A journey deep into the struggle

Between Middle East and America: A so Awaited Visit, San Juan, PR-Iraqi-Kurdistan, February 17th, 2012

2012-02-17T09:26:00.000-08:00

Ihave been quiet for some months now. During December-January, I went home tovisit family and friends. I am back on the ground in Kurdistan, Iraq despitebeing worried about recent talks about bombings in Iran, which is a couple ofhours away. The propaganda is immense, especially from Israel, who cannot cometo terms with a nuclear Iran and is trying to persuade the US of attacking.Well, that’s another whole story, but basically I wanted to share my thoughtsabout my visit back home and to Connecticut.

Beinghome was refreshing, after more than a year away. Spending time with family andfriends gave me a sense of groundness. I enjoyed a warm Caribbean Christmas, beingnurtures by loved ones and was able to replenish the energy I had spenttraveling for the past one and a half year. Sometimes you get yourself so intothe work you do that you forget about your loved ones. I also had theopportunity to connect with my fellow friends and Middle East activists backhome, that are doing their share of work while we are on the ground. They keepthe momentum going at home, reminding people and our elected officials that wedon’t want more war and abuses in the Middle East. Knowing that there’s people supportingthe work I do, gives me strength to keep going.

Igave four talks in CT and it was great to connect again with people. During thefirst one, I burst into tears when I showed a slideshow with some of thepictures from my journey. Is just one of those moments when it really sinks in.Is hard when you have been focusing on doing, doing, doing to find the time toabsorb it all. I had great discussions and the opportunity to share myexperience, what it means to me and for the people I have met to have lived andwork in Palestine and now Iraq. I talked about Hamas; how it started as agrassroots movement, about how our “war on terror” has developed more violenceand created millions of refugees and internally displaced people, some of whichI had the opportunity to work with. One of the questions that came up was: Whathas been the hardest thing about living and working in the Middle East? For me,it hasn’t been the hard conditions, lack of social life as we know it in thewest, unavailability of electricity, or that sometimes I feel helpless towardsthe situation, the hardest is the fact that I have an American passport and Ican leave whenever I want. Anytime Ifeel fed up, I can just take a bus or a plane, get myself a piña colada andseat in front of the beach. I have options and freedom; something which myIraqi and Palestinian friends lack.

Talk in Storrs, CT Jan 23rd.

New Haven, Jan. 26th with Stan Heller from the Middle East Crisis Committee

I mostlytalked with people working with Middle East advocacy, but it was interesting totalk to people who were not activists; but regular people with no background inthis part of the world. Part of the job is to take this time to talk to peopleand get the word out. I was very touched when people thanked me for bringing mypersonal story, because it gave them a face to what they frequently hear in thenews, or even study in school. The reality is that Iraqis and Palestinians arereal people who are not much different from us; even Islam is not muchdifferent from Christianity. They just have had it bad, because of our governmentimperialistic aspirations and I think is why I feel accountable and I want toshow Palestinians and Iraqis that not all Americans agree with our governmentpolicies.

In Hartford, CT on Jan 27th

Thispast month, gave me the time to reflect on the things that I have lived andwhat I’ve learned about this journey: I have learned that there are people andgenerations in this part of the world who have lived their entire life at war(Palestine more than 40 years, Iraq more than 30 years); even some of thelittle ones have spent their entire lives as refugees. They have loved andhated, laughed and cried and wiped out their tears. They have won, and lost; andhave found creative ways to survive. They have seen life and death, and buried theirdead and continued their journey; many have lived through occupation, but fewhave tasted freedom. I’ve also learned to love and value myself, learned thevalue of family and friends, to listen to all and above all, I have learnedthat there are still people who are compassionate, care for justice and valueeveryone equally.

Now,I don’t have a job, as many Iraqi, Egyptians, Libyans and Palestinians, just tomention some. I mean, I am doing a lot of things. For example, a couple of daysago, I was in a small village near Suleimaniya called Tutaqal. A village ofabout 15 families, the landscape was so beautiful; you could see thesnow-topped mountains. I went with a friend who was going to deliver threetrailers to be used as a school as part of a project to eradicate FemaleGenital Mutilation (FGM). They have agreed with the village to provide for threeclassrooms in exchange of the villagers agreement not to engage in this practice anymore. I met the beautiful children who were going tobenefit from the classrooms. I wish you could see the faces of the students andteachers when they saw the new “classroom-trailers”, they were so happy, theymoved their desks and chairs instantaneously!!!! But also I wish you saw theirprevious classrooms, small and dark, one of the rooms was used to keep thedonkeys. So dusty and dark! I can’t stop thinking how blessed we are to haveall the resources we have in America, when there are children who have lessthan the minimum! Read the story.

