Students in Southern Kurdistan

The students who walk into my office the first time are optimistic and full of expectations. They’re hopeful and believe that they will be fluent in English by the end of this course. “Will I be able to speak fluently to foreigners after this course?” is the most common question asked at the first session. Obviously, I wouldn’t teach if I hadn’t thought that others would benefit from the lessons I give. But it’s really hard for me to give a good answer to that question. I honestly don’t believe they will be fluent in English after only four months unless they move to a place like Great Britain or the United States of America of course.

Most of us can speak our native language without any trouble. If the language people use on street, work or anywhere else is not the same as our native language we can, most of the time, easily adopt it. But what happens if you’re not certain which language is your native language? Some linguists argue that someone without a native language will not be able to learn another language properly and will even face difficulties in his or her native language too. This is because they don’t have a language to fall back on. It somehow makes some sense to me.

Southern Kurdistan has tried so hard to abandon the Arabic language as its native language which has caused enormous trouble for Kurdish adults and adolescents. Most of them were in the stage where when they were starting school the lessons were taught in Arabic but then it changed to Kurdish suddenly. They were confused and sometimes still are. Wars and oppression have made it hard for them to learn in a safe environment and some are still paying for it.  Does this mean that they fall under the category of “No language to fall back on?” I think it's better if we say that they haven't had the chance to learn their native language properly and that's why most of them still use Arabic words in Kurdish sentences.

When I explain my grammar lessons to my students they can give me the answers before I have even asked them. Yesterday I had a student who said she wanted the structure otherwise she wouldn’t understand. “SOV (Subject + Object + Verb) please, I don’t follow what you’re saying. I have to memorize the structure before I utter a word.” I was shocked. This is going to be a harder task than I had imagined. I tried to let her know that knowledge of a language is not the same as proficiency in a language.

Will the students who didn't have a chance to learn their native language be able to learn a foreign language? Will they learn a foreign language using a different technique than what they’re used to? Will I be able to help them along the way? Another challenge and I love it.

Shawushka

 

One of Shawushka’s employees knocks on the window of our door. The smile that was on my face, the one from just a minute ago, seems long gone. I always like it when she comes to visit us but today it’s different. I’m nervous and I think we all are. The decision we will make tonight will be a hard one.

As we all gather around the table, she grabs a few papers out of her bag and asks if my mother is sure. I want to tell her that we’re not sure. I wish I could tell her that there is a solution, that there is money, power and dedication from me. I hold still because I know there isn’t and even before I can say something my mother picks up her pen and puts her signature on the papers. “Shawushka isn’t what it used to be.” She says. “We’ve helped female writers in Kurdistan, We had the first Kurdish magazine which was written by women and for women. We held seminars, helped women in need, gave computer and English courses. We were there when others weren’t but now it’s time to let another generation shine. I am sorry that I have to close the doors of Shawushka.”   

Unfortunately, one of my mother’s works, or children, as she likes to call them, will close its doors. To me, and many others, Shawushka wasn’t only a cultural center. Many of my first works were published in Shawushka’s magazine. Ramdom people would recognize me from my articles in Shawushka. Even men would admit that they bought Shawushka because the topics were so good. It was our little baby (which had grown big) NGO.

I’m sorry that it had to end like this. I’m sorry that the person, up there, decided to make it hard for us to keep you open. I’m sorry you had to be the victim of that. I wish all the employees the best. Thank you all for your hard work. I will remember you, Shawushka, with a smile, from ear to ear. You were great.

 

 

A Kurdish revolutionary writer, Hussein Huzni Mukriyani.

 

 

“Shara speaks Shakespearean Kurdish. She doesn’t use any Arabic, Turkish or Farsi words when she speaks Kurdish. Her Kurdish is peti* and if she doesn’t know the word in Kurdish she thinks about it until she remembers.” I am a bit shocked but pleased when my Christian friend next to me explains to an American colleague why he sometimes laughs when I speak Kurdish. I never knew it was because of my Shakespearean Kurdish. I always thought it was my weird, Dutch accent people would laugh about.

I believe I have to thank my parents and grandparents for this. We have some revolutionary Kurdish writers in our family who all fought, with their pens, type machines, printing presses and computers, for the Kurdish cause. In 1915 Hussein Huzni Mukiryani, my grandfather’s brother, bought a new printing press from Germany and invented Kurdish linguistic characters in order to distinguish the Kurdish language from the Arabic one. He was one of the most leading Kurdish writers and journalists; famous for his works. Serving the Kurdish cause back then wasn’t easy. He was threatened with death and imprisoned for several years.

