A Kurdistani Day

To my dear blog follower… no matter where you are in the world*

It is now past midnight in my small and cozy room very far from home. There is a lot of reading to do before tomorrow's seminar, but something inside me said to leave the highlighter and pages photocopy papers and make my way to the laptop.

To the voice of Karim Kaban I began looking though pictures of my last weeks in Erbil. Not surprisingly it was hard going back to readings on the Italian system of diplomacy at he time compared to that of ancient Greece. Hence, I decided to share with you Kurdistani Times, in the hope that it gives you—my dear reader— an insight to life in Kurdistan.

The last outdoor Dolma I had with family friends

My love for Dolma is beyond what words can describe. Hence, it is only natural that I begin with this picture.  You see, in Kurdistan we don't enjoy eating alone. When Dolma (otherwise might be known as yapragh) is cooked at home it has to be shared with others- the uncle, the aunt, the cousins and if all else fails then you just invite the next door neighbour. You know what is most interesting? Usually the man of the house is usually called to flip the large pot of dolma into what ever it is that it will be served on. Special touch maybe.

And then the Kurdish chay - tea

Before you even have time to fully digest the dolma, and before you have enough time to indulge in the juicy tastes moving every single taste bud there is, everyone is making if the chay is being prepared. This picture reminded me of dad, a picnic was not complete with tea that made my mum's tea pot as black as coal. I really can't tell the difference between a tea bag dipped in hot water and tea that takes one hour to make, but let me tell you this: A KURDISH MAN knows his chay.

Step 1: Buy Mr. Shooti- watermelon

So… you had the chay? It is time for the shooti. Usually the shooti is bought on the way to where ever it is you are going. Once you arrive, you put it in the cold water that flows nonstop and it is ready to have right after the chay!

Step two: Allow for Mr. Shooti to cool down, the natural way

Step 3: Kill Mr. Shooti

Step 4: Let my little cousin M. S. Mandalawi show you just how to eat a cold, sweet shooti

 You think by the time you eat the shooti then you're done. But that is just the start of the joy. Usually in most places there is the local food that you can have**. However, after the food big picnics usually end up seperating into small groups. One group will play some games, another will go for a walk, the little ones will get themselves wet and the good girls (like me) wash the dishes... not on a sink with warm water, but with running, cold kani water.

Still can't play it, but the men and the younger guys can go on for hours

Aaaah.. I recall this game very well. I lost every single round!

Usually there are many conversations going on in the picnics. I seem to enjoy the part where they all sit and begin telling the latest jokes that they've heard. Then it will slowly move into politics issues and that's when the talk never ends. (Meanwhile, someone has to do the dishes!)

Sometimes it's just best to stick to what you can do well, in my case, believe it or not it is washing dishes.

This picture was taken moments before my camera went out of charge. Minutes after this all those kids (who all seem to be daring each other to have that tempting swim in the water) were all in the pool. I must point out this pool in Akre, fills up every single day with natural water. There is a man there who blocks it during the day for the kids, and lets it all go in the evening.

notice the rockmelons floating in the pool

My dear reader, you see, in places like these you don't book online a week or even better a month before. You just turn up earlier than other people and take a place. Usually in summer months when it gets a little more crowded areas are sectioned off and each family takes there own little area. A small payment for the entire day, and most of the time it is free of charge anyway. There are many who bring lights and blankets and sleep the night as well. That's an idea for you!

Just be the first and you have a variety of choices 

In Kurdish picnics you often see or encounter certain things that maybe very simple, but the meaning that they carry is spectacular. For example, in this last picnic we went to, the mother of a close family friend was really quiet the entire time, she would eat, pray, and sleep by the little waterfall, far from everyone but from her very strategic place she could see everything that was going on. Here daya gawra is pictured using her phone. Sadly I can't tell you if she was dialing a number, texting or miss-calling anyone. But it sure does tell you a lot about modern day Kurdistan.