First and second grade students in Toutakhel, Iraq, share a classroom in a cinderblock building that the village rents for the school. The building lacks electricity, heat, and water. Three of the school’s six grades moved to new trailers that serve as modern classrooms on Monday, February 13. Wadi and the village are working together to obtain additional funding for three more trailers to serve as classrooms. Photo by Heidi Diedrich

Three sixth grade students in Toutakhel, Iraq, study English in the village school, housed in a rented cinderblock building that lacks electricity, heat, and water. Shortly after this photograph was taken, the sixth grade students moved into their new classroom, housed in one of three trailers delivered to the village on Monday, February 13. Photo by Heidi Diedrich

A mud hut that used to be a donkey shed served until recently as a classroom for first and second grade students in Toutakhel, Iraq. Elementary student Amez, age 12, said, “Before transferring to this new school [the classroom trailers, we were studying in a building that was a place for donkeys. Now we are so happy. We have a better place to study. The school is able to support us, and it is more comfortable for teaching.” Photo by Heidi Diedrich

A schoolteacher from Toutakhel, Iraq helps guide one of three new trailers that now house elementary classrooms for village students in grades fourth, fifth, and six. Wadi and the village are working together to obtain additional funding for three more trailers to serve as classrooms for students in first, second, and third grades. Photo by Heidi Diedrich

Students in Toutakhel, Iraq began moving in classroom furniture into the new trailers on Monday, February 13, the same day the structures were delivered to the village. Photo by Heidi Diedrich

Sixth grade students in the remote village of Toutakhel, Iraq finished the school day on Monday, February 13 in their new classroom, housed in one of three trailers delivered that day as part of the Stop FGM Kurdistan campaign. Photo by Heidi Diedrich

Elementary school children in the remote village of Toutakhel, Iraq, wave goodbye to the Wadi team. Photo by Heidi Diedrich

Students in Toutakhel, Iraq began moving in classroom furniture into the new trailers on Monday, February 13, the same day the structures were delivered to the village. Photo by Heidi Diedrich

So,now I leave something for later, so many thoughts, that I cannot keep up withmy writing. Later, I will write about honor killings in Kurdistan. So I hopeyou keep reading my posts and keep supporting me and the people here in yourprayers.

Something to think about on Thanksgiving, Suleimaniya, Iraqi, Kurdistan

2011-11-24T07:13:00.000-08:00

It has been more than three months since my last post. In that time, many things have happened here in this part of the world: the PA went to the UN to ask to be admitted as a member state, Arab Spring has become the Arab autumn and now the Arab winter, thousands of Syrians have been killed, Egyptian Christians have been massacred in Cairo, Gilat Shalit was exchanged by 1027 Palestinian political prisoners, 24 Turkish soldiers were killed in near the Turkish-Iraq border (Turkish territory) which led to air and land strikes in Northern-Iraq, Kurdistan, Muammar Qaddafi was murdered. It seems that violence is business as usual.

Perhaps I didn’t have the will to write, I was sick, very frustrated, overwhelmed or even disappointed. After a year in Kurdistan, nothing seems to have changed. Life goes on, people in the west and even here go to work, and they are busy with everyday things. In the meantime, I try to keep myself motivated and find a reason to wake up in the morning; to believe that there is hope for change, a reason to keep fighting for justice, in a far away country, removed from all the things that I love: my family, my friends, my country. sometimes I find it hard.

Every morning and afternoon, I walk to work and pass by a group of old Kurdish men (Kakas) that greet me and invite me for a domino match, I have even beaten then a couple of times. I walk on the neighborhood, absorbed on my own thoughts. I go to work, between email, reports, forms, meetings and trainings the day goes by and then is time to go home and get some rest. Then the weekend comes and nothing seems to change.

