Humanity in the Residency Office

Background:
-2.5 million refugees and internally displaced persons in the region of Iraqi Kurdistan; some have basic needs cared for, others do not.
-CPTers from foreign lands receive a 15 day visa on entry to the region, then they must visit the residency office to request a year visa.
-our team mate Mohammed is our sponsor. He must go with us to this office.

Last Thursday morning I made my last trip to the residency office. I needed a 25 day extension to my year visa to allow me to stay until 17 March when my last plane flies out of Iraqi Kurdistan.

I really don't like the residency office. The rules change every few months and there is the feeling that anyone can, at any minute, question the legitimacy of our query. This time there was a new office to enter and a new signature to obtain. Mohamed and I sat on the black plastic couches awaiting our turn to speak to the official.

As we waited for his answer an older woman with a head-covering entered and sat down. She did not have papers or a passport. The official gestured to her to speak. I could tell that her language was Arabic, so the only words I could recognize was Ranya (a small city two hours away) and Kirkuk (the oil-rich disputed city, also two hours away). She told her story with the beginning of tears in her eyes. He listened patiently, said a few words,  reached for his wallet and pulled out 15,000 Iraqi Dinars ($13). I really could not believe what I was seeing, but I did have a very warm feeling toward this man.

After we received his signature I asked Mohamed to clarify my observations. The woman had fled the violence in Kirkuk with her family and now lives in Ranya. She asked him if he could organise the ones working at the office to give her some donations because the family had nothing. He told her he could not because his employees rely on government salary which has not been paid in 3 months. However, he had money that he could personally give to her. Thus he handed over the 15,000 ID.

This incident is rich on so many levels. It speaks to  the abject poverty of the millions of refugees and IDPs.  It tells of the government workers (approximately 75% of the population) who have not been paid in 3-5 months.  And it shows that even an official  can show compassion. He had the power to  call the security guards to throw her out but he did not and gave her so much more than a usual donation to the poor.

Two weeks ago our  CPT trainees posted a video. It tells the story of the government workers of Iraqi Kurdistan who have not received their salaries. Some are on strike, waiting for the day that the government finds the funds to pay them. Others are still working, serving the public and also waiting.

"My tent is beautiful"

Ahmed* watched his brother disappear in the smoke. “The bomb hit and I couldn't even see him to save him. I haven't seen him since. Then we had to quickly run away”. As the Iraqi militias faced the ISIS invaders, Ahmed fled with his wife, three small children, and 8 members of his extended family. He left his farm with its fertile fields, vineyards and orchards to live in an tent camp just outside Sulaimani, Iraqi Kurdistan. He says, “We have not slept one night in a house since we left Salahadeen 18 months ago. It is so cold here. I had never seen snow before.”

The world media has given news about ISIS and the Syrian refugees that fled to nearby countries. They have also told of Ezidis(Yazidis) and  Christians of Iraq who left everything behind to live as internally displaced persons (IDP) in another region of Iraq. However, there is another group whose story has rarely been told- the Sunni Iraqi Arabs of the province of Salahadeen.

Allied forces hit this region hard during the latest Iraq War. Then in the summer of 2014, ISIS invaded these impoverished communities.  As they are Sunni Muslim, ISIS overlooked them, as long as they obeyed the religious laws decreed by the militants. However, in central Iraq the Shia militia have the goal of pushing ISIS out of the region. They reclaimed the land, leaving the families living there in a precarious position. The militia viewed them as collaborators or even as part of ISIS. They were forced to flee for their lives using underground routes to reach the IDP camps of Iraqi Kurdistan.

Ahmed knows that there is nothing to return to in his former home. “I used to be a farmer”, he says sadly.  Soon after their escape his neighbor sent photos of the house burning and of the militia chopping down all of his fruit trees.  The text on the phone read, “You're all ISIS and Saddamis, We will do the same to you that Saddam did to us for 30 years”. This message references the cruelty that Saddam Hussein laid on the Shia people.

