Kurdistan Trilogy: Part 2

Iraqi Kurdistan is a semi-autonomous region in the north of Iraq. Is has its own military, its own parliament, and its own border security, and is about as close as you can get to being an independent country.  I had 7 weeks to spend in Iraqi Kurdistan, the kind of length that is in between visiting and settling in. Once again I would be teaching English, which of course is generally seen as one of the greater teaching needs throughout the Middle East. Unfortunately for me the Arabic I had struggled to learn and was quickly forgetting is not a greatly appreciated language in Kurdistan; though many people speak it, it is generally associated with the oppressive Arabisation that Saddam sought to inflict on the people here, and so one wins significantly more points by trying to speak Kurdish. 

The Kurdish people have very rarely lived an autonomous lifestyle. Abdullah Ocalan talks about them suffering under the Assyrian and Scythian empires, being conquered later by Alexander the Great, coming under Arab rule following the rise of Islam, being invaded by the Mongols a few centuries later, then coming under Ottoman rule in the 16th century. Britain and France are famous for redrawing borders in the middle east following World War One, and, like Palestine, the Kurdish people were largely ignored. Rather than having their own land, the Kurdish people found themselves divided between four different nations; Turkey, Iraq, Iran and Syria. All nations sought to suppress any Kurdish hopes for independence, and some even sought to eradicate Kurdish culture altogether, forcing the people to speak the national language, whether Arabic, Persian or Turkish, and even refusing to acknowledge the existence of a separate Kurdish identity. In more recent years the Kurdish people of Iraq of course suffered a great deal under the Saddam regime.

The sun sets in Erbil

At the lake

Over the past decade the Kurdish people have carved out their own semi autonomous region consisting of three major cities; Dohuk, Erbil and Sulimania. I am living in Duhok. For a while I lived with a lovely family from America, who were preparing to pack up and leave. They were very tall and kind, and coached basketball to teenagers in Dohuk. They also had two very cute children, the younger of which I would often hear asking "where's Jonny" anytime I was in the other room, which never failed to warm my heart. Once that family returned to America I moved in with another friend I had met upon arriving in Dohuk. It just so happened he was a doctor, so I was living in a dormitory in the middle of the emergency hospital. I would often need to catch taxis back to the hospital in the evening. More than one conversation, in my limited Arabic, translated like this,
"Tawory Barushke (Barushke emergency hopital)"
"Tawory?"
"Yes"
"Doctor?"
"No. I teach english."
?
"I live in the hospital."
"Why?"
"It's my home. My friend is a doctor"  (I lately found out that what I actually said here was "I'm a house." Which would have been an even more bemusing reply).

This company is quite open about the evil roots of its desire for profit.

 

"I can think of at least two things wrong with that title."(Nelson Muntz).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sL102pyaLg

I sometimes wondered how much I fit in here with my curly dark hair and browned skin - do I simply look like a local? I asked my class about this, who said I would look like a local, but two factors made me obviously a foreigner. Number 1; I obviously care nothing about how my hair looks (which is only partly true), and number 2; I carry a backpack. No one carries backpacks here. I guess that's why some locals stare at me when I walk around. I like to think they look at my backpack and think to themselves, "good gravy, what a great idea. That's so convenient." But I doubt it. No one likes to be different here with the way they look, though most individuals can't help but express their own unique personalities.

One question my class asked me was to explain the difference between the word 'house' and 'home'. Needless to say, the entire plot of the film The Castle was shared for the remainder of the lesson. 

This shot was taken in Israel, but it is a practice common throughout the Middle East. For an area of the globe in drought for most of the year, it is amazing to see the way people use water. Cleaning concrete is an essential part of Kurdish culture too, and even though it rains once every four months here, streets often flood with puddles as people hose dust from sidewalks outside their shops or homes. Every day I see it, and every day I think of this:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pn4Frslsq8M&feature=kp.  Less amusingly, I also think of the wetlands I visited in Jordan, which are now exhausted of almost all the abundant lakes that one existed there. 