Suddenly, Friday morning, my day off, I go to a very special place. A place that is hard to explain, a place where love and misery coexist. Here, I realize why I am here, when I see the face of the children I get to work with every Friday, they are children internally displaced by violence. Their eyes are so beautiful, full of laughter, full of joy, despite the hard conditions of living as refugees in their own country. When they come running and I hold them and see how full of love they are, I can’t but remind myself how lucky I am to be there and get to enjoy this time with them. We play, sing, dance, and learn together. The other day, I taught them the Macarena, I wish you could see how their small bodies danced to the rhythm of the music. For a single moment I lost sense of where I was, and just enjoyed their laughter. I forgot they are children of war and violence, displaced, fragile. I get back to reality, most of them must have spent the majority of their lives in this camp, a place of love and misery. Now every single week, they are asking to dance the choreography they learned. Even if we don’t have the music, I will sing for them and they do the steps. We have so much fun together. Then when is time to leave, everyone is sad, but we just have to wait for next week.

Yes, this happens as you live your life, go to do your groceries, to the salon, to the post office or for your daily walk. According to the UN Refugee Agency, there are 27.3 million internally displaced refugees around the world, the majority of them women and children, Iraq being the third largest country with internally displaced people (IDP), between 1.3-2.8 million, after Sudan and Colombia. Although internally displaced people outnumber refugees by more than two to one, no single UN or other international agency has responsibility for responding to internal displacement. As a result, the global response to the needs of IDPs is often ineffective. And guess who paid the wars that created these refugees? You with your tax dollars! And who is paying now, on programs to help refugees, you with your tax dollars. And who should be accountable for these million people who now are homeless, I leave that for you to answer. Desmond Tutu said that those who are silent to injustice can be called complicit.

Last week, it rained on the camp, for a full three days, I could not think but how where the kids, if they were warm enough, when we arrived, there was mud EVERYWHERE, but the kids didn't care, they were waiting for us. We always take our shoes off to keep the tent clean, but this time much more. I found myself lifting up the smaller kids who where struggling to take their muddy boots off. It was a beautiful Friday, a beautiful muddy Friday.....

So, when you are eating your Thanksgiving dinner, and are giving thanks, be thankful for all the blessings you have: a warm and safe home, food, water, electricity; think about the people: especially women and children, who have nothing and still are thankful for the little they have.

Camping in Kurdistan: A Road Trip and some Perspectives, Iraqi-Kurdistan, July 9th, 2011

2011-07-31T11:39:00.000-07:00

"Is easy to see the remarkable beauty of this country and forget all the atrocities that are still happening, I can get lost in the immensity mountains, swim on its rivers and enjoy the simplicity of its people....but then I hear its name: Iraq.... I recall I'm on this journey deep into the strugle.....still the magic prevails-in my heart and I smile" Johanna

In the beginning of July, I went on a road trip with two of my Iraqi friends. It was something we had been planning, but I had been postponing it because my injured foot. We started our adventure in Erbil, driving north into Duhok. We were going to camp somewhere, past the ancient city of Amedi, which sits beautifully on a hill, one hour past Duhok. I was really excited about the whole camping idea.

Our first challenge was in one of the literally thousand checkpoints that are all over the place in Kurdistan. I am not sure which; surely it was after we left Erbil. We showed our ID’s, and my two friends went out of the car. The Kurdish soldier asked to open the trunk, which my friend did, and all of a sudden, I saw the soldier checking my bag and taking out some of my medicines. Right, so maybe a Kurdish an Arab guy with an American girl could be suspicious. For sure we could be carrying some kind of bomb to disturb free and peaceful Kurdistan! After the guy slowly and meticulously looked through my medications -anti-inflammatory and thyroid medication- he was convinced that there was nothing wrong in our trunk.

He proceeded to ask me-in Arabic- where I worked. I said I worked in a human rights organization. Then he asked my Arab friend, who said he was my bodyguard!!!! But of course, his papers said otherwise. Luckily, the soldier did not inquire about that contradiction. They asked my Kurdish friend to come with them. I was surprised because I expected they would take my other friend, who was from Baghdad. After a while, when he came back, he said that they were looking for another guy with his name. Fortunately, everything was solved without major inconveniences.

We continued our road trip. Sunflower fields were covering both sides of the road. I asked my friend to stop to take some pictures. On an improvised tent, there were three young guys who were taking care of the fields. We were out for about 10-15 minutes, but it was hot as hell! When we were leaving, one of the guys called us back and gave us like 8 melons, which were also from the same field. That was nice of them, but we had enough melons for dinner and breakfast.