The IDP camp in Sulaimani is not perfect. Ahmed still has anxiety that he might be falsely accused of being an ISIS member and that Kurdish security forces will imprison him or send him back to the danger.  Their new home in the camp is small and the neighbours are very close and noisy. When the temperature is cold in winter they cannot use kerosene heaters in the night for fear of fire. Then in the summer the unbearable heat beats down on the treeless camp. However, the canvas with the large UNHCR letters painted on the side represents security to Ahmed and his family. “We had a house with brick walls and a roof but there was violence and pain. We ran away in fear for our lives. Now I see our tent is a place of beauty. We are safe.”

*Name changed for protection.

A drawing by a boy from Salahadeen depicting life in his home on the farm and life in the camp.

Political leaders stepping down graciously (and not).

On Monday my country, Canada, had an election. Most of the people I know, with some exceptions, welcomed this event. We were very tired of a leader who had created a Canada that we did not recognize anymore, one that removed protection from our rivers and lakes, who ignored the indigenous peoples, made the process of immigrating to this country more onerous and oppressive etc etc. We were hopeful that a new prime minister and cabinet would be better even if they were not perfect.

In Canada, a prime minister can run and be re-elected as many times as the people say yes. Steven Harper could have continued to be the leader until he died if the voters had chosen him to continue. However, the voters had had enough and turned out in numbers that had not been seen in 22 years. We heard of some polling stations that ran out of ballots because so many people came to express their dissatisfaction and desire for change.

Yesterday, two days after the election.  I was reading articles coming from Iraqi Kurdistan where I spend the other half of my life working with Christian Peacemaker Teams. In this region Massoud Barzani is the president.  Iraqi Kurdistan has the rule that a president can only stay in power for two terms or eight years.  He was first elected as president in 2005. He was re-elected in 2009 with nearly 70% of the vote. Then in August 2013 the Kurdish parliament extended the term for another two years, bringing the end date to August 2015.

At this point the opposition spoke loudly and clearly. It was time for Barzani to be gone. It was  time for change. The law also speaks to that in an succinct way. " The term of the president that expires on August 20, 2013 will be extended until August 19, 2015 and cannot be extended for a second time."
However, the KDP, Barzani's party is using the war with ISIS and difficulties in holding an election as reasons for keeping him in the office. with the full powers of the presidency.

The people are speaking. They have taken to the streets across the region,  protesting  and saying that Barzani must go. They also are asking for salaries that have not been paid in over three months.  However, the government has responded only with security forces and guns, killing 5 young men and injuring dozens of others. Then, on top of this they have beaten and restrained  journalists, trying to keep the news from reaching outside of the  region. And, they locked the opposition MPs  out from entering parliament, not even allowing them to enter the capital city, Hawler/Erbil.

"Peaceful Demonstration is our Only Way to awake you. 
Do you hear or see?" (October 20, Sulaimani)

The government workers (teachers, medical workers etc) have been

 demonstrating since 3 October. They have not received salaries in

 3 months. They have received their salaries very sporadically for two years.

As I grieve for the chaos that politicians have brought once again to the region and the Kurdish people that I love, I wonder what would have  happened here if Harper had refused to step down. What would my country do? What plans are in place to send an old prime minister on their way if they are standing their ground?  And  I am again made aware of my privilege to live in Canada where Harper publicly  said that it is time to leave and stepped down  to allow the new prime minister to take the leadership.

Gilbert Agabo , a permanent resident of Canada, originally from Rwanda,  reminded me and all readers of Metro Daily Newspaper of this yesterday  in his opinion article.  Read the whole article here.

"...what I was longing for was to participate in a democratic process that is peaceful, in every sense of the word.

As I mingled in a crowd of Liberal ....supporters, my mind couldn't stop rambling about what elections mean in other parts of the world.  Take Kenya, 2007. Following the highly contested residential elections, a dispute over the results erupted. People started attacking each other, and thousands lost their lives in the mayhem....

All along I was not expecting NDP Leader Thomas Mulcair to come out and start accusing incoming prime minister Justin Trudeau of stealing their votes.  I knew Stephen Harper wasn't going to call in military forces in an attempt to cling to power.