Maybe she is Tweeting and I don't know

The nature back home is definately the ultimate way of releasing stress and really enjoying your time, mainly because it is enjoyed by close family, friends and relatives.

This water keeps flowing non-stop, it actually tastes and smells very pure!

And sometimes you come across some very special creatures:

My favourite animal

 But what I like most about the little picnics back home is that it makes you reailze the importance of the simple life. The beauty of the simple life. The life that isn't complicated. A life where you can be happy with the most minimum of things, a life where you live only by your needs. A life that I certainly yearn for... you go back to the time of the rocking cradle...

A local woman insisted that I visit.. during my visit I met baby Hama*.

I can talk about the hospitality of the people in outer city areas for every, but it will never reflect the reality. Dayki Hama (Hama's mother) 

Chay at the verandah of Hama's house

I miss that day, as its one of my last memories of back home. Though deep inside I am content, because I know there are somethings that won't change back home. I know that anytime I can go back and this will still be there. I can take a note pad and a pen and sit by the little waterfall, or maybe rest my head on daya gawra's lap. Meanwhile I will conclude this blog (by the way it is well past mid-night and I am certainly not going back to anything about Italy or Greece) by a photo that I took of my little angel M. S. M giving me a leaf. I put it in a little notebook after she gave it to me, and right now, it is here, with me!

Indeed Kurdistan has taught me that the greatest things in life are priceless

Shaw Bash!

**Wait for future blog entries :)

*sarchaw!   

*I actually forgot the baby's name, but there is a 80% chance that he was Hama anyway :) 

Under the rainbow

To my dearest and most loyal reader*,

Less than an hour ago, under the rainbow I said goodbye. My father had dropped me off and let me settle down, before going to Austria, and then back to here just to spend a day with me, before his return to Erbil.

For the first time, I saw a rainbow in such early hours of the morning, as I hugged him closely, I was observing how clear the colors of the rainbow looked in the sky. One of those moments where I felt that the arch colours in the sky had only come out to cheer me up, because I love it so much. A sign from the sky to tell me be strong. I decided a walk by the lake would be the ultimate thing to do, walking past the ducks. The rain began to sprinkle lightly. As usual, I picked up a leaf and carried it back inside.

This leaf... picked up a little while back- a cold, early morning walk, after the departure of my father

 Another leaf. Another memory. Another moment to remember. First time, after almost 22 years I am feeling far from baba (dad).

I could feel the way he felt. Leaving his eldest child and only daughter was tough. He didn't say it. I only felt it. I am still under the protection of his wings, even though he may be far from me. Still drowned in his love, even though I won't see it in his eyes every morning when I wake up. Still his baby child, though I am now fully independent.    

When you're a Kurdish girl, you don't leave home unless Mr. Prince Charming has found you and takes you on his white horse. It's a new emerging culture that was brought up and encouraged by the KRG's new plan to educate young people abroad then employ them back home, that has changed this recently.

Today, when it comes to Kurdish families, many are prepared to do the impossible to ensure their children are receiving the best possible education. It is inspired from our leaders, and from society, even the middle and lower classes. An educational opportunity is perceived to be a golden
opportunity.

feeling ashamed and embarrassed from the ducks that I didn't have anything to offer. I think they expected any guest at this time of the morning to have at least some bread

 As for baba, I will miss the times I returned home before sunset and saw him around the garden, planting something new almost every day, adding his little touches to the flowers, and the infinite other plants in the our yard. I remember, when we planted the first few trees, he'd do it on his own, saying: "I want your children to play under its shade". Now I know what he meant. Often I would put my bag down and we’d have a conversation, he'd start by showing me a new flower that has just blossomed, or allows me taste a new fruit, that is still bitter because it needs another few weeks to ripen. From there, I would begin: "today I….."

Kurdish fathers in general—but mine in particular—feel like they possess the universe when given that perfect tasting tea (which is definitely not a tea bag in hot water), their happiness often derives from the simplest things in life. I know baba was worried and to a degree upset that he was leaving me, I know it will take time to get used to Sazan's absence in the house. I know the first night he's in Erbil he will go and sit on my bed in my room (and if I know my dad well enough, he would take one of the notebooks on my bedside table and write me something), but I also know what it means for a Kurdish father to see his children succeed, they realize all their effort and sacrifice was worth it.