We made it into Duhok around noon, prayer time, but also lunch time. It was the first time that my Arab friend visited Duhok, despite he had been in Kurdistan for 6 years, always working and trying to survive. We stopped at a restaurant, and I was happy to get off the car and be in a cooler place. We went upstairs into the family section which obviously was full of families. As we ordered, in the midst of lunchtime chaos, I noticed a conversation between a waiter and a man; the man seemed to be asking for a prayer rug, something available everywhere, from restaurants to shops, anywhere there are people. The man got his rug and went to a corner to pray. It is one of those scenes that does not cease to amaze me, reminding me that Islam permeates all aspects of daily life. Is something very normal and I am used to it now, but is one of those things that could impress one who is not familiar with this culture.

We drove through a small dam, just on top of the city. It was a small, man-made dam, to collect water. It was in the middle of a beautiful landscape, and to me, it fitted perfectly as if meant to be there. We continued our journey, passing Amedi and into another city called Deralok. There were several Assyrian villages and a couple of churches on the way. My two friends that just met today, talked about politics, religion and about life in Iraq. I was sitting in the back, listening and smiling. These were two people that generally would not come together spontaneously. Arabs and Kurds are not naturally attracted to each other, due to historical reasons, mainly because of the genocide of the Kurds orchestrated by Saddam. Only when people think beyond history and realize that what happened was a result of people in power doing things that did not necessarily represent the will of all, only then they can start reaching to each other.

I was glad that they were talking and making jokes; I knew both of them had been through a lot. The Kurds had the genocide and the uprising of 1991 that made millions refugees flee to Iran and three wars, plus sanctions that had destroyed a country and its people: the Iran-Iraq war, the Gulf war and lately in 2003 which made millions of Arabs flee to the north. The [American] war in the south had brought many Arabs into Kurdistan, which is autonomous, but yet, still part of Iraq. Many Arabs had come to escape violence and many more in search of employment given that war destroyed their source of income. The reality is that there is a lot of discrimination towards Arabs and because they come not speaking Kurdish, they can only get odd jobs which offer no stability. These jobs pay very little despite the long working shifts and oftentimes have no days off [=exploitation??].

We passed another checkpoint where a soldier again asked for our ID’s. When he came to check mine, he asked me where I am from, and he was smiling and exclaiming that my name is Kurdish. My name also exists in Kurdish but it is spelled differently: Jwana≠ Johanna. He thought I am originally Kurdish. People often say that I have Kurdish features, and many times people talk to me in Kurdish only to realize that I have no clue of what they are saying. He returned our ID’s and exclaimed: “Welcome Mister Johanna!”

After a long day on the car, looking for the perfect spot for the camping, we finally arrived to a beautiful and quiet place by the river. It almost felt like we arrived to the end of the world, away from people, from the government, just nature and beauty in front of us. It almost felt like being in another planet. We mounted our tent, looked for some wood for fire, and grilled some chicken Iraqi-style-tomato juice and salt.

We sat and enjoyed the peace and quiet of the night, listening to the soothing sound of the river and overlooking the moon sometimes wanting to hide from us behind the clouds. Enjoying this little moment but knowing that tomorrow we would wake up to the same Iraq we just escaped a couple of hours ago!

Navigating the Iraqi-Kurdistan Medical System: A Day at the Hospital, Suleimania, Iraqi-Kurdistan

2011-07-19T09:48:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the Kurdish pediatric hospital in Suleymania. For the past two days I had a bad stomach ache and this had been going on since March, so I thought it was time to check with a specialist. The doctor I met was a pediatrician and he was going to put me in touch with a doctor who specializes in gastric issues for children. When we arrived to the hospital, we asked for Dr. Jamal who kindly came for me into the reception. He took me upstairs and I was surprised to see the huge amount of people waiting, mostly mothers with their children. We passed the crowd and I waited in another room for Dr. Adnan, the second doctor. In Kurdistan is not like in the west, when you arrive to the hospital there is not a big reception. Usually there is a guy or two in the entrance and they just put your name in a notebook. There is no need to fill a lot of registration paperwork, insurance or the like in order to be seen by the doctor, and let alone have an appointment; you just show up, wait and talk to the doctor.