But watching them deliver concession speeches, all smiles, almost brought me to tears..... It's still unreal for me to hear an incumbent leader admit that the people are never wrong, notwithstanding that they just turfed him out......

And I felt sad that, as  permanent resident, I couldn't cast a ballot that was peaceful-- in every sense of the word."

Right now, in Iraqi Kurdistan, my team mates are watching what is happening. They are standing with the people on the streets and telling the social media world what is happening.

Please consider joining CPT Iraqi Kurdistan in our work. One way you can do this is to provide resources for us to continue our work.Click here to donate to CPT on behalf of Iraqi Kurdistan team
**[ Note for Canadians. Unfortunately, because CPT's work is too political for the Canadian government we are not able to provide a tax receipt. Maybe this will change with the new government. We can only pray and hope.]

My team created this video telling about the current situation in Iraqi Kurdistan.

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Glimpses of Iraqi Kurdistan in summer 2015

I have now been back in North America since 6 August. I have moved through the re-entry staying in my house time, and began to move out more. Part of the way that I work through the sadness and mourning the loss of being in Iraqi Kurdistan is to look at my photos. I can remember the people I have sat with and laughed with and  spoken with for brief and longer times. This will be a selection of photos so you can meet some the people that I met and see some of things I saw on this stint- 19 May to 6 August, 2015. (Click on the first photo to see them in a larger format.)

The sun shone the whole time I was in Iraqi Kurdistan. Some people cover their vehicles to prevent sun damage and to try to keep them a little cooler. This cover reminded me of a 60's Volkswagen van. But when I got closer I saw....

 .......where the fabric came from. They must have bought the Ikea store out of the pattern!

 Our team visited the lovely village of Gulan, These little people peered out at me from behind their house gate. It is a good way to keep them out the rocky trail that can have cows and geese and goats travelling them an various times during the day.

There are wonderful fruit trees in Gulan. Here we were picking a small sour fruit that was a cross between a plum and a cherry.

People in the bazaar

Ice is very important to keep the  drinking water cold, cold  in the hot, hot summer heat. It is  bought in huge chunks and then broken into smaller pieces that fit into old freezers or small containers  that hold the 250 ml bottles of water.

 There are a few small shops that sell rugs and carpets made in Iraqi Kurdistan. Many of them were created at least a decade before but they are still so beautiful and colourful.

 Most people who shine shoes to make a living are men but this young girl had set up her stand on the side of a laneway. She granted me a photo. The rubber sandals are ready to cover the feet of someone who might give her their shoes to shine.

 "Please take my photo", this young boy asked me. He sells larger plastic bags for 250 Iraqi dinars (20 cents) to try to make a living for him and his family.

 The people who live in nearby villages bring seasonal  produce, either picked in the wild or grown in their gardens, to the bazaar. They sit on the sidewalk with small scales and sell it to the city folk.

Around the main square are many booksellers. This man was utilizing some spare time
to peruse his merchandise.

Iftar (breaking the fast) on one evening during Ramadan

 The men take off their shoes before entering the mosque.

 I think they must be very secure  in where they place their footwear, in order to
quickly find them.

 Vendors selling their food and tea on the street

 Musicians gatherered around the instrument seller's blanket

 This girl was selling candy floss for a sugar boost.

I marvel at the security of a cloth placed over merchandise and how things do not get  stolen.

Cooling down in 45-50 C summer weather

The team went for a wonderful picnic by this river. This Kurdish couple seemed to enjoy
 fishing together in the cool water.

 Mohamed and Rezyar showed us how to wash the floors in the Kurdish way. First, you bring in the hose and flood the floor with water (or you could use a bucket of water).

Second, you use a large squeegee to push the water (and the dirt) out the door.

Quilt making in Iraqi Kurdistan

I began work with CPT in Iraqi Kurdistan in March 2011. Lukasz Firla came on team just a couple of weeks before me. We both entered Sulaimani in the midst of anti corruption demonstrations. As we could not leave the CPT house alone Lukasz and I bonded over nargila/hookah/waterpipe smoking and walking around the main square of Sulaimani speaking to the Kurds who came out in the thousands to demonstrate and to ask their government to change.

