a large degree—the cleaning process began as soon as people started leaving the park. The Newroz fire in Erbil came on first on top of the Shanadar Cave, then the smaller fires appeared...

Then there was the big fireworks, for some of my relatives it was the first time they'd seen it. The children looked astonished—there were colors in the sky! Others were so accustomed to the sound of bombs that brought back tough memories, to hear the same sound but as an indication of happiness was…well, very different.

I watched the fireworks with my six-year-old cousin hugging me tightly. She was watching only with one of her eyes, and occasionally removing her hand to see with both. I could feel she pressed her ears against me—to be protected from the sounds. We were both silent, while everyone else was going was busy videoing and calling out. I could only imagine what the little girl holding me tight around my waste was thinking at that time. It was an incredible moment for me. Erbil's sky was vibrant with colors, sounds, sparkles and celebration. It was another one of those unforgettable times in my life…

I was just glad we can safely, and happily spend such a special day with such special people, in such a special city.

Tomorrow is going to be a big day in my part of the world… no matter where you are, I wish you a Happy Newroz! May you celebrate it in Erbil this time next year.

All pictures were taken by me, because I had my blog in mind. Wanting to enjoy the fireworks, so I decided not to take pictures of it--sorry!

Hawlery Times

To the special people reading this!

Before I write anything: Can you believe that this week FOUR people have come to Kurdistan this week, strangers, who have actually read my blog, and write now, as I am typing all four of them are here!

[[me= almost in tears… really happy]]

Okay, it's Thursday night— a long weekend going into Newroz: the best day on the Kurdish calendar—and I have decided to give you a little insight into my life this week in my corner of the world, that is, in my amazing corner of the world. First of all, you can't imagine how excited people are over here as they prepare for Newroz. I honestly think it is the only day in the year where Kurds actually do plan ahead. But believe me even if it rains and it becomes thunder, or a sand storm hits Erbil, still people are going to go out, have their Yapragh (A.K.A DOLMA) and Bryani on a mountain top dancing halparke until sunset. I know for sure that the girls are busy preparing their Jli Kurdi (Kurdish clothes) these few days; everyone is stressed out that the tailor won't finish them on time.

I've been working hard this week, so I will take you through my week by pictures I've taken by my phone*

Foreigners in Erbil

First of all, I really shouldn't use foreigners as a word to describe the guests coming into Erbil. They are, of course, sar sar w sar chaw. Today, Mivan (the no longer little brother) and I went out with two of our newly made friends from the UK. One of them, I hadn’t met before (took a lot of explaining with mum that it was okay to meet a stranger). Well, her name is Sara, a British girl, doing her masters at the University of York and she arrived just yesterday to do her research in Kurdistan. She came across my blog and we were exchanging emails regarding her visit (yup! She read my blog. And said that she found it "interesting" I wished she could repeat it over and over again-it was like music to my ears. Did I mention that a blog, after a few years, becomes like your child? If it's successful you feel proud, and if doesn't do well, then you feel like punishing it!!)

Above: Sara and Jessy outside a Jili Kurdi shop in Erbil

Any how, Sara seems to like it here. And we shared some thoughts about life in Kurdistan over a little snack in Family Mall. Though I insist to feed her falafl and gaas near the citadel, not the most hygienic, but it must be tried. Jessy (see my blog entry: A Brit in Jli Kurdi) also happens to be here, once again. After two visits, she insisted that the third visit would be during Newroz, and here she is for the third time in Kurdistan. She loves it here. You see Jessy is a young teenage girl, about 15, who I think is on a mission to get a Kurdistani Residency and hopes "never to return" her story is a unique one.

Above: Yes, you can get the original here in Erbil. Does it smell right? I think she knows what she's looking for

Walking through Family Mall we bumped into another bunch of people, also from the UK, and it was an interesting few seconds of conversation—they were also here for some research. For the first time meeting Sara, she probably saw me as either a) too nosy or b) too outgoing. I simply asked a lot of questions. I wanted to know what it was about Kurdistan that interested her so much. I wanted to know what it was that she liked about Kurdistan. I wanted to hear it from her. I asked her so many questions she probably felt like she was in a serious interrogation. After every sentence she said I would intervene: "why?" she replies and then I ask "How?" Sara told me she feels safe walking in the streets of Erbil more than any other place she had visited before, though she did say it was a tough duty informing her friends that she is going to Iraq, but "it’s safe, because I will be in Kurdistan" they still think she is out of her mind for coming here. I don't blame them for thinking this, because the international media is doing such a great job at showing the image of Kurdistan (NOT). Sara seems to like the natural beauty of the region, but also the people, "they are the nicest I have met" she told me, she likes the simplicity, the development but at the same time the culture.

Apple in Kurdistan

If it was up to me, I would still use a type writer and a brick Nokia phone. So, honestly, I really don't have any idea about technology—don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it all, and I appreciate the great minds behind them that actually produce this technology. In simple words Technology and I just don't have chemistry—but I know about this big phenomenon in Kurdistan called APPLE; the iPhone and the iPad.

Above: Sara observes the sign in Family Mall's Digital City where you can buy Apple in Iraq

Everyone is talking about it, and a few people I know are saving money to buy them. Sara was surprised when she saw the only authorized Apple shop in Kurdistan, and Iraq (the new shop in Family Mall) I have to admit to you, with everything that I saw there, I think for the first time in my life I was interested in something called an iPod, and these iPads, they are a real heaven for people who have 6 notepads and 15 pens in their handbags (me!!!), call me old fashioned, but I wouldn't replace the paper and pen for anything in the world… even the iPad [Apple must do something really BIG to Kurdistan to have me as a customer]. I am glad that young Kurds, like other people in the world, can have access to these technologies. I don't see why not!