While I was waiting, I was offered tea and water and shortly Dr. Adnan arrived. He asked how I was feeling and I explained that my stomach was hurting, and that I had a history of acid reflux, so after 2 minutes, he agreed to do the endoscopy next morning, (no appointment- no anything) but he advised that I do some testing first. And of course, I didn’t need any referral for the laboratory. Later in the morning, I got the [stool] sample and took it to the laboratory to be analyzed. Showed up at the lab., paid 2500 IQD ($2.00) and voila, my sample was analyzed in my presence. I had to open the flask while the technician pulled some of the “shit-sample”. After the analysis, the lab technician instructed me to see the doctor, and I was thinking, oh-oh, there’s something wrong with my results, so I went to see the doctor. He checked me and again asked me what was wrong with my stomach, after which he proceeded with a litany of medications, most of them I had been taking before. The doctor didn’t mention anything about the results, but he gave me the prescription. When I asked what was E. Histolityc, something that was positive on the results, the doctor said: “Yes, that’s a parasite, but I gave you something for it.” The fact is that if I didn’t ask, he was not going to tell me. That’s how well the doctors inform their patients about the test results and diagnosis. His initial diagnosis was irritable bowel syndrome, but he was treating my bug, without letting me know. I would have been angrier if when I came home and I looked up what was E. Histolityc was, found out that I was not told about the fact that I had a parasite on my s**t!!!!Welcome to Kurdistan’s medical system…..

Today, I went in to my endoscopy “appointment” at 8:00 am. It was in the Teaching Hospital, kind of like the Medical School. Dr. Adnan was there and introduced me to the doctor that was going to perform the study. It took 2 hours of waiting until I got into the room, young boys passing in front of us with buckets and hoses, I was already scared from the size and length of the hoses (for the endoscopy). When I finally made it into the room, I wish you could imagine the setting: 5 medical students staring at me, a young boy who was the technician giving me the instructions on how to get ready in Kurdish, the doctor asking my name, age and other information on the other side of the curtain. My friend Juliana who had come with me was called into the room with the duty of holding my hand, she said ”Breathe like in Yoga” then I realized that there was no anesthesia. The doctor came to the other side of the curtain and the 5 students made themselves comfortable, as if they were going to watch something important. Then the technician placed the mouthpiece –on my mouth- and the doctor started to push the hose in……then he said breathe, but I couldn’t figure out if to breathe from my mouth or from my nose, the hose was a big resistance to my breathing. He said, “Look at the TV”, which was displaying my stomach, while saying: “This looks ok”, as he kept pushing the hose in. When I did concentrate in breathing, I felt my body relaxing, but I could not keep it for long. The whole thing lasted 1 minute, but it felt like 1 hour.

After the process was finished, one of the assistants told me to bring a paper downstairs to reception. The whole study was 20,000 Iraqi Dinars, or $17.00. I even got a CD with my stomach’s 1 minute of Iraqi fame. That was it, the thing that surprises me the most is how complicated we make things in the west. The appointment has to be several weeks in advance, anesthesia and all the effects that come with it. When I finished I was able to go out of the room walking on my own. Recovery time was less than 5 minutes, and I was ready to go back to work!

So this is how I survived the Kurdish endoscopy, I’m not saying they are better, but at least more practical. The best thing is that my stomach is ok. I just have to treat that bug for 10 days and hopes it gets killed by the Syrian manufactured medication. Wish me luck!!!!

Yezidis: The Struggle of Yet Another Minority in Iraq, Lalish, Iraqi-Kurdistan, June 19th, 2011

2011-07-10T09:37:00.000-07:00

Driving south of Duhok, we were curious enough to visit the Lalish temple, the place where the world began and the holy site of the Yazidis. The Yazidis are an ethnic and religious minority in Iraq that is often misinterpreted to be devil worshipers. In actuality many of their religious stories root from the same fables of other more common beliefs. Their stories differ, however regarding their patron angel the Malek Taus or Peacock Angel. They believe that God left the earth in the care of seven angels and told them to obey Adam. The Malek Taus was the only angel to refuse, stating that Adam was created from the soil and the angels were created from God’s light. According to this angel, light could not be at the mercy of the soil. The Yazidis believe that this was the answer that God was looking for, proving that he was the most loyal angel, and made Malek Taus responsible for all humanity. In the Islamic tradition, that angel was Satan, who was punished by his disobedience by being sent to hell.