We spent many hours talking and getting to know each other. Thus we became close team mates and friends. When he and Carolina Rodriguez announced their engagement I knew I would need to create something to celebrate their marriage. I had plenty of opportunity to get finished.

First they were married in the civic office in Washington, DC (where Carolina had been attending university).

 Then, in summer 2014, they had a wedding in Czech Republic where Lukasz's family lives and where he spent most of the years of his life before coming to Iraqi Kurdistan. Fourteen year old  Jaco is also part of the new family.

Then in March 2015 during the Kurdish .New Year Festival, (Nawroz) they had a Kurdish celebration in the mountains of Iraqi Kurdistan. Latif who is a friend of the team and a lawyer presided .

Then finally,( I think), in the summer of 2015 they had a celebration in Colombia where Carolina's family lives and where she spent most of her life. Many of the team  members of CPT Colombia were able to join the party.

I was not able to join any of the weddings, but this summer I was again on team with Lukasz (just before the Colombia celebration). I decided to buy a simple sewing machine and to work on a small quilt for them. But all the new fabric on sale in the bazaar is not suitable for making quilts. So I had to work hard on how to find the resources for it.

I had bought  a duvet cover that seemed to be created with European quilting cotton. I thought that could be the base fabric for the quilt. But I needed other colours to co-ordinate with the pattern. So I spent one of my Friday days off to head to the second hand section of the bazaar. These stalls are full of textiles from Europe and  I thought it was possible to find more cotton. I dug deep in the two piles outside of this stall. and I was amazed to find the fabric that would work.

I did not have all my fancy tools for creating a quilt, so I used the old technique of tearing!! Then I had a cardboard template to try to make all the strips the correct length.  I decided to make it only two layers, without a batting in the middle. This would make it a cooler blanket that can be used in the spring and autumn.as well as the winter. Also, I imagined that the family will not be staying in Iraqi Kurdistan forever, so it would be lighter to carry in suitcase.

I gave the quilt to them at the team party just before Lukasz left for a few weeks  in Europe. Even though  he had seen the quilt in the spare bedroom, I don't think that he knew it was for them.

Recently a new member joined the family. Mexica was a teeny, tiny kitten, far too young to leave her mother. However, the mom was gone. So this tiny critter came to live with Lukasz, Carolina and Jaco. I took this photo because she was in the middle of capturing a cockroach. Fortunately she does not have any mice to catch , but  she is an expert at catching and playing with the large bugs.

Not ever since World War II; so many people looking for HOME.

I sit in sunny Manitoba where the heat that people complain about is only 30 C. The trees and grass are green. Unlimited water pours  from every tap in my house. When I sweat I can decrease the thermostat on the kitchen wall  and the central air conditioner takes care of that problem.

  I have been home three weeks and  am now able to re-enter Winnpeg society. I no longer have to cocoon in my house unable to face the huge grocery stores and my friends who ask me how I am.  .Already I can go hours without even thinking of  the people I sat with in Iraqi Kurdistan. I am forgetting the heat and the sweat and the burning hot wind. I am forgetting the tears and pain of mothers sitting on the sidewalk begging with their eyes, families  in unfinished houses asking for a refrigerator so their water can be cool enough to drink  and people living in  flappy  tents that can fall down  in the blustery winds.  I am forgetting the father looking at his 21 year old son who is thinking of paying the money to a smuggler to try to get to a life worth living. I am forgetting the words, "what else can he do?"

I am really  trying to get be aware of  the injustice that is all around me here in sunny Manitoba. I am trying to read the face book posts about  mercury in water, oil pipelines being pushed through by politicians and a thousand and a half missing and murdered indigenous women . I am trying to see that there are so many people and so much  work here in my own land. 

But there are still the hours when I remember. When I read news of 70 people dying in a smuggler's truck because no one would open the doors. When I hear from my colleagues working on the island of Lesvos of ordinary people risking life and the breath of their children to get onto inflated boats trying to find a society who will embrace them and say welcome. I remember young men  with whom I  have sat at a table with a beer and discussed life and the universe and sometimes just silliness. These ones who have set off on the journey to Germany for $10,000. This was not a trip with a backpack poking around to discover the quaintness of  Europe. It was one where passport and computers were left behind and that held the question of whether it was safe to let loved ones know by a text or a Facebook post that they had reached another safe place along the way.

