Guest post- "Late Nights in Ranya"

This post is written by my team mate, Patrick Thompson. I was there that night, although I was not awake as late as he was. (I regretted it the next morning when I heard what he had experienced).  In his description he makes me feel like I was back there in the dark in Ranya.

The chill of the night was kept at bay by the constant shuffling and stamping of feet on the soft short grass and the rhythmic shaking of our shoulders.

We were dancing, Kurdish style. The long semi circle of men and women holding hands tightly bunched, shuffled in time with the drum and oboe. Cheers, whoops and shouts exchanged between the excited dancers.

The semi circle multiplied, there was two, maybe three with individuals dancing, twirling and hopping between them.

 These dancers represented the world.

 

Kurdish, Turkish, Arabic, Assyrian, Persian. Christian, Muslim and Yazidi. Standing side-by-side, dancing, shuffling, twirling to the rhythm of the drum to the melodies of the oboe.

Politically the situation in and around Kurdistan is difficult, complex. The conflict in Syria, hunger strikes and military action by Turkey, threats of war against Iran not to mention the struggle for independent Kurdistan as a whole. The politics, fueled by money and power, racism, xenophobia and old militaristic alliances, has little to offer the common citizen any more, yet it controls everything. Business is done, the fires of war are stoked, accusations fly, and the people suffer.

But here, entranced by the music, the common bound of all people, the politics ceased to be. Relationships were built on mutual respect for each other’s gifts, talents and passion and the struggle to push their talents to the limit.

The Ranya cultural festival was a hotpot of music and dance from around the region. Two nights of bright lights and camera crews, aimed at a stage providing an opportunity for young performers to entertain more than 5000 people. They all reveled in the opportunity and didn’t disappoint.

But it was the after show party, the after hour activities that really showed the spirit, the joy and the passion of this ethnically, culturally and religiously diverse group of people. As the performers gathered to entertain themselves, they no longer performed, they played and played and played into the small hours of the morning, sharing songs of love and lost, life and death, dancing, clapping and stomping the beat, or holding back, in solemn silence, as a Mamosta (teacher) shared an unaccompanied ballad that touched the heart of every soul in the room.

Politics’ is complicated, it creates aims it fails to achieve, deadlines it fails to observe, promises never fulfilled, budgets that never match reality. All of which are an excuse used by one side against the other, who in turn act the same.

These politics stand in the way of peace. Amongst the dancers I stood shoulder to shoulder, a smile on my face and a laugh in my voice as my feet tapped in time with theirs. We danced; Kurds, Turks, Persians, Arabs and me, the British man, and there was peace.

Our people have struggled against each other for centuries, the oppressed and the oppressors, fought for money, power and control yet here, as the music played, there was peace.

In the end, it doesn’t matter who has the power, it doesn’t matter whose president or prime minister or which party has control. In the end all they want is your vote, you’re “OK”, so they can stay in control, lining their pockets, satisfying their interests. Real change, change that moulds history, never comes from the top but from the people; the musicians, the poets, the artists, the dancers, the singers, the appreciators, people of joy, passion , peace and love.

 

The beautiful hand embroidered  costume  of the Christian dancer. They are part of community who had lived near Mosul, Iraq and have moved to Dohuk, Iraqi Kurdistan for security and peace.

 

 

 

 

Am I brave?

I have now been coming to Iraqi Kurdistan for over 1 1/2 years. So many times people have said to me-"you are so brave" or "I wish I had your courage". I don't want want to disregard these people's opinion and say '" Oh it's nothing" or "I don't really have anything to be extra brave about."  Maybe, I am brave. I know that on Sunday of the last weekend in August, 2006, something happened within my head and soul to allow me to shake off my fear of the unknown and to take the first step. That was applying for the delegation to the West Bank. I have been on a wonderful, crazy journey since then. 

But, am I courageous? Sometimes living here in Sulmaini I don't see any reason to require extra courage then I need to live in North Kildonan, Winnipeg. But then again as I expereinced live gunfire in the end of the demonstrations in April 2011, I certainly felt that any courage I had leaked out extremely quickly, turning me into a ball of mush.

But, then I see real examples of courage. This are ordinary people who can not or choose not to use their passports to leave the place where they are being oppressed. They head into each day knowing it is not easy  to live their lives.

I met some of these people on the recent  CPTdelegation that I co-lead from 5 - 17 October.

We began our journey in Diyarbakir, Turkey. This is an important place to start because unlike the Kurds in Iraqi Kurdistan who have a semi-autonomous government, the Kurds here are still expereincing pressure to  to assimilate and to become good, nonresisitant citizens of the country within whose borders they are forced to live. Thousands of these Kurds are currently in prison, many just because they are activists, peaceful activists, who are considred to be members of the violent opposition.