As Yezidi people enter the village, they stop to remove their shoes, and as they enter the temple; they stop to kiss the entryway. It was noon, the ground was burning hot and I had a sprained foot, but I had to respect the traditions. It felt like a holy place, especially when the Yazidi young guy that was showing us around told us we could not touch the step that was part of the entryway; “It is for angels only” he said. It seemed a mysterious and mystical place.

Yazidis secretive beliefs date more than 4000 years, before both Christianity and Islam. Yazidis have 5 daily prayers. However, most Yazidis observe only two of them; the sunrise and the sunset prayer. The daily prayers must not be performed in front of outsiders and are always performed in the direction of the sun. Wednesday is their holy day, but Saturday is their day of rest. Yazidis cannot spit on the ground, eat lettuce, cabbage (which causes gases), cannot wear blue- the color of the peacock? I am glad I was not wearing blue!!

Lalish temple is either less than 1000 years or as old as time, depending on who you ask. The Yazidis believe that when God created the earth, he first created the temple and all living things sprang outward from its walls. Its labyrinth rooms comprise a series of holy sites. When you enter there are colorful silk fabrics tied together to the many temple columns. You can make a wish as you untie one of them. We entered one of its rooms which contained the tomb of the Yazidi prophet Adi Ibn Musafir, a Sufi whom the Yazidis believe incarnated Malek Taus until his death in 1162. Sheikh Adi influenced the largely Zoroastrian tribe with Islamic beliefs. A set of stairs nearby his tomb lead to a cave from which holy waters of Zam Zam flow, which he named after the spring in Mecca. We could not see the spring, as only Yazidis are allowed into the cave.

The temple was dark even in the heat of the day. The young guide showed us the room where they make candles. I remembered that my friend told me to ask if I was going to heaven or earth. Yazidis try their luck with a series of wishing games. A scarf tossed to perch perfectly at the top of the stone means that one’s wish will come true. A pebble thrown at two holes will show us where our souls will land on the judgment day. One has three tries to toss toward one’s preferred fate. I tried with the scarf, and I wasn’t lucky. I didn’t dare for the second one, I didn't want to know..where I will end up.

Today, the Yazidis serve an important political role in the region. Their numbers in disputed territories could act as a swing vote to sway cities such as Mosul towards the Kurdistan Regional Government over the Central Iraqi Government. Many attempts to define the Yazidis’ ethnic identity (notably the policies of the Baʿathist government in Iraq, which designated them as Arabs) have been politically motivated[1].

Yazidis were stripped from their Kurdish identity and reclassified as Arabs. Many were forced to leave their villages to be dispersed or concentrated in other territories. Apart from a few Arabic-speaking clans, Yazidi communities speak Kurmanji (Northern Kurdish) as their first language, and their cultural practices are Kurdish. Most Yazidis claim Kurdish identity when it relates to politics and the Yezidi identity otherwise. In Iraq, this view has had the support of the government in the Kurdish Autonomous Region since 1991[1].

In recent years the threats are mainly from militant Islamist groups, like Al Qaeda who views them as infidels. Terrorism has driven Yazidis from Mosul, where their numbers were once strong. Violence has even reached their smallest villages. In 2007 a set of bomb trucks killed hundreds of Yazidis This current situation affects the Yazidi’s rites and traditions preventing people from coming to Iraq for their required pilgrimage to Lalish.

As part of the Tiziano project, I came across the story of Alia, a Yazidian, who was the first woman to graduate from law school. She is also from one of the highest families in the Yazidi order, but even that has a price; she was forced to close her practice and move with her father in law upon her husband’s death. “Yazidis are quiet and peaceful people, they are very nice and very kind with other people because of the many genocides we have had, but maybe between us, we are not; we are cruel”. “She describes her situation: “Our traditions are very heavy to a woman if she is without a man and also I have no son, so is not allowed for me to work anymore. I am staying at home. I read and write, only this. My world is within my home, really.”[2]

Her loyalty to the tribe keeps her captive; she calls her home a prison. “I belong to Yazidi, I am Yazidian and I am very proud of this, but in my life, I am secular, I don’t believe in religions that could separate people.” There is no way to become Yazidi. Yazidi souls must be re-incarnated into new Yazidis, so there are not enough souls to accommodate new converts. This alsp means that Yazidis cannot leave the group because their souls are Yazidians. To maintain order, the religion upholds a complicated caste system that divides members into three groups by status, which is then in some cases sub-divided by occupation and wealth. