"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!

Hawler through their eyes...

My dear, most loyal readers*

I have been blogging for a while now--and if you're also a blogger you would know how it feels when you hear from people who read your entries-- it just feels special. So, more than three later I have some followers* (a few. But it's enough to let me keep writing). In regards to yesterday's entry I got an email (yes, an email from someone who actually reads this blog), I decided to share it with you. You might say that I am writing some of the entries in such a way only because I am a Kurd. But here is something from an outsider in Kurdistan (but always remember: outsiders are always sar sar o sar chaw [on our heads & eyes! if that makes any sense]) I didn't obtain permission to publish this, therefore, the name shall remain anonymous!

so.. here we go:

"Hi

I don’t know you like or you are not pleased to see my email. But I am writing to let you know that I was reading your .blog. I am not a usual Blog reader. But I found your Blog while browsing about Kurdistan.

On Friday 11th march I decided to have my prayers in the big mosque near my hotel ( Erbil international Sheraton hotel) and after the prayers I decided to walk towards Minara park as one of my friend told me that there near to this area is the grave (Marqad) of Prophet Ozair.. Well I found a small mosque like building but the door was closed and there was noting written on it . The other thing I noticed that day was extra amount of security on the roads. I was thinking that today due to this especial day the government is expecting some protest so they have this extra arrangement. At that time I hade a mix feeling.. Should I go back immediately to hotel or just see what’s going on.. well to be honest a bit scared as well.. but i continue walking. first towards the hotel and than I decided to eat some thing near citadel. There were sounds of load horns and songs from citadel. Than i have again seen many roads closed. and a lot of security and a lot of police with shields disappearing in a police station .it scared me. But than i was near citadel area and have see some of the people are there. some shops were open. I move more forward and I can see 100s of people in front of citadel waving flags. My fears calm down a bit and i have decided to go more forward. Now I was with in the crowd of people who were waving flags of different parties and also Kurdistan flags. Young people were dancing on some songs.. The whole seen was marvellous. It was really nice to see these people celebrating. But what was the real occasion i don’t know at that time but have only the hint that it is there national day. But it was for me really amazing. It remind me our old days when we celebrate our independence day but its no more like that. But this seen was also different. I have never danced in my live , may be because i am shy but on that music and on the style Kurdish people dance, i was feeling some thing with in me to dance with them. Than I was feeing more hungry and decided to move from there and come back to hotel, and in my way i have seen more and more people coming towards citadel .. it was really a nice experience and i can see that in your blog too.

I like Kurdistan, the more i read about it the more i like it. I have liking to it before i decided to came here. Now I am here. I really love it. The most amazing thing here is the nice people and your culture. I like these clothing’s .. That’s why i brought one for my one year old son.

I don’t know why i am writing to you all this but may be to let you know that I like it..

Sorry If I have wasted your time…."

There you have it.


*Mum officially resigned from reading the entries, Kulka has been quiet and not posting much--but she's on her way to Kurdistan for the first time! thanks to some influence from my blog ;) so my loyal readers are O.H, H.A, A.K, Kulka and Taboula!! :) I hope you realize all these entries are written for you four!

Uprising! Raparin!

To the dearest readers*

Today, 11 March, was a special day (the anniversary of the Kurdish uprising in Erbil), although most of the days in March are special in their own right. Last year I remember it was my final year at Uni and for the first time in my life I celebrated Raparin (uprising) day like never before. The feeling was different. I can't explain it in words, but I knew this year I wanted to feel the same way. So I got all colored up- Red, White, Green and Yellow! I chose to dress and accessories in the colors of the Kurdish flag rather than affiliation to any political party.

I basically left a meeting and followed my ears first—to loud sound of car horns—then, we then began following the crowd, no one knew where just around the streets. But the roundabout on 30 meter road was definitely a highlight. We were there for almost two hours.

This has almost become a tradition. On days like these Kurds accessories their vehicles—bikes, motorbikes, cars (old and new) trucks, and anything else that has even one wheel— they buy as many flags as they possibly can and take on the streets. Everyone smiling to each other, clapping, and putting on LOUD, REALLY LOUD (reallyyy loud) halparke songs that makes your shoulders move automatically.

I preferred to see more Kurdish colors than colors affiliated to different political parties, however, I saw both (considering the fact that I was in Erbil, it was normal to see more of one particular color than another) it was a sea of yellow and some green here and there.

I couldn't believe that often I was sitting at home on my couch with a nice cup of Nescafe watching those people on my screen and today I was there. Watching is something, but seeing is another. The general mood was absolutely amazing. We began our day at home, as we watched the President's address live then gradually made our way out in the early afternoon, and returned after dark. As I write this entry I am watching television—live broadcast— the streets are stick packed and people are still screaming, dancing, and waving flags.

You see certain things and wish that it was different. And you see other things and smile to yourself. I enjoy seeing Kurds happy. I often feel we have become a nation that is continuously seeking reasons to smile, to celebrate, to dance, to rejoice. Kurds deserve to smile. They deserve to feel secure about their future.

So, there you go. If you watched from your couch in some corner of the world today and said to yourself: "What they're doing is crazy!" then just realize that today, I, as well was part of that!