The girls here, about eight of them in my accommodation, are encountering the same feelings. When we sit around the dinner table in our pajamas and begin sharing our stories, it's all the same. We find the experience much more difficult than others because we are not used to this, though it is the support and encouragement of loved ones back home that is helping to finish this journey successfully.

I promise to blog about our days here later this week.   

* This blog has become such an important part of my life, that in the most difficult and happiest moments I write in it for you. Forgive me if I have changed direction recently. But it has become part of my life, and I promise to begin writing on life in Kurdistan and of Kurds, from now on. I have settled in. So no excuses!

Flying out from the nest

To my dearest reader, still the most loyal blog follower in the world…

Sorry for being disloyal* but what can I say life and its roller coaster ride has taken me away… today (correction: tonight!) I am not writing from a mountain top, I am not writing with little children pressing the laptop and playing with my hair, I am not writing surrounded by relatives discussing everything from Obama to the neighbour's baby; I am not writing by a waterfall in Bekhal, nor am I writing from the top of the citadel. No I am not in Khanaqin or Mandaly, and I haven’t passed Suli or Duhok. I am not in a village on a mountain top and no, I am not in the orphanage or the elderly people's home.

My dearest reader, after five years tonight I write to you from a distant land…. I have flown out of my nest. Tonight I am not writing from Kurdistan. No. I am not in Hawler.

A key in my hand to open a wide future...

I am writing from a small room, in a university accommodation all the way in the UK**.  I have made myself at home as much as possible; a Kurdish flag hung on the right, on the left (at the back of the door) a large poster of the Bekhal waterfall, a little more to the left on the bathroom door a poster of the Minaret,  and behind me a picture of the citadel. But in front of me, staring at me, is a picture of four people smiling (mu family!) and drawings illustrated by my dearest cousins Haval and Lava!

Exactly ten days have passed since I left home. What do I miss?

I miss

Listening to choni  (Kwi in Hawleri) and sarchaw

Relative gatherings and guests in the evenings

The fact that every day was a different day and barely anyone was running around catching up to their daily schedule

 

That 9 a.m. usually means 11:30 and half an hour means one-and-a-half hour

Going to a government office and being sent from room 6 to 8 then to 3 and then back to 6 before going to room 11 to collect stamps and signatures and realizing in the end I need to come back another three times before the job is done

Sitting on the couch flipping through Kurdish channels

Walking through Erbil Doctors' Road and complaining non-stop

The view of the citadel when driving

How cars don't always drive perfectly- let's face it, never drive perfectly!

Dolma, bryani, fasoolya and brnj and every other food that sparkles with unhealthy oil

I miss how everyone admits that they're on a diet when reaching out for another Baqlawa (a type of sweet you must have when dieting!)  

Home is not perfect, as you can well see it is drenched in its flaws… but home is home, with all its flaws, it remains the nest.

I promise this blog will uphold its pledge to bring you the best of Kurdistan… even though I may be far.

*Actually twice I wrote a blog entry, but decided not to publish it—too emotional for the context of this blog. But this time, I am going to click "publish" no matter what.

**where I am pursuing my postgraduate studies… trying to make a dream come true.

Goodbye - 1

Sunday Memoirs

It is probably my longest drive out of Erbil and the first of its kind. An hour earlier I picked up my visa to the UK.

As I was behind the wheel, my entire mind was with the little treasure humbly sitting in the handbag on the empty seat next to me; like a notebook it has very minimal information, and sadly it includes an abhorrent close-up picture of me. It's my passport?an Aussie passport with a British visa for a Kurdish girl living in Iraq. As confusing as this can get, I was just as confused about how I was feeling in those minutes and how I should be feeling.

Coincidently, the first song that came up on the radio on my trip back was something that I was hearing for the first time, and the chorus was exactly this: "Safar maka?" (meaning don't travel). Just what I needed to cry!

The entire journey back--from Khanzad back to Erbil--I would realize that it's reality. That's it. It's time to fly again, yet something inside me doesn't want to leave this place.

I remember five years and one month ago when I first set foot in Erbil. I had a little wish list. I would drive through the streets and wish for the petrol in the plastic containers to be eliminated. ?When are we going to have a petrol station," I would think to myself. As I was driving a little while back I saw a great petrol station that was well beyond my original wish. I gently smiled to myself.

I remember I wrote about how I wished for trees to be planted in the city. The smile grew wider as I saw the entire mid-section between both highways filled with a line of trees, and this goes for most of the new areas in Erbil.

And how can I forget the first article I ever wrote was about the miraculous driving. I titled it "Outrageous Road Rage." I was infuriated, and I wished for safer and organized roads in Erbil. Today (let's not exaggerate; driving is still not a delightful experience here?but?) at least there are speed cameras and the bumps on the roads are being removed. Of course the most prevalent change is that there are so many more women driving, whereas back then you could hand count them.

At that time I wished to have someplace to indulge in shopping. But believe me, I never wished for five extra grand malls to open in five years.

On the drive back I pass through the beautiful buildings of Mali Khanda (the orphanage), and once again I smile. I recollect times when I complained about the conditions of the elderly people's home and the orphanage. ?They live in appalling, heartbreaking conditions," I wrote, wishing to see them live in better surroundings. Recently, the elderly people's home moved to a stunning new building, and the happiest moments of my life in Erbil are the times when I am in Mali Xanda. The kids are in new houses filled with warmth and love.

I would observe how students studied and grumble over the antiqued education system; now as I leave a reformed curriculum is being implemented.

Some wishes came true, and the greater ones are still "pending." You never know, once I am back I might check off the others too.

Meanwhile, unlike the lyrics of the song on the radio today that repeated "safar maka, dlm ale natbinmawa?" (don't travel, my heart tells me I won't see you again), in my head I sing "dlm ale atbinmawa" (my heart says I will see you again, Erbil!).
This was part of the Memoirs column for last week

Khanaqini Days and Jezhn La Kurdistan!!

To my dearest reader,

This blog entry is a little different. I went for a trip with my family and wrote whenever I could, everyday. I didn't have internet access then, so I am just going to copy and paste what I have written in a word file. I have also taken pictures* and I will add these in where appropriate.

Day one:

I am off to the heart of Garmiyan, to the land of "Chooni Khaasi?" (instead of choni bashi), the closest point to the home of many of my ancestors. I am off to Khanaqin—minutes away from the Iran-Iraq border.

For every trip in Kurdistan there is an astound opportunity for it to be a learning discovery.. this is not going to be any different. I know it's going to be an unbelievable experience.

--

We are still on the road, but stopped at a little restaurant for a few of us to break our fast. it's been a long but easy travel so far. The mountains, the sunset and the quietness of the street is superb right now, any second we're going to hear the Mullah's call for evening prayers as we're ending the Ramadan days here in Kurdistan. Typical of my father he won't go on any trip without taking the little bird along. (This time he's also our guest; he is just like Dad's third child.)

The spoilt little one gets a rest during our trip....

--

We've arrived. I just noticed something, every time you hear a song about Khanaqin, the lyrics has to have Alwan in it (main river in Khanaqin) it looks amazing asI have seen it before. It gives life to the area. When we drove past almost two hours ago, I realized Alwan was gone. I ask some relatives in this house, they tell me that Iran has blocked off the water and they won't let it flow. I am infuriated right now! Can neighbours ever become good friends?

The Alwan river in Khanaqin not a drop of water

Day Two:  

You must come  by for a chay

Today was basically receiving guests at one of our relatives house and most of them had 'glayee' which is basically something that goes like this: "You never ask about us… why don't you visit… you must visit more often….here is the place of your relatives…" and this all ends with "Bakhwa you have to have dinner in our house today." Out of goodwill people here just don't understand that you are visiting for a limited time and you just can't visit everyone.

TIP: So what do you do? Sadly, sometimes you just have to lie. A white lie… maybe? Errr… yes? No? I know it's not right. But they will insist and insist. The easy way out: I am already invited tonight, and as for tomorrow I have an appointment.

Day two, other than receiving guests, talking, and talking and more talking after the evening meal for the first time in my life (which they thought was very appalling for a 21-year-old Kurdish girl) I was removing fresh gwez from the shell. I realized the tracksuit I had taken to wear at home seemed to stand out too much when being around the other women, so I asked for what they call a kras (or in Arabic dishdasha) most the women were either wearing that or Kurdish clothes.

Similar to a girls night out.. in some way

As I was learning the art of removing gwez from its shell I realized how back home we take even the gwez we eat for granted. I had almost forgotten that they actually come in shells and someone breaks them out before I indulge in my "brain food". A few of the girls were in a circle two or so meters away from the grownups, they'd silently do their work and once a while through in a comment about what was being discussed in the larger gathering.

Also today, two of the women making 'kuba' For some reason women seem to just cook here, always

From the ones above I made only ONE, can you guess which? - the answer to this question is at the end of the blog entry, scroll down

Day Three:

Since I am a guest no one is letting me do anything, so I am sitting on the tiles on the kitchen floor watching three women—and two girls—prepare dinner for their family.

From a young age they learn to be friends with cooking!

One is washing some dishes, another is on the stove frying what looks like eggplants from here, and another two are sitting directly in front of me cleaning sawza (greens) this will be washed well and eaten alongside the food. The younger girl is selecting some cucmber and tomatoes,  I am guessing she is going to do the salad.

Food is ready!!! emmmmmm

As I observe these women, any person coming in can point at me as the odd one out .I just wish I knew what these women thought of me. What could they be saying: "what a lazy girl!" or they might be thinking "she is going to be the worse wife" or they'd probably think I cannot get through life. Afterall a women here is weighed according to the degree of house work she can manage.

The women would clean the sawza (greens) and talk away...

Sitting here, watching this small kitchen I realize that food is a major component of life here. It's not like back home that you leave work and pick up a Pizza or a burger sandwich on your way home. To come down to it, family time—and ties—here is to a limited extent stronger than back in Erbil. They don't work by a schedule, but I have realized people here have an unofficial daily plan: breakfast, lunch, dinner. 

--

After dinner:

She knows what she's doing!

Unlike back home where if I cook I have to go to the kitchen alone, here women socialize when they prepare the meal. What I found amazing is that the women prepare the meal with so much love and passion.

I just returned from the kitchen with a plate of food (second dinner tonight: at home I either have what mum calls a bird's dinner or I have a fruit instead) but I guess here it's just the atmosphere. Everyone is always eating, it's part of socializing, or maybe part of a women's duty to keep serving food.

Day Four:

It's past 11 p.m. and I know it is going to be a very, very, very long night.

I am sitting on the verge of the door—the door between the kitchen and the verandah—a woman who has a salon has brought her beauty bag and come over, the six other females in the house are all taking turns doing eye brows, dying their hair, and basically preparing for Jezhn. I never thought about making an appointment at a beauty center just because it's Jezhn, but the women here are all excited. They use the sink in the verandah to wash their hair, a few lights outside to see exactly where to pluck the eye brows (I must admit, they already look beautiful). Their kids are everyone, some outside, a few others playing with the hose.

I can't take my mind off from the ksh-ksh-ksh sound of half a kilogram of gold bracelets around some of their wrists.

Not all of them were like this one, but this gives you the idea. Ahhhh Kurdish women and their gold!

I would hide back a smile, or a giggle every time I hear comments such as: "My husband doesn't like my hair short, so don't cut much," another would say, "My husband says you can do anything but don't dye your hair yellow [he obviously doesn't like blonde hair]…"

Miss Salon Women looks at my messy hair tied back; she doesn't look too pleased and offers to "add a little bit of yellow [blonde highlights], and cut a fringe" but she understands my No. I-am-fine-thanks-smile.

I am intrigued by how excited these women are for the Jezhn. I can hear them talk about the fact that some of them haven't prepared kulicha (jezhn sweets) yet, another one says that she has prepared the dough and is going home to bake it tonight. I remember for the past two Jezhn holidays I would drop by at Astera on Regay Kirkuk and pick up a few kilos of prepared kulicha an evening before. These women actually sit down and prepare it for nights.

Most of them have already bought Jezhn clothes for their children. I ask one of the little girls how she has prepared for Jezhn. She tells me she has bought blue top that has a skirt with it, and same colour sandals.         

Day Five:

Yesterday I was saying how some of the women had made Kulicha, well the highlight of today was making kulicha with the family that I am staying with. We are obviously very behind, because from yesterday's salon session it was clear that most women had already prepared their sweets for Jezhn. So today was the big day. I never realized it was such a big deal. I took some pictures just to show how team work and leadership was practiced in kulicha making.

Me trying to help (pouring the oil) If you are wondering about ingrediants, there was almost 2 liters of oil alone!

Every single person, from the youngest child to the eldest women is involved in the process. Today there were 11 girls and women as well as a one 5-year old all taking part. The duties are distributed evenly.

The dough, which is the most important component and a determinant of how the end kulicha will taste, is made by only two women; almost 30 minutes later and it becomes a team project. One is responsible for the oven, another few putting stuffing into the pastry, a few others are flattening the dough, putting it onto the oven tray, coating it with egg and then putting it into the oven.

The kitchen floor is a place of women's social time, interaction, team work and lastly preparing meals.

Everything seemed to work smoothly. As I write this I have a have a plate full of kulicha next to me screaming my name.

Yup! The same little girl.

Day Six:

Today is a lousy day in one of the surrounding villages of Khanaqin. To set the scene there is no electricity, I'm on the ground (no carpet) inside the room, but the windows and doors are all open bringing in some wind. The birds outside are singing, and it seems as though the breeze of cool air coming through the door on my right is also bringing in the sound of the birds. There is one fly that won't leave me, and right now as it sits on the top of the laptop screen I am resisting not to slap the screen and break it into pieces. The little monster has probably bit me 50 times.

Meanwhile I am wishing that the chickens in the garden won't invite themselves inside the house. Even though I am pretending like I wouldn't mind their company. After all, how shameful to be scared of a chicken.

Some of the people here sleep till 2:30 and 3:00 p.m. so when they wake up they only have few hours and then break their fast—isn't it cheating? What is more interesting is that they stay awake all night, the men play cards or dominoes, the younger boys go out, they have teams where they also play games outside and the women get together. They either talk, eat, watch a series on TV or use to do their prayers. Life here is simple. I like it. Tomorrow is Jezhn and many of the neighnbours brought dishes of sweets. The Kulicha we made yesterday along with some other sweets and baqlawa are were put on plates and the little girl, Ronak, took them one-by-one to the neighbours. Sometimes the neighbour emptied our sweets and filled it with her own, sending it back with Ronak, "Tell your mum this is from dalege (mother of) XX, tell her aydedan mubarak bood/ Jezhntan pirozbet (happy Eid)."

--

After breaking our fast we went to one of the houses down the road, she had invited all the women, they prayed together. I couldn't help but see a number of pictures on the wall, the family had obviously had martyrs, the men in the pictures looked young.

Between the readings I learned a lot.

Everyone seems to be talking about their daughter-in-law. The more faqeer (vulnerable) she is the better! When a mother-in-law introduce her new daughter-in-law (because bless her she has eight sons, and a new daughter-in-law everyday) she says "ooooooo ya fra faqeera" in the luri dialect or in sorani (amayan har zor faqira) – this one is very vulnerable.

