Through rain and snow and sleet and hail- Got Bannock will not fail!

On Sunday 29 June I preached a sermon at Hope Mennonite, Winnipeg. I struggled with this sermon. I wanted to tell stories from Iraqi Kurdistan and  I wanted to teach a lesson from Jesus. But it was not coming together. I kept feeling like something was missing. I found a scripture text that I wanted to talk about- Matthew 10: 40-42. The main words were:" This is a large work I’ve called you into, but don’t be overwhelmed by it. It’s best to start small. Give a cool cup of water to someone who is thirsty, for instance. The smallest act of giving or receiving makes you a true apprentice. You won’t lose out on a thing.”

I included stories of cold cups of water given to me by Kurdish people, of meeting a woman asking for bus money on the streets of Winnipeg, and a Syrian Kurdish woman at the gate to the bazaar in Sulaimani. 

Then I thought of Althea Guiboche aka The Bannock Lady here in Winnipeg. She does not have much financial resources to feed the people around her but she sure does have the energy to encourage others to give. And then she has made  it happen every week for the last 18 months. So I decided to ask my church family to bring food to help her for that Sunday- the Got Bannock Burger Day. And they came through like I knew they would. I carried two laundry baskets full as well as bags of flour to Althea's house after church.

As I entered her back door I heard the laughter and voices of quite a few people. They were her friends and neighbours who had come to help make the bannock buns, and fry the burgers and cut the vegetables. I was invited to come in to help too. As we worked we looked outside the windows to see the rain begin to fall. "It's OK, there are still two hours left. It may slow down or stop". But it continued and even came down harder with gusts of wind.

                                     The group of people in Althea's kitchen (Althea Guiboche)

                              [Click on the photo to see all the pictures in larger size]

                           Great bannock burgers (Todd Matthew Dechateauvert)

The amazing thing is that this did did not discourage anyone. When 3 pm came and it was time to load up the coolers and boxes of fruit and burgers everyone was ready to ride (or walk) the two blocks to Dufferin and Main Street. As Althea's black van pulled onto Dufferin Ave. there were already people waiting. They knew that good food was coming.

Then other people began to show up- even more volunteers. One woman brought two large cartons full of hot Tim Horton's coffee with cups and cream and sugar to go into it. Another carried two large packages of cheese to go onto the burgers. A man brought his small daughter and an umbrella. He held the umbrella over people who needed protection from the rain as they gave out food or stood in line. And we discovered a cooler full of egg salad sandwiches from a woman who is celebrating Ramadan. People from all walks of life provided and served the food.

There was really no way to avoid getting wet. The water was coming down in buckets. So we kept the coolers closed except to reach for a wrapped burger and gave access to things to put on the burgers under the cover of the end gate of Athea's van.

Later that day Althea reflected on the day. "If there is one thing I learned to have, it's a healthy respect for the weather, my mantra is "hot or cold, rain or shine, if they're out there, then so is the bannock lady" any element they're in, then that's how I serve lunch, until I have a space to shelter them, then this is how it is, sometimes it gets messy or really cold, but the food is packaged and stored and given fresh, it's made with love and contains no judgements. 
I serve in the pouring rain or the coldest cold, I even make the media suffer with us lol just so they realize the extreme elements We face, I do it to let them know I stand with them, count myself with them, and will fight for change for them .

We really did not need to give out  cups of cold water on 29 June: all we had to do was point our mouths up to the sky! But the giving went beyond that. People from different religions, cultures, ideas,and lives came together to give and receive. Althea writes, " I welcome all cultures, all faiths, all religions, to come together and feed our city's poorest, we need to become a village that sees no differences, that comes from one race, the human race!!"

Missing Iraqi Kurdistan: Seeing the beauty in the small things

Right now I am missing Iraqi Kurdistan. Don't get me wrong, I am also loving being here in Winnipeg in the summer time: living with the family that I love, being able to plant my garden and watch it sprout, visiting and chatting with dear friends and looking toward a busy July and August doing stuff on behalf of CPT here in North America. BUT I am still missing the ones I love in Iraqi Kurdistan. As well, I imagine what they are feeling like right now with the uncertainty of whether life will change or not. [In case you don't know what is happening in Iraq here is one post from someone on the ground in the capital city, Hawler-here ]

So, today I am posting a few photos from my time there this winter and spring. These are some  things that I found to be beautiful in Iraqi Kurdistan.

The Beauty at the Bazaar

Sometimes the goods are just placed randomly on the street, but sometimes the proprietor takes a lot of time to make the display beautiful. This is amazing since he will have to undo it  very soon, when the bazaar closes.