Putting aside my political affiliation, my religion, my background—today, I was out there as a Kurd, celebrating with my fellow Kurdish citizens.

* Yes! You read correctly-- Readers! I was telling a few friends about my day and I wouldn't send them any pictures. "See my blog tonight!" That way they have no other choice. Thus, I am almost certain there are going to be atleast two or three people reading this entry. :)

I know I'm not the perfect photographer, but please note that all pictures were taken by ME- today! For the purpose of this blog only.

Beauty of Yesterday and Today

To my dearest reader*
I am going to do a little photo blog for you in the coming week or so about Salons in Erbil. There is one in every neighborhood and almost one in every main road. It is superb business. As a matter of fact I went to a local salon--or beauty shop-- just last weekend for a trim and I came back with information about which person in the neighborhood is getting married, which is getting divorced, which in-laws are good with their daughter-in-law and which are really bothering her. I knew about how much gold one of the grooms did and even witnissed an arguments between a bride-to-be and her sister-in-law. What an experience!

Let me clarify something, there are salons in Erbil where you will not notice any of this. These include the Lebanese Beauty Center (on Shorsh road!) who pamper you to the extent that you feel like you are Miss Universe, then there are the ones in Ankawa and other places across Erbil. Some have a reputation for charging a lot of money-- I don't know if its for the coffee they serve you or for washing your hair twice even though you washed it before going there!

It is all about your financial capabilities, some people go and do their nails, because they "can't make it for lunch because of the manicure appointment!" I really don't like to see this emerging culture here, but it seems like it is already appearing. Then there are the neighborhood salons that provide the basic beauty necessities of any woman including an average middle class who might be a house wife or a government employee.

I wait for my turn--in this one there are no appointments, first come best served-- so I take the time to 1) observe 2) Ears drop. On purpose! I must admit after almost two hours I came out a whole lot wiser, and here is why:

The really pretty girl: This was a really realllly pretty (no. Beautiful) girl in her amazing Kurdish clothing, long black hair, asking to get her make up done, she was one of the bride's sisters I guess. She asked the beautician she wants 'natural make up'. But I can swear it took 45 minutes to complete and the base was three layers of foundation stroked by a brush that would otherwise be used for painting with water colors.
This really made me think of the word beauty among Kurdish girls today and our grandmothers years back. If you're a girl just take a look at the top of your dressing table or by your bathroom sink at the number of beauty products you use to keep "Beautiful". After I returned home I looked at a picture we have of my grandmother when she was young, it's an old black and white picture (that looks like its been brought from the world's oldest museum). She looks... beautiful. I observe her physical features closely and wonder to myself: What did beauty mean to my grandmother? How did she keep herself looking so great? There was certainly no Vaseline, Dove, Olay, Head and Shoulders, Pantene; nor was there Fair and Lovely, Maybeline or Loreal.

I do a little bit of research, using a close friend, Google, he tells me that beauty, including that of the radiant, natural looking skin that we all want is influenced greatly by stress. I don't need to research the cause of stress, from life's experiences I have learned a simple equation:

Increase Awareness + Increase Development = 2(stress) + decrease beauty

So according to the above equation, maybe my grandmother didn't have the stress that deal with in our everyday lives today. Which brings me to another equation:

Simple Life = Simple Stress + Healthy Skin = Natural Beauty

Continuing my research Google tells me that a healthy skin depends on a healthy meal. Today we eat fast food and canned fruits, and try to be on a diet at the same time. Whereas back then they ate natural, fresh food and didn't have to count the burning calories because it was burned during their daily chores--which certainly did not include sitting with the laptop on their laps clicking the mouse to see different Facebook statuses.

Here, I should bring your attention to yet another equation-- I know it maybe becoming a little too much for a single blog entry, but even before you learn these equations you practice them already:

Increase Technology = Decrease Beauty

Google informs me of another secret for natural beauty: Beauty Sleep. It is important woman sleep for a certain time of hours at certain times of the day. I know for sure Daya Gawra (Grandma, or Nana) was in her deep dreams by 7 or 8 p.m. the latest, and woke up to the sound of the roosters at sunrise. Today? well... most women won't sleep until after they see Mohanad (on MBC 4 every night) download YouTube clips and chat to friends they will see tomorrow anyway.. then maybe, just maybe they decide to sleep. Television and technology is definitely a factor behind less natural beauty. Then the next morning even concealer seems to be not working to hide the black circles.

Back then there was no pollution in the air by all the cars, according to Google this can be also harmful to the skin. Finally, Google tells me that water is an important factor for healthy, and naturally beautiful skin (probably one of the only source of liquids that my grandmother had access to drinking). This is when I ask Google does that include Cappuccino and Coca-Cola?!

Kurdistan fits into all the equations explained above. Beauty is, unfortunately, becoming a priority, we seem to be a society that judges on appearance most--if not all-- of the time.

* Mum isn't following anymore these days. So I hope there is one of you out there who is reading... :) I appreciate your time.

Pictures taken from Flicker by a user called Kurdistan. This blog entry was inspired by my Memoirs column in the "Globe" this week