From my 15 minute observation I came down to one conclusion: The more educated she (bride) is, the more she talks, the more she knows about the world then she's not faqeer and probably not good for her son.

Every 20-year-old in the room had a son or a daughter in her lap. This was a real reflection of how the society here functions, this phenomena is less widespread in the major cities like Erbil. However, evidently in towns and villages-- early marriages and early birth is still taking place.   

Day Seven:

There are two shrines in Khanaqin, Bawa Mahmi and Khedr Zna. Since I had been to Khedr Zna I lobbied to us to visit Bawa Mahmi this time. Those going inside would kiss the door or the ground of the shrine as soon as they entered.

The Bawa Mahmi Shrine on top of a little hill in a village in Khanaqin

 Many would come in and ask for something, when that request happens then they come in again and give out sweets to the visitors.

I make a humble request and tie a knot

I noted an elderly women had brought her unwell child, I heard her praying loudly inside asking for his recovery. There was also a green cloth, you are supposed undo a knot, then make a request and knot it again. All of those I went with did this, so I decided to also make a request and the tie a knot (if it comes true, I will let you know what it was).

Two women reading the prayers before entering the old shrine

Religion and spirituality is a beautiful thing in life, and in those moments inside the shrine that side of me appeared much stronger. I remember I left feeling more empowered, and thankful. The little room, had young, old; men and women visiting it. Inside you don't feel you're above anyone. You don't feel like we live in a dirty unjust world. At the end, everyone bends down and places their forehead on the ground. 

It was a definite highlight of the visit.

Inside Bawa Mahmi in Khanaqin. (Still can't rotate a picture on blogger...)

Couldn't help but notice this little boy sitting by the window, as his mother made her prayers...

Later—like everyone else—we'd drive a little further down the hill, nearby some trees and had a little picnic.

Under the these Khanaqini trees were we :)

Back home!

For the break I didn't walk in the world's fanciest city with buildings reaching the sky, nor was I in the midldle of designer labels and sports cars. It was a simple family trip but it was another one of those times where the encounter taught me life-long lessons. The people of Khanaqin are very warm hearted, loving and caring. I wish we were all like that, but with what's happening in city life, we're—sadly—starting to change for the worse. I am just glad there are some places where true Kurdishness can still be observed in people's everyday life.  

If you have read this far, I just want to bring to your attention that the bird we took along is now adopted by one of my cousins. I don't know how dad gave him away. It was as though he was give up a child for adoption "he likes to eat…..if you can in the mornings close the doors and windows and open his cage…. Make sure you….." he was repeating this to another one of my cousins who just happens to have a soft side for birds. Kurdish men.... as strong as they are, they have a soft side somehow.

ANSWERS:

All pictures taken by me for the purpose of this blog only. I would take pictures of the food and they'd ask me if I had ever seen cooked food. Little do they know I'm documenting to the greatest and dearest blog followers :) 

Basa! Enough! Kafi!

To the world's greatest blog follower*

The family is packing, the first thing that came to my mind when I realized we're travelling was to make a blog entry before I leave. I have made an escape to write this blog entry before someone finds me and yells out: "Sazaaaaaaaaan!!"

The best thing that our students in UKH did at the time was put together this HUGE Kurdish flag, it's become our symbol. Where ever you see it, know that this is UKH spirit

This was a random unexpected morning call trip. Jezhn (eid) is around the corner, and while most people like to celebrate in big cities we take the opportunity to go to villages, towns etc… I always return refreshed. I enjoy the company of the simple people over there.

While I celebrate Jezhn I also realize there are people of my greater family who are under attacks, who are being bombarded. Recently little children were massacred as they were with their family leaving a mountain escaping bombardment from one of our neighbouring countries.

No matter how proud I am as a Kurd, there are often times where I sigh and let out a long "Aaaakh" this week I set free many "aaakhs". Iran attacking from their side, Turkey from another and even within Iraq there were attacks on Kurds on areas that are neighbours to my hometown of Mandaly.