A. M. Hamilton, was a civil engineer from New Zealand, who traveled to this part of Kurdistan to build a road that would stretch from Northern Iraq on to the Iranian border, met Huzni Mukiryani and described him in his book. What he said was;

“Sayed Heusni is not merely an historian, he is also the local journalist and newspaper proprietor. There is a brass notice on his door which reads, Zari Kermanji (The Cry of the Kurdish) which is the name of his paper…
His type is set by hand. From the oak of the mountains – side the cuts small blocks of wood.
He planes them smooth and true and upon them he etches the illustrations for his paper. He inks his plates, turns the primitive printing press, then sets and binds his sheets together to from the monthly magazine. A copy goes to the high Commissioner and another to the league of Nations in Geneva. The Cry of Kurdish is called a “monthly” magazine but often enough the little paper is suppressed on account of its Kurdish sentiments which are not always approved of by the Governments at Baghdad.”

A. M. Hamilton, Road Through Kurdistan. 1937.


On May 25, 1926, the first issue of Zari Kirmanji appeared in Ruwandiz. This Saturday, May 25th, exactly 87 years later, Huzni’s house will be rebuild in Ruwandiz. His house will be a cultural center for youth.

I will certainly be there to support it and to see where my peti Kurdish comes from.
 
*Peti means perfect Kurdish
 

Erbilicious

Just try to imagine this; you and your dear friends are having a lovely dinner in a garden somewhere in Hawler.  It’s spring, Kurdistan is green and you’re not only taking in the scent of delicious food that comes from the table in front of you but you can also smell the beautiful flowers surrounding you. You try to forget about your diet because you cannot leave this food untouched. You try everything that’s in front of you and you think that your day is perfect.

Then the next day, reality hits you, you don’t feel well and you think you got food poisoned.

You forget about all the lovely scents, the view and even the lovely times you had with others because the only thing you can think about is how sick you feel. Could it have been the chicken or the salad, the pizza or the hamburger? You feel so angry and so you boycott that restaurant for the rest of your life, no, maybe for a couple of weeks but you want them to know what happened to you right?

Don’t worry, not all places here are like that. Some of the restaurants do think about hygiene and don’t you even try thinking that this only happens in Kurdistan because on this Dutch TV Program “De Smaak Politie”, I’ve seen some gross and awful kitchens that you don’t even want to know about.

What’s my whole point? Well, I started a restaurant review website. It’s actually the first one here in Hawler and I intend to go to these places to let them know about your experience. You can like the restaurants and rate them.

I started this because I want you to experience everything I mentioned in the first paragraph minus the food poisoning part.
Click here for the website

Freedom

It was somewhere in 90’s when we were staying at Taban hotel in Permam. It was summer and we had not been in Kurdistan for many years. I didn’t like the weather; it was too hot for me. I was bored and there weren’t any children at the hotel to play with.

 One day a man came to visit my father. I had no idea who he was but I still remember our conversation very clearly. He asked me if I would ever come back to Kurdistan. I answered that I wouldn’t. I believe my answer was negative because that summer had been a disappointment. He smiled and asked “What can I do to make you come back, tell me, what is it that you want?” What a funny guy, I thought. Why would he ask me what I wanted, as if he could ever give me that? Somehow I felt uncomfortable for having these thoughts so I answered his question and this is what I said:

“I want to feel free. To have the freedom to choose whatever I want. To be free from any superpower that wants to control me. I want to be one with nature, to have a mutual understanding, to be in harmony and the only time I feel free and in harmony is when I’m riding a horse. Thus I want a horse.”

I never understood why I said this until last week. It was the first time on the back of a horse in Kurdistan though it wasn’t the horse promised by this man.

I guess I’ve always been nationalistic when it comes to my roots. I always had to fight for my existence as a Kurd, even in the Netherlands. However, when I’m on the back of a horse it is as if the horse and I can conquer every obstacle in our way. We’ll jump, fall, raise and do it again until it’s perfect.

My path in Kurdistan has been the same I guess. I fell, hurt my back and tried again. I won’t give up on my dreams and I hope that this dear man, the current prime minister, won’t either. I have been in Kurdistan for a long time now but I guess he has forgotten that he promised me a horse. I just hope he hasn't forgotten the other part of our conversation.

I’m still waiting for a free Kurdistan, but for now the horse will do.