One such activist asked us not to use her name. This was not for security reasons, but because she siad,"I am just one of many. I am not special. In fact I have it better because I have not received my sentence yet and I am free to live at home and walk the streets". She is 30 years old and is a social worker with women and children. On of the claims against her is that she speaks to international delegations. If the state has its way she will spend 18 years in jail for her activities in supporting her people.

The Turdish authorities would like her to leave, in fact they enourage her to do that. But she is insistant in staying where she was born, where her family is and where her people are who desperately need her skills.

We ate breakfast with I. at this Turkish restaurant. This is the server giving us tea. After she left, I. took over the tea pouring for awhile. So this picture symbolizes her.

 

 

 

The next group of brave people were the teachers and students of Sunneh school. I have written a couple of times about this school that was shelled in the summer of 2011. During the summer and autumn the villagers escaped to the Internally Displaced Persons camp that consisted of tents, water tamks and outhouse style toilets. Last summer CPT Iraqi Kurdistan put together a video of some of the children of the school telling about their village and how they felt when the shells rained on their homes.

 



Two weeks ago when the delegation visited Sunneh the children were prepared to greet them with a song. Then the delegates entertained them with group games and songs. Karzan the principal who has been at the school for 19 years said that he saw smiles on faces that he had seen as solemn anworried for many months.

The villagers have been OK this summer. For whatever reason they have not had to face leaving their homes. The  Turksh planes have not dropped bombs and the shells have not been lobbed from the iranian outposts on the top ridges of the mountains. But when we asked them if they were feeling secure they said, "no, they can start again at any time and then we will have to leave again."

 

The third group of people we met was three families of the Sulaimani governate area. These families lost sons during the demonstrations of February to April 2011. The youngest one, was 11 years, the next 13 and the oldest one had just graduated from university. We heard the words of Germian's mother (the 11 year old)/ He had asked her what the demonstrations were all about and she did not want to tell him about the corrruption that the people were demonstrating about. She said that he had stood in front of the mirror and asked her to look at him.."Look mother, I am getting to be a man now." Those were the last words she heard him speak. He was on the edge of the crowd at the wrong time and a bullet ended his life. 

 

 

Rezhwan's father told us how he has received visitor's from the government 14 times. They want the family to accept money to stop telling people about how security forces shot his son. But he has refused all 14 times. He wants the forces who shot innocent boys to be brought to justice, not a pay out.

 

These families face the fact that security forces from their government who supposedly has been voted in by the people shot their sons. They continue to live in this region. They can not leave.

 

So these are the stories of  the courageous ones. I am  here, as I am able, to walk alongside them and to amplify their voices.


 



 



He was a human being- that's enough

Mohammed, our dear friend and advisor (and many other things) changed schools last week. He is an English teacher in a primary school here in Sulaimani. He moved to a school that has many Kurdish students who have spent a lot of their lives outside of Iraqi Kurdistan and now have moved back with their families. So he is teaching English to students who only speak German (for example). Of course he does have Kurdish speaking students and some who already have a very good grasp of English.

Anyway, he came to us in the morning with the news that there was to be an art exhibition at the Amna Suraka museum (formerly Sadaam's prison). The artist, Lass Jalal  was a 17 year old former student of his new school. The title of the exhibition was intriguing,"Damn to War'.

As we entered the hall we could not miss the lively attendees. They obviously were fellow students of Lass. A young man was playing rock music on an electric guitar to the accompaniment of screams from adoring fans! It really took me back to my days of high school.

Soon after we began to look at the art pieces: oil, water colours and acrylics, a student brought over the artist. He introduced himself and offered to tell us the story behind any work that interested us.

 

He explains "A Scream in Silence"

The pamphlet about the exhibition stated,: "this is Lass Jalal's first solo exhibitions. The main idea of the exhibition is about finding beauty in negative places and finding peace with things that have almost destroyed the survived one (s). He says "light is everywhere but it's almost invisible, so let's try to see it." He sees Thalassemia and cancer as a war and he tries the best of himself to make a change..."

Lass told us his thoughts behind many of his painting. Unfortunately I did not have a notebook along so I can't remember most of them.  He had an incredible depth of thought and understanding far beyond his young years. He said that he had not had any formal training in art but felt moved to try to paint about 2 years ago.

As he explained this work to me he told of a young man who had been very ill and died. I thought he had said that the young man had been his friend and asked him to clarify. He replied," no, he was not my friend. He was a human being and that is enough."  Some of the works were behind glass so the spots are glare of the lights in the hall.

This work was the most realistic of all of his paintings. When I asked him about it he said that he really did not like to paint realism. He enjoys abstract art much more.

 

A tree falls in love with the moon.

