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.

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.

Anticipating things unknown about Ramadan

The photos in this post are taken earlier in my time in Iraqi Kurdistan. They are not the children whose story I tell. 

This stint on team in Iraqi Kurdistan is my first summer and the first time I will experience Ramadan. My body is coping quite well with the nice, dry heat- so far up to 42 C. But I am feeling a little apprehensive about the unknowns of a month of practices that are integral to a faith that is not my own.

My team mates have given hints that our lives must change even though we are not fasting. Taking a swig from a water bottle in  public is considered rude and disrespectful. Many of our favourite restaurants are either closed during the fasting hours or have a white curtain that one must hide behind. The small alcohol shops are closed for the month. There will be many more occasions when I may have to wear a scarf.  And life is overall pretty quiet, with employees leaving work an hour or so earlier than usual. Then  at sundown, which is around 7 pm here,  activity in the streets will pick up and people will break their fast.

But I also wonder how Ramadan will affect the refugees and IDPs who rely on the small bits of money they can collect from those who are thirsty and hungry.

Around the corner from the CPT house sits an 8 year old boy - all day, everyday. His seat is the curb and in front of him are ten bags of homemade popcorn. He waits for sympathetic or hungry passersby to hand him a bit of paper money. He sits from morning to evening until the bags are gone, or it is dark enough to take his earnings home to his mother and siblings. His small amount of money helps to feed the family who are IDPs from the south..

Another small boy caught my attention in the bazaar. Apparently begging is illegal here so most of the many, many working children have something to give you for a donation. This 5-6 year old had a small styrofoam box with a bit of ice and 10 bottles of water. He stood holding a bottle as an example of his wares, for the masses of people passing by. I stopped. I had already bought one 500 ml bottle but had almost sucked it dry. I handed him a  small paper bill and bent to grab the top bottle. With a serious face he gently pushed my hand away and reached down to the bottom to give me the coldest bottle possible. I took it from him, put it on my hot face and said, "zor sarde/very cold". He finally smiled.

My discomfort with the unknown is not something that will harm me. I may be reprimanded for a faux pas. I may experience thirst in the hot sun that I am not used to. But I wonder about these little ones and the families that they support. How will Ramadan affect them?