I cry, knowing that my offering to the people I sat with was so little. That many are living in tents with not enough water for basic needs , but that they know that soon  the winter rains and the thick mud will come.  They will still be in the tents because there is no place to go. Unless they say, "what else can we do?" and they will somehow raise the $10,000 per person  for the good smuggler and they will try to cross the razor wire and  the dogs and the men with guns and the  broad sea water to get to somewhere else. Where maybe they will find a dwelling that is  warm and dry  in winter and cool in summer.. Maybe they will find a tiny piece of land to plant tomatoes and  where  the children can play. 

A friend of mine posted this poem today. I could not read it all at once because the tears began to flow. Not since World War II has there been so many people fleeing, trying desperately to find a good  place to call home

HOME

 by Somali poet Warsan Shire:

no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbours running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won't let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it's not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn't be going back.

you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied

no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough

the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off

or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important

no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i've become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here.

Apprehension re Ramadan was not needed

Today is the second day of Eid- the the days of celebration and feasting after the month of fasting. A month ago I posted that I was slightly apprehensive about how Ramadan would affect me ( really , not at all) and the little vendors who sell food and drink on the street (they were still out there, I am not sure whether they sold very much.)

I did make trips to the bazaar- often I did walk the 30 minutes even though the heat was extreme. I learned how to find the fast food places and tea shops that were open. It was easy- I just had to look for the white curtains blowing in the breeze. I just had to duck under the cloth and pay the 250 ID for a bottle of nice cold water. It was so hot that the 500 mls went down very quickly and I was hydrated enough to keep on walking. (with my nice geeky hat and lots of sunscreen for my Irish-heritage skin).

Every day after the call to prayer at around 7:15 pm the families would have iftar- the time for breaking of the fast and eating together. I noticed that shops that were open to provide the necessary materials to create a meal, closed so that the family could be all together.

The first moment of the end of the fast for the day held a drink of very sweet juice and a few dates. This gives a boost of sugar before the more substantial evening meal. Many of the shops sold multi-coloured juices in bags, that were easy to take home.

My first invitation to iftar was with my friends in Ranya. I have visited this family- where Gul is the matriarch- many times in the last five years. This visit many of them came together to see me, to introduce the new baby to me and to let me see how the other little ones have grown. We met in my friend Nishtiman's apartment and there was just enough room for everyone on the floor of the eating room. The sensory stimulation was incredible- the baby crying, the two older ones running around and having fun, the loud chatter in Kurdish, the TV at full volume,  the smells of the rice and chicken and the quiet praying as several of the family took turns in the corner of the room for the evening prayer.

My second invitation was to eat the evening meal with my little friend, Sima's family. They live a five minute walk from the CPT house, and I brought a very fun English book with lift-the-flaps for her. Some of my Kurdish lessons had included a translation  into Kurdish and then memorizing the book so that she could understand the simple story. She loved the book and read it and read it many times throughout the evening. But so did her 10 year old brother, and 12 and 15 year old sisters.

This family does not invite me anymore, there is just the assumption that I will stay if I am there anywhere near the meal time. Sima will whisper the question, "will you eat supper?" and before I know it, I am gathered with the family around the tablecloth. This time, after the juice and dates, the mother, Nazaneen, brought out the pot of soup and rice. She put something onto my plate that looked very strange and the son showed me how to pull the thread to open up the bundle. It was a piece of the stomach of the sheep, sewn around seasoned rice. But then, when the father, Mohamed, sat down they plopped a bony sheep skull onto his plate. He and two of the children began to pick at the bits of meat. Soon the middle daughter went to the next room for a hammer. With a crash the skull broke in two and the inner "stuff" fell onto the plate. That was obviously the crowning glory. I declined the brains and eyeballs. But they certainly did not go to waste!