Kurdistan has remained safe for over ten years. The most dangerous thing I have done while in the region is drive in a taxi to neighbouring city Erbil. 180km with sporadic overtaking is never fun, especially when you sit in the middle and cannot help but see out the front window. Of course, new challenges have arisen for Kurdistan over the past week, and it is difficult to see what will happen. It's been difficult sitting and reading about what people in neighbouring areas are going through. This entry can't help but sound like lighthearted claptrap when placed alongside what is happening down the road. I might wait a while before I write about that.

Kurdistan Trilogy: Part 1

I only had one night in Istanbul, but it was enough to see what an incredible city it was. The size of the city became apparent after my bus trip from the eastern edge of the city to the city centre took over two hours. Being used to driving through rock, rock and more rock, what struck me was the amount of water and forest, along with the completely different style of architecture. Arriving at Taksim Square I then had to find myself a taxi (unfortunately I picked one with a dodgy meter which seemed to inflate standard prices by ten) to my hostel in Sultanahmet, the old city and tourist capital of Istanbul. I then proceeded to be labelled insane by the hostel manager, who turned out to be extremely nice and helpful, for only staying in Istanbul for one night. He was, of course, quite right.

Having only one night in Istanbul made it difficult to know what to see, so instead of trying to take in as many spectacular tourist attractions as I could, I instead decided to sit by the sea for a good hour next to an old man who had stopped to rest during his walk home. I did, however, also manage to fit in a good look round the famous Blue Mosque, and enjoy some Baklava with some friends I had met in Palestine.

Seaside just outside Sultanahmet

The spectacular Blue Mosque, or 'Old Blue', as one might affectionately call it.

The inner court of the Blue Mosque

Inside the Blue Mosque, enjoying some quiet time

Old Blue by night

Call me crazy, and many people did, but I decided to get a bus from Istanbul to Dohuk, my next destination, in the north of Iraq. Unfortunately for me my ipod self imploded the evening before this 25 hour bus journey (and, suspiciously, revived the day after I arrived in Dohuk...), so I was left with good movies with bad Turkish overdubs, acres and acres of scenery and The Count of Monte Cristo on Kindle. I was amazed at the poor quality of the overdubs, particularly for the film Looper. Joseph Gordan-Levitt sounded like a Turkish James Earl Jones, and Bruce Willis lost all charisma with the absence of his 'I know more about everything than anybody else around here' tone of voice. Far more well chosen were the voices for Skyfall - Judi Dench even managed to sound a little bit posh.  

During the trip I found myself crossing highways to find inconspicuous spots in order to save the lire locals charged for toilet stops along the way, more out of principal than any sort of budget restraints. I also began to fade dramatically, mourning the death of my ipod, and getting extremely agitated at the overflow of noise from the headphones of people around me. Hours 8-13 were by far the worst. After that you sort of accept your new life as a bus passenger and begin experiencing a slight numbing feeling, and could probably carry on for another 25 hours for all I know. An unceasing journey however was not my fate, and I knew we were getting close to the border when we entered into the Kurdish region of Turkey. I knew, furthermore, that we were in the Kurdish region of Turkey when the roads began to break apart, potholes emerged from all angles, and townships began to take on a much simpler village look. It was clear Turkey invested no money toward infrastructure in this region, for the rest of the country was very well developed. Kurdistan, of course, has its own long and arduous history, as complicated and sensitive as Palestine. I just knew a whole lot less about it. I guess now was a good time to learn. 

I emerged from my Theoden slumber at the Iraqi border, at which I was the only person not from Turkey or Iraq and thus the only person who had no idea what he was doing, having to rely on the irritated and extremely vague pointings of pretty much everyone - passenger and border official alike. Eventually I successfully got the stamp I needed and proceeded to enter the safest area in one of the most dangerous countries in the world; Iraqi Kurdistan.