"Forever Together"

 

 

Neigh

 

 

It was a pleasure to spend part of our afternoon seeing Lass Jalal's first solo exhibition. If this is the work he can produce in the first 2 years of working with the mediums. I would expect that the art world of Iraqi Kurdistan or even further may see more of him in the future.

All paintings are reproduced here with the permission of the artist.



Helping to look for English teachers for 5-7 year old class in Sulaimani, Iraqi Kurdistan

Hello friends,

I am sending this to you in case you know of friends or friends of friends who might have interest in the opportunity below. The owner of the school is CPT Iraqi Kurdistan's landlord and friend.  They have had an English preschool and this year is the first year to go to the next higher grade. The credentials needed are teacher degree or English as a second language training. The rest is below. Even if the person you think of could not come for 1 October (things work differently here!) but have interest they should contact Sirwan to see if something could be worked out. And remember, there is a great community of Christian Peacemaker Teams here too.!!

Peace

Kathy Moorhead Thiessen

Dear Kathy,

Hello the following details for the teachers. Thanks indeed for your help, kindly send this detail to friend and good people you know

If you’ve ever dreamed of teaching English in a foreign country, here's your chance! Two English teachers are needed to teach young Kurdish students at a private Basic English School in Suleimani in the“Kurdistan Regional Government: Kurdish north of Iraq.

Room, board, Internet facility, cellular (prepaid card + mobile phone) and one meal (lunchtime) per day will be provided.

-Working hours from 8:30 am to 2:30pm. “The teacher will not teach all those hours it means that the teacher will be at the school but he/she teaches according to the schedule of the school”.

-Working days Sunday – Thursday.

-The age of the kids 5-7.

-We will provide a place of living.

-We will pay  one way of the teacher's airfare.

- We will provide one meal “lunch” (Optional) at the school.

 

- Your certificate and other documents are required.

Teachers are needed from October -2012 through June 31^st, 2013

Salary: $1000 monthly.

Classes consist of a maximum of 25 students their ages 5 to 7.

Teachers should have a good sense of humor, be flexible, have a warm heart, and love for people.

If this is at all interesting to you and for further information, please contact us at piekurd@gmail.com– piekurd@yahoo.com- .

Best Regards

Sirwan Saeed

Looking for the rage the media speaks of...

I am back in Sulaimani again. Before I flew I sat in the CPT Aboriginal Justice Team's house in Toronto and read of horrific things that were happening in the Middle East. I looked at maps that showed where these things were talking place and the blue dots that covered many, many places in the area where I was headed. I knew that my friends and extended family might be wondering why I was heading out on the plane into the area where this was taking place.

However, as I flew I knew that I was not worried. I spoke to an older French man on the bus shuttle. His last words to me were, "I hope you come back alive". But I was not worried. I saw no evidence in Istanbul of this rage despite it being the Turkish weekend day off and seeing the streets filled with Turkish people in conservative dress. 

On my first day here I asked our advisor and friend, Mohammed, what he had observed. He said that all had been quiet although he had heard of a small protest in capital city, Hawler/Erbil. I Facebook chatted with another friend of our team whose home is up north in Cholman . He is a journalist and I expected that he would have heard of demonstrations of rage. He said that all he knew of were  peaceful demonstrations in Hawler, up north and in Sulaimani.

Avaaz website posted an article talking of the media's hyperbole of the situation. It spoke of the tiny percentage of Muslims who were taking to the streets and the even tinier who were using violence. The vast majority, even if upset at the content of the youtube movie, were going about their daily lives.
http://en.avaaz.org/783/muslim-rage-protests-newsweek-salafists

This is what I see in Sulaimani. I have not received any more attention than usual due to my foreignness. However, I relished the attention I did get on Friday afternoon on my walk home from the bazaar.

First some background information:

Last year when I arrived the bathroom tap was dripping a lot. No one else seemed to mind enough to act, so I took it upon myself to give it a try. I fugured that all it needed was a couple of little rubber O rings. Well, first I had to get it apart which took about 7 trips to the nearby tiny hardware store to find the right size of wrench/spanner. Then, once it was apart I realized that it was a whole contraption inside that tap. So I took it over and tried to find the right size. (Of course with each trip I had to wait until all men were served, plus a few more that came after me. I learned to be a little more assertive!)

But alas- it still was leaking and so I remembered a special plumber white tape that can be used to wrap around pipes. I decided to try a new larger place. I wore my big shoulder bag plus a wool shawl. Amazingly , the proprieter was a woman, the first I had ever seen  serving in a shop.

And she had a tiny girl with her. After showing her some masking tape and a piece of pipe that I had brought for such purposes, she knew exactly what I needed. Then I went to pay and the minor catastrophe happened. The little girl had walked up to my legs and was hidden under my bag. I tripped over my shawl that hung low and stepped all over her with alot of my weight. Ah. I felt so horrible as she cried softly and her mother comforted her (and me). Fortunately, I knew the word- biburra, I'm sorry.