Plant a tree

This morning on the way to work, I had to stop to take these two pictures. There are hundreds and hundreds of trees being planted in Kurdistan. If you read my articles a few years back, I once wrote: "I have a dream for the roads to be filled with trees, I want the city to also look green, and reflect of the beauty of our mountains" Today, I felt tearful, as I saw three long main roads being planted with trees. (Do you notice the symbolism and metaphor of planting a tree?). As I stopped to take the pictures, I wanted to get out and actually plant one myself. I can't wait until they grow big, with their large branches and green leaves swaying in the air, giving shadow to the roads. I feel so humbled to sleep tonight and know that probably over a thousand trees were planted in my city today. You may find this rather ridiculous of me, but every tree planted for me gives a meaning of growth, of hope, of security. Every tree, to me, is a sign of the people's dedication to the development of this nation, it symbolizes optimism and aspiration. More importantly, it shows the way we think of tomorrow. We are a nation that is planting.

Events! Events! Events!

I actually received this really fancy VIP invitation card for the Erbil Autoshow, if only they knew my ideal dream car is a 1980's Volkswagen they wouldn't have bothered. But the invitation did give a feel of just how 'fine' the cars will look. It started today (I couldn’t make it) and it will continue until the 20^th of March.

The Erbil Festival this week was beyond what words can ever explain. It was a real insight of Kurdish folklore and culture—I must say that I am really proud of our Governor. Every tent in Shanadar Park represented a certain area within the Erbil province. It was incredibly beautiful; I felt as a Kurd I was discovering Kurdish culture. The people in the festival were great; they would explain what all the little tools were. [I have a dream that one day in my future house to have a Kurdawary room. A room with a samawar (something we use to make tea), lantern, red hand-made rugs, and decorate it with everything else that is Kurdish. I wouldn’t minf having my entire future house with the whole Kurdish theme. My brother jokes that I am going to have Hassan Zirak playing in an old cassette player all the time as well—why not?!]

Above: That is a Samawar

Above: Shanadar Park in Erbil, A day before the festival begins, packed with people

Above: Dastani Korre

Above: This are is supposed to be Shaqlawa, on the day there was actually Nana Qaysi, something you must try when visiting Shaqlawa. This picture was taken during the preparation, a day before the festival

Above: And finally, there is nothing better than Five Star Shelm- No gloves, no forks! But trust me, there is this special taste to it. You know when you eat something and you are sure it's not hygienic, but you just can't resist the taste!

Hey Nergis, Nergis: The Flower

When you smell it you feel hypnotized, fresh, joyful and immediately you want to close your eyes and imagine yourself on one of the mountains of Kurdistan. I mean it. I bought my first bunch of Nergis flowers—exclusive from our mountains at this time of year—at a traffic light from a young boy for 1, 000 IDs— just under $1. I was putting my entire nose into it all day at work, and back home I put it in some water, and as I write right now, it's still alive and smells just as good—three days later! You're life is gone (ba firo) if you don't indulge in the beauty of a bunch of Nergis flowers. Seriously!

Now I know what a Kurdish father is thinking when he decides to name his daughter Nergis.

Memories- young Kurds have dreams

I spent last weekend clearing up the endless notebooks and files I had stacked up for years. I was looking through one of my notebooks; it was of our top graduates, who had supposedly received scholarships to study our masters abroad. We spent a few hours in the cafeteria, expecting a NO or YES answer-- which our entire future depended on. I can't express the amount of stress we were going through. This is actually something we drew while waiting for an all important phone call in order to go and meet the Minister of Higher Education.

Above: I couldn't rotate the picture, I think you kind of have to tilt the screen (or your head) to understand what is going on.

I couldn't help but smile when I saw this in one of my notebooks. If you look carefully it tells a story

• It is about going from Erbil (the round ring roads and the Citadel) to the UK for a masters,
• After a return we would go back to Oxford (someone has written "Xoshnaw in Harvard" just above Oxford—far right. Xoshnaw is the family name of a large tribe that are now in Erbil and more in Shaqlawa),
• On the return someone has drawn a ring, symbolizing marriage, then there is an arrow (go again) and get our PhD degree.
• When we return as Doctors, we live a long life, and then win a Nobel Peace Prize. (If you can see in blue pen someone has added Kurdish last names to well known first names: Barack Barzanji, Bill Garmiyani and Steve Xoshnaw—I am guessing it means Kurds will be people like Barack Obama, Bill Gates and Steve Jobs).
• The top left reads: Who said we can't dream? This, my dear reader, shows young Kurds DREAMING!

Kurdish Youth and Peace

I took part in a little gathering put together by the INI in Erbil, called World Peace Builders. It was an interesting session, participants acted out a scenario and then we discussed issues and questions related to ethnicity. So, why do I bring this up?

Above: Some of the young people acting out a scenario, in the garden of the INI office in Erbil

I bring this up because on a Friday afternoon, there are activities and events in Erbil that are educational for young people. They open our minds, they create a certain atmosphere to allow for the discussion of certain topics that we wouldn't otherwise speak about, and above all that, it is an opportunity to meet other people, exchange views and form friendships.

Did it ever occur to you how funny it is, that I write this way of Erbil but I am actually not from Erbil originally? This is why it's so great. Erbil is everyone's nest. No matter where you're originally from…

Above: Picture says a thousand words, no comment.

*All pictures taken by ME, I apologize if they aren't clear. It's basically daily life in Erbil captured by the lens of my Samsung mobile with a 3.2 mega pixels. Me + Technology= not best friends!