We really had enough

I re-read the first line of my diary entrance on the day of the demonstrations in Erbil a few days back against Turkey's recent air attacks on Kurdish soil. In big, bold scribble writing I had written: "for god sakes, enough is enough!"

Indeed, enough.

Thanks to Narin B. Qaradaxi, Bewar Rwandzi , Ashna Shareff, Sara Sinjari and few other girls who helped with posters, organizing protests and making everything run smoothly. The guys did a outstanding job too. So proud of UKH graduates. Their motivation and dedication pushed this a long way

The picture of the little girl with her body parts shredded to pieces remains in front of my eyes and visits my dreams every single night. For the sake of that innocent child, I took on the streets of Erbil to call out "Enough!" for the sake of the soul of that little girl, I write words of anger and resentment. That innocent child is not a stranger to me, she is my sister, my loved one, that innocent young girl could just be a part of me.

These two kids and their parents Kurds from Turkey... I guess they stood against the young girl their age who was killed by the warplanes earlier in the week

We endured the Anfal, we suffered the consequences of Halabja, we've experienced deportations, mass killings and have felt the pain of chemical attacks and genocide. Our grandparents—and parents—fought side by side with the mountains, and we managed to begin a new page in our history books. As Kurds we stood up and built. We never gave up. I am not ashamed to say that we were almost entirely alone on this journey, no one held our hands.

My hand, holding the hand of Ashna Shareff, a dear friend, the nicest blend of colours around her wrist. Thanks Ashna and Narin who took their time early in the morning to create ribbons for demonstrators

As a Kurd I know too well that it was the atrocious mind of enemies that caused the massacres written in our history pages. It is now the year 2011, in the 21^st century. At any cost, the blood of any Kurdish child will not go down the drain. No innocent young girl, on the lap of her mother should be shattered to pieces, with her face burned, her limbs broken, and her brain out from one of her ears.

Close friend and blogger Bewar Rwandizi also in this picture

Enough is enough.

Let a nation live. How hard can it be?

We are educated on the western curriculum that teaches the Westphalia state system; the right to self determination, the right to democracy and the basic right to live.

The "right" repeated over and over again, the "right" which we just don’t have. The pain kills.

The crowd of demonstrators in Erbil

What don't I have that other citizens of states across the world have? I have a rich culture, and a unique language; I have a bloody history and a land where I belong. What does it take for you to recognize me? 

I'm surrounded by the world's most amazing girls-- they inspire me more and more as each day goes by with their passion, love and motivation

 I took out the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. I read article after article, to the point that I began to sniff. For me, as a Kurd, as I was reading, that declaration was a checklist, in my head I would make arguments whether or not I could tick—or cross— some of the articles. At the end if it were an exam, I would fail. There were more crosses than ticks.

Peace. That's what we're asking for

But you know what? One day we will have all our rights. The power of walking in a street with the Kurdish flags in both hands swaying in the air and chanting out loud, you feel empowered like you have never felt before. You feel like you are expressing and screaming the words that the innocent children who lost their life would have screamed out if they could leave their graves and protest now.

Young Kurds feeling it's their responsibility to speak up

Another one of those days that I can spend the entire night writing in my diary about, another one of those hours where it will be made history in Mandalawi's life, another one of those instances where I can raise my head up, look into the sky in such a way where the sun's rays will water my eyes—look up and say "I'm a proud Kurd. I will be as strong as my only friends— as strong as the mountains."

Me in the morning of the demonstration (notice it's Ramadan) with a group of friends preparing some posters

Jezhntan Pirozbet in advance- see you when I return.

MUM: "SAZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN" ooooops!! Someone is in trouble.

*Proud to have a new follower to the blog, and a newly arrived member to the Mandalawi family S. M. K. - waxerhati.

A part of this blog entry has made up my "Memoirs" column in the Kurdish Globe this week. Some pictures taken by me, but the really good ones are taken by my great friend Sara S. Sinjari :) I bet your wondering why some of them looked so good.... because I didn't take them!!