The Beauty of the People

These last 3 photos are of two small people I met on my walk home. It was just a week or so before the elections and they were playing with the flag of the Goran (Change) movement. When I stopped to talk to them the little boy asked me if I was Gorani (supporter of Goran). As I stopped to think what I would tell him (whether an easy "yes" which is not really true as I don't support any Iraqi Kurdistan party or to try to tell him the truth -in Kurdish), he got tired of the foreign lady and motioned the girl to head on home.

Berens River Cup Song: and memories of my nursing training

This past week a musical video was posted on You tube. It has since gone viral for good reason. A music teacher in the Berens River reserve school decided to encourage his student's musical talents. He helped them to create a video of their version of the "Cup Song: You are going to miss me when I'm gone". It is great and catchy. If you watch it you will find the tune whirling through your head for many hours!! (See the video at the bottom of this post.)

Beren's River has a special meaning for me. Way back many years ago-34 to be exact- I spent a few weeks in that community. It was my choice as one of my elective placements for my Registered Nurse diploma. I lived at the nurse's station and followed the nurses around as they visited families and saw patients in the clinic. I never did end up working on a nurse's station, but did nurse a year in Churchill, Manitoba. That was the next largest hospital  for many northern  patients who needed medical care. (Clarification: the patients from Berens River would be flown to Winnipeg- not Churchill).

Flying into Berens River- June 1981

A young me in front of the nursing station.-June 1981

Learning how to give: Two women-Evelyn in Winnipeg and the Syrian woman in Iraqi Kurdistan

Three days ago I met Evelyn. I was sitting in the sunshine at the bus stop at Portage and Colony in Winnipeg. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman come to the area and begin talking to the people waiting. I stuck my nose further into my book and hoped that maybe I would turn invisible, but no such luck. She came up to me and asked for some coins to fund two bus fares- one to her destination and then back again. I took a look in my wallet and then apologized that I had only two dimes. I asked her name and told her mine. Then she moved on.

 I had just gone  back to my sunshine and good book. when I realised that I had 10 bus tickets in my wallet. That would have been so much more helpful to her. So I looked for the grey shorts and t-shirt but they had disappeared. I knew that she could not have gone  far, and I had 15 minutes until my appointment, so I headed down Portage looking for Evelyn. A block later I saw her sitting on the side of the concrete flower planter. I ripped off a bus ticket, drew near for her to acknowledge my presence and then handed her the tiny piece of paper. She looked at me in surprise, "Did you come all the way from the bus stop?" I nodded yes. She said, "Thank you so much, Kathy".

It felt good. I seemed to me that maybe this interaction with a person asking for money had worked. I was able to help her and she received a portion of what she needed. But it took my head back to a situation in Iraqi Kurdistan that felt more like a failure.

During my previous 6 stints in Iraqi Kurdistan with Christian Peacemaker Teams I have enjoyed walking the 25 minutes to the city centre bazaar. I love the colour and beauty and hubbub of the sellers and buyers. However, this January, I found that I had to steel myself to walk the narrow lanes and streets. I definitely do stand out as a foreigner and thus I appear wealthy. I could not pass by the shops without women, often with a small child, coming up to me, holding a laminated piece of paper informing the reader of her status as a Syrian refugee.  “Please, Mrs, Mrs, Mrs… for food for food .for food”.

I soon learned to have a few small bills of Iraqi dinars easily accessible. But when these were gone I had to say, “no, biburre, I’m sorry.” Sometimes she would grab my arm and cry out pleadingly. She did not know of the money I had distributed already and probably would not care.  I continued my words, “na, na”.

One evening I headed down the main street just as dusk fell. The shoppers were dispersing, taking home food for the evening meal. As I came to the gate of the bazaar I saw a Syrian woman sitting on the ground with a small baby sleeping in her arms. The woman did not plead- she barely even looked. Her eyes were heavy and dark. In her wordlessness she seemed in even more despair than all the others. I stopped, found another small dinar bill and placed it on the cloth in front of her. Then I squatted down to make contact and touched her child’s hand. The mother looked at me and then tucked the hand closer. “Zor sarde- so cold”. “Bale/yes” I replied.

 
It was all I could do and her face stayed in my head all the way home. I suppose I did more than some people, at least I tried to make some contact. But she remains with me and I think maybe I could have run to the closing shops to buy a blanket, or given her my sweater or emptied my wallet.

I can not save all the people who ask me for something. Despite the fact that I look like I am wealthy my CPT stipend does not stretch very far. But the Syrian woman taught me to think again.  I am also trying to  learn that when I can't do enough or anything, I am not a bad person.

 

 

 

 

 

Unravelling the knots of oppression one tangle at a time- Part two

"Dear team, I am thinking in creating an alternative training in Kurdistan of Iraq....." .On the 10th of December, 2013 I received this email from our team's support co-ordinator, Milena R.  My initial reaction was , "that sounds great but there is no way on earth that this will happen in the time frame she is thinking of (February 2014). That is just not the way CPT works."

I arrived back in Sulaimani on 23 January and the interviewing of potential trainees started soon afterward. By early February the training was a surety for four trainees and with team mate Lukasz and I being put into the position of being trainers. This was a huge surprise for me. I trained with CPT in August 2010. The trainers seemed to be some sort of a mystery to me. They appeared to have knowledge and experience way beyond anything I could imagine to attain.

Adriana, Parwen, Juliane, Mohammed, Gosia,

Annika, Lukasz, Kathy

 

        

 

 

 Talking about moving out of comfort zones, an important

discussion for trainers and trainees alike.

 But, all of a sudden , beginning on 22 February, 2014, I was a trainer. I marvelled at the trust put in us. Lukasz and I provided the total input for the first 10 days. It was exciting to dig into the training manuals, something we both had not really done since our own time of learning. We found that we intuitively were using a lot of the information in our day to day work on the Iraqi Kurdistan team. Thus we were able to teach and facilitate sessions to help the four trainees to learn it too.

On day 12 Adriana, from Colombia,  joined the team. . She brought with her experience of being a regular trainer in the Chicago month- long trainings, as well as having facilitated the sessions on Undoing Oppressions. This is a regular and important part of the CPT trainings: Undoing racism, sexism and heterosexism as well as a day to think about how to be an ally.

For this training I had the unusual position of being the only one who had English as my first language. We had two Kurdish speakers, one Polish speaker, one German speaker and then on the training team: one Spanish , one Czech and a Swedish speaker . We had to often think how to work with vocabulary that was difficult to explain and/or understand in languages other than English. We had to break down concepts into smaller parts so all would be able to grasp what was being discussed.

We began to look at  undoing oppressions and how our cultures have taught us well who is more important or intelligent or worthy. I thought about the concept of "undoing" and immediately pictured my knitting. Often as I create a pair of socks the yarn becomes very tangled and knotty. If I just tug on the wool and don't take the time to undo it, the tangle just becomes even more entrenched and more difficult to work with. The only way to be able to knit with the wool is to start at the beginning and undo one tangle at a time.  Adriana added that undoing oppressions also has someone at the end that you have untangled working at remaking the mess again so you have to go back and untangle one knot at a time over and over again.

This was a session on learning about sexism. Here we each introduced a woman who was important to us and drew a representative picture.  Then we divided into gender groups and the women wrote about how sexism affects us in our lives and the men wrote about how sexism tells them that they are more worthy.  After this session, Juliane thought of taking our statements and placing them over our photos.



 

 

As the training went on we realised that no one of the team had any video making skills. So I stretched myself again to learn the rudimentary skills so I could put together a video of our time together. I am pretty pleased with my first attempt. 

After the training we all evaluated the five weeks. A quote from the written evaluation is ,
"Having trainers from the field was a big success: Knowledge coming from the people
who do the work on the field has a different weight and becomes more alive to
trainees by virtue of being based on recent life experience. Also, training
empowered the field CPTers to transmit their knowledge in ways that served as
markers of learned experience, at the same time that helped them revisit that
learning in ways that will most likely improve the quality of their future work."

Green and Blue and Yellow and Brown: Election in Iraqi Kurdistan

Election fever has hit in Iraqi Kurdistan and Iraq as a whole. Last September 21 another election was held. That one was for Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) parliament and many seats changed hands. The results showed that the people in this half of IK were discontented with the existing leaders and the Gorran/Change list gained many new seats. BUT that was 6 months ago and in reality the change has not happened. Government decisions are still on hold because a new government has not been formed yet. The old guard have not let go of their positions. And the people wait.



Traditionally (since the civil war in 1994) the KDP (Kurdish Democratic Party-yellow) has controlled the northern part of Iraqi Kurdistan. The PUK (Kurdish Union Party- green) has controlled the south.



Into this situation comes another election. This one is for the Iraqi government as well as Kurdish municipal and regional governerate positions. We have not heard of any deaths yet in the campaign process, but I am surprised that this has not happened. The campaign was legally opened a month before the election and immediately the region became awash with colours: green, blue, yellow and brown. Every night on the main street here in Sulaimani the men, young and old. drive their cars packed with male supporters and flags, up and down the street. The testosterone oozes from the traffic jam and the young men hang from the windows screaming and yelling. This increases when they see a car with a different colour of flag. They release fireworks from the open windows as they drive along and often the sound of the "bang" changes when they shoot guns into the air..

In the main city square- Maidan Sara

This is the reason that I won't be able to give you any photos of the night life. I would rather stay close to home when the men start driving. Last election a bystander woman was killed by a stray bullet.

Thoughts on observing all this election fever:

-I know that the flags and pennants use a lot of resources to make and they are already creating a lot of rubbish and pollution. But I inwardly like seeing them wave in the breeze and add colour to the city.
-I really don't see how the flags and pennants and signs would ever really encourage anyone to change their minds in who they would vote for.
-I am quite glad that the elections in Canada do not include shooting into the air (with pistols and Kalashnikovs).
-But because I like seeing the flags and pennants, here are some photos:

There are a few Islamist Union party flags also

This is outside my bedroom window, looking at the school gate



Looking toward Mosgowti Ibrahim



Unravelling the knots of colonialsim and racism one tangle at a time- Part One

The woman shed tears of remembering and grief as she courageously shared with strangers and supporters the intimate details of the abuse laid on her as a tiny girl by adults who professed to be Christian. As her 15 minutes allotted to her wound down she said, (paraphrased),It is not good that this is the last TRC gathering. When this is done then the government can say that they have done their work and all is finished. But it is not. Our pain is still here. There is still work to be done.

Last week, in Iraqi Kurdistan,  I watched the live streaming of the Alberta National Event of the Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) . These conversations have happened across Canada at various venues for the last 4 years. It has been a time for the indigenous people of Canada to tell their stories of what churches, with the blessing of the government, laid on them for over one hundred years in  residential and day schools.. This TRC in Edmonton, Alberta is to be the last official time for people, indigenous and non-indigenous to come together to tell the stories and to listen to  the stories and to commit to continue to work on undoing the racism and colonialism that was central to the actions.

I was not able to be at this gathering, although I did have  the privilege in June 2010 to attend the first TRC in Winnipeg, Manitoba. However, I felt a little like a part of me was there.

In December 2013 I was at a meeting of the Winnipeg Branch of the Student Christian Movement. This group is committed to working on standing in solidarity with our indigenous brothers and sisters.  That morning my friend Brad Langendoen came up with a proposal. He had a dream of walking from Winnipeg to the Edmonton TRC. He was inspired by  the 1600 kilometer journey that several  Cree teens  hiked  between Quebec and Ottawa last year, drawing public attention to justice issues. He envisioned this walk to be a time of reflection , lament and connection with the land for the walkers from Christian backgrounds. Over the next weeks, as we discussed this plan we realised that the logistics of walking that distance did not seem possible so the walk was narrowed down to 520 kilometers.

On March 8th 3 walkers set out from a midway point between Winnipeg and Edmonton. One of these walkers was my son-in-law Laurens Thiessen van Esch.  One more person joined them after a few days and others walked for a short time during the 3 week trek over the Canadian prairies on into the hills of Alberta.

Two of the walkers; Laurens Thiessen van Esch and Ann Heinrichs

 

The 4 walkers on the flat prairie highway.

 





Even though I was on team with Christian Peacemaker Teams Iraqi Kurdistan while the TRC was happening, I did feel somewhat jealous.  If I had been in Canada, I would have gladly joined them in the walk. But I was not, so I did take on the limited challenge of fasting from lunch for a week. I did feel the hunger pangs a little bit. Some thoughts I had when they set in:

-I  thought about the children who experienced much harsher hunger pangs for weeks and months on end in the schools that did not give them enough food to survive

- I thought about the children who ran away to try to get home and how hungry they must have been.

- I thought about the hunger pangs of those who are homeless due to the situation of generational trauma from the residential schools and/ or who do not have enough money for all the basic needs. And I had the privilege of making the choice to skip a meal.

 

In his proposal Brad, L continued, "Although the primary outcome of this trip might be to hear and honour Residential School survivors, I believe a trip like this would undoubtably have a transformative affect on each of the walkers – though to what affect remains to be seen. For Christians, this walk provides an opportunity to contemplate a responsibility we have to our collective history as we quite literally take some significant steps towards truth and reconciliation."

 

The formal TRC gatherings are over, the Honour Walk by four walkers is over. But the work is not done. We need to continue to do the hard work of unravelling the knots of colonialsm and racism one tangle at a time.

 

 

During the TRC the walkers and other supporters had the opportunity to offer an expression of reconciliation. They offered a quilt and a copy of the book, "Buffalo Shout, Salmon Cry" to be placed into the bentwood box.

(Photos taken gratefully from the Honour Walk website)