Import an Asian maid

 

                “A fat one is lazy and eats all the food you have in your refrigerator. Back in my time they didn’t even have pictures to show us, you’re privileged, so don’t pick a good looking one out of all these because she will seduce our men.” The woman smiles as she goes on. “I have mine for a year now but she is very annoying.” The woman is pointing her finger at an Asian looking girl in front of us. “She begs us every day for some credit to call home but she only has the right to call once every two weeks. She went too far yesterday when she asked the neighbor for credit. I am here at the company to discuss her punishment.”

                I am shocked as I look at the Asian girl in front of us. Her head is bend down and she doesn’t look older than 25. She is one of the many housemaids imported to Kurdistan from Asia. These young girls leave their families to come work here for months and some even for years. It is as if it’s the latest fashion to walk around the supermarket with an Asian housemaid following you.

                Nowadays there are several companies here in Kurdistan that imports maids from Nepal, Indonesia, Bangladesh, Malaysia and India. “They clean the house, watch your children and cook. The Indonesian one is cheaper so what else do you want?” says a busy looking man behind a desk as he gives us a couple of CV’s to look at. He talks as if he is selling food or something. I am really shocked but I read them one by one and come to the conclusion that almost all these girls are married and have children. Most of them are not older than 30 and already have work experience in Lebanon or Kuwait. So how long have they been with their children? How hard can life be I ask myself as I stare at the Asian woman still standing in front of us? Maybe she has children too? Maybe that’s why she wants to call home every day? Could you blame her? Should she really be punished? Wouldn’t you do the same if you were that desperate and alone?

                I almost want to walk out of the building as another Kurdish woman with a maid walks in. I’m curious about her story so I stop and turn around to eavesdrop. “My maid wants to speak to the owner of this company.” The Kurdish woman says with confidence. I look at the maid who looks very shy. I hold my breath because I can’t take more disappointments. But when she starts to talk in Kurdish I’m amazed. Her Kurdish is almost perfect when she asks the man behind the desk for extension of her contract. She likes the family she is placed in and does not want to leave Kurdistan.

                I feel a bit better when I leave the building though I’m not sure if I would really want to import a girl from Asia. We have never had an Asian maid but sometimes a Kurdish woman would stop by on a Friday afternoon to clean a few rooms only because she wanted to and because she likes the work. “Kurds don’t work.” Or “It’s better if the woman doesn’t know you and your family.” Is what I hear often when I ask why they have an Asian maid. One woman even said “They can’t steal from you because they can’t get out of the country without their papers therefore it’s better to import an Asian one than to get a Kurdish one.”

                The only thing I hope is that these Asian maids here in Kurdistan will not be abused like they are in other countries. I hope they’re not beaten, raped or threatened and I hope they will have gathered enough money when they go back so that they don’t have to be a maid in another country ever again. A child should grow up with the mother around and we should have more confidence in our own people.

Welcome to Erbil

                Other travelers might think I am insane but I can’t help sing the national Kurdish anthem as I walk in the terminal of Erbil International Airport. After all the wars that we, Kurds, have seen, who could have thought, years ago, that we, Kurds, would have our own international airport? Who could have thought that Erbil, one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, would become such an attraction to tourists? And, who would have thought that so many Kurds from the other parts of Kurdistan would call Erbil their home?

 

When I exit the airport, I welcome the smell of dust and the warm breeze that ruffles through my hair. “I am home” is the only thought I have as I go look for a taxi to drive me home. Yes, I am also excited to see my friends and family again and I am excited to see the change of Erbil. I’m sure there has not been much change for I’ve only been gone for 8 months.

                “You can make a U-turn over there.” I say with confidence. Erbil has been my home for years now and I know this city like the back of my hand. The driver laughs and does not make a U-turn. My head is spinning as I look at the road; there are so many cars here. What if we get hit? My heart is pounding and I almost whisper “You can’t do this, it’s not allowed!” I’m panicking when he says with a grin on his face; “Girl, you have been abroad for too long; you should let me do my job.” After we crossed the road safely, the air fills my lungs again and I guess the driver is right. In 8 months tremendous change can occur in a city like Erbil. But does it happen so rapidly that I will get lost in my own city? This will be my little challenge for tomorrow.

                As we drive into our neighborhood I start to get nervous. I can’t see our house anymore. It is as if I’m in a whole different place. I am glad when I see the Kurdish flag on our balcony. At least that has not changed. Let’s hope it never will. Let’s hope every Kurd may get the right to let the Kurdish flag wave in the air in every part of Kurdistan.

               I grew up abroad and decided to come back to Erbil so that I can feel, see and touch the change of our nation and this beautiful, old city. I hope you will let me take you on a tour through Erbil.