The third iftar I did not eat. On the second to last day of Ramadan I went with my friend, Ann to Mosgowti Gawre (the big mosque) in the center of the city. This mosque was feeding hundreds of people every evening of the month. There were many of the poorest of the poor in Sulaimani, some of them were not Muslim, but Yezidi and Christian.They lined up to receive rice, bean soup and a piece of chicken. Then after the prayers were finished, the ones who had entered the mosque were welcome to sit and eat as well.

Ann knows quite a bit of Arabic so she had many conversations with people around the courtyard. They were young boys and men from Syria and down south. They have fled the violence with their families or at least the parts of their families who still live. Ann translated some of the sad stories for me. We felt quite helpless as the best we could do was to stop and listen. But it seemed that for the ones telling about the home they had left that having someone willing to listen was a good thing.

I had been apprehensive about Ramadan. But although sometimes I was very much out of my comfort zone, I saw a time of deep religious significance. I saw people fasting from food and drink in the hottest days of summer- and they survived.  I saw people who had made the choice not to fast. I saw people who made the best of the time- and brought out their wares just before the time of iftar. This is a rhythm of life that goes on every year and I am grateful that I have had the opportunity to be a part of it.

Cleaning the river, one thing I can do

“There are so many crises in this region [ISIS causing thousands of IDPs and refugees, our young men fighting Da’ash and many dying, huge line-ups for petrol, government salaries not being paid, electricity cut-offs, corruption in the government]. For most of these we can’t do anything. All we can do is pray. But this is one thing where we can do something. It can be a symbol of what can be done when a group of people gather and act”…..  Mohamed Salah Mahdi

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Our team had been visiting our friends in the gorgeous Shawre Valley. Kak Latif is a member of a group that  is resisting oil exploration in the valley. They are very aware of how oil drilling will negatively affect the lands that their families have farmed for generations. On the way home the team stopped by Dukan River, a popular picnic spot for hundreds of families on Fridays (outside of the fasting month, Ramadan). Our goal was to paddle in the water on the hot +40 C afternoon. But we changed our minds when we saw the condition of the river. Trash from past picnics floated 2 meters wide along the shore. Small water bottles, plastic tablecloths wrapped around food leftovers, diapers and glass alcohol bottles lined the edge of the river.

Teammate Mohamed went home to think and quickly posted a picture of the mess on a local TV station’s website. His comments included a call people to come to the river on the next Saturday to do something- to take the trash and to put it into large bags and to clean the river.

On Saturday 4 July six of us gathered at Dukan River. The cultural mix was amazing for such a small group: 3 Kurds, 1 Arab, 1 Canadian and 1 USian.  We came together to work hard for two hours using badminton rackets taped to broom handles to lift the trash onto the shore. Then we filled over 50 bags from a relatively small portion of the shore.

Some people came down to see what we were doing.  They thanked us and even left some food for when we were finished. However, only one small Kurdish girl moved from watching to helping.

This was such an unusual endeavour that as we were taking our group photo a neighboring man came to speak to us in a very agitated manner. He was very concerned that we were inspectors and that we would blame the neighboring houses for the mess. We assured him that we were ordinary people who cared for the river and that we did not blame him. We just wanted to ask people to take their trash home after their relaxing picnics with their families. Plastic does not disappear in in the hot sun and the river does not eat up the leftovers.  The man finally calmed down and offered to watch the pile of bags until the municipality would come to collect them.

That evening, Mohammed again posted photos on KNNC’s website. He watched as the “likes” began to click up. Within a day over 7,000 had registered their thanks and interest to join the campaign. Many asked that he wait until after Ramadan when they would have more physical energy for the work. However Mohamed and his friends decided to keep the momentum rolling. This Friday the plan is to head to the picnic mountain.

POST SCRIPT:
On Friday 10 July we drove to  nearby Goizha Mountain to clean yet another picnic spot. This time we had 15 people: 7  Kurds, 1 Canadian, 1 Arab, 4 Christians from Qaraqhosh and Baghdad, 1 German, and 1 USian. After we were finished filling 30 bags under the hot, windy sunny sky we all came to the CPT house for coffee, tea, fruit and popcorn. We shared stories and made connections. All because we went to pick up garbage.