I met the family a couple more times when I purposefully went to their shop for hardware needs.

But let's fast track to this week. Team mate Rosemary and I had gone to the bazaar and I decided to take the way home that passed their shop. As I came up to the shop I saw the woman, Nazanin, and her 3 little girls: Sara, Sanaria and little Sima who would no longer fit under my shoulder bag.  They saw me coming and were very excited. As I approached them I could hear Sima saying, Katy, Katy. Nazanin asked us into the house and served a welcome cup of water. We laughed and laughed as I tried to remember Kurdish that I had not touched for 4 months. I felt so happy to be with them.

What does Vic do while you are away?



I have often thought that there should be a song written for the lovers, who stay behind,  of peacemakers who go away for periods of time. There are many written for the loves of soldiers who go off to war, but I have never heard one for peacemakers. A song-writer friend of mine says that it is on his idea list, but he has a long list!! (Any songwriters out there among my readers?)

When people ask me this question I never really know from what angle they are asking. Are they questioning our sanity, fidelity,or his ability to cook for himself?  Or are they just not able to picture that he can have a life without me? Afer all, he still continues to work at the Mennonite Church Canada offices from 8 am to 6 pm (including the commute) for 5 days in the week.

While I am in Iraqi Kurdistan we Skype every 2-3 days over his lunch hour (we have a 8-9 hours time difference). I can't imagine having this seperation without Skype, although I have heard of long distance relationships back in the "olden days" based on snail mail letters and a twice monthly phone calls.

When he comes home from work he cooks supper and then often relaxes in front of a movie. When I had my first stint in 2011 he set a goal of  writing a lot of movie reviews for movies that he owns and had never watched. He loves writing movie reviews for his blog (www.thiessenbros.blogspot.com) as well as for an internet site and the Mennonite Church Canada magazine.

One of the reasons that we live in Winnipeg is to be closer to his mother and two elderly aunts. So Vic frequently goes to visit them (and they love to feed him too). Our youngest daughter, Katrina and her husband live in the city so he spend time with them too.

Other things that keep him busy are building big jigsaw puzzles, right now it is a 6,000 peice one. And he has many books in our personal library that he wants to read in the next 30 years. And this does not include visits with friends, our small group from Hope Mennonite, other church activities etc.

These are SOME of the things that "Vic does while I am away". It is hard to part and say goodbye, knowing that it will be 3+ months before we can physically touch. But I don't think that he pines away ("My bonny lies over the ocean, My bonny lies over the sea, My bonny lies over the ocean, Oh bring back my bonny to me [to my Kurdish readers, this is an old folk song. A bonny is another word for loved one].

I am so privileged to have a husband who is very supportive of me and the work that I do in Iraqi Kurdistan. He is amazing.

 

Vic and I on our wedding day, 4 August, 1979

Kurdish Supper in suburban Winnipeg

Two days ago on Wednesday, 22 August 21 MacAulay Place saw the 3rd annual CPT Fundraiser Kurdish Supper. Thirty-seven people came to sit on our lawn in the back yard. They ate lots and many said that they loved it. Some were repeaters from last year, others were new.

So I will post some photos of the preparation, and of the supper itself.

 

Last year I worked with a Kurdish woman to learn to make this bread, so this year I did it all by myself. The red bottle cap is to give perspective on the size.

 

 

Frying the luqme (fried balls of dough which are then soaked in sugar syrup)

 

Two of my neighbours, Charlotte and Elaine came to help roll the dolma/yaprax and other helpful tasks.

 

Once the people were here we discovered that the rice was a disaster. It was mushy and hard and crunchy. So while waited for it to cook I told everyone about CPT.

 

Someone asked about Kurdish life so I brought out Katrina's dress to show them.

 

Final mixing and getting ready to serve.

 

Vic, in the background, my wonderful support for pre and post cleaning, mosquito killing and babysitting the rice.

 

.Dolma- grape leave wrapped around rice (in Kurdish it is yaprax), kasi (a apricot sauce to go over rice), Fasuli (beans in tomato sauce with and without chicken)

Nan (bread) and mastaw (yogurt diluted with water and mint drink)

 

 

   

This little girl loved the fasuli.



 

It was so great to have kids in my yard.

 

 

 

For desert we had kuliche (date and nut filled cookies) and luqme (fried dough balls) and Kurdish tea.

 

 

It was a lovely evening, the day was warm and sunny, marvelous people came, and the mosquitoes stayed away until dusk (when they came for their supper). And money was raised to support CPT's work in Iraqi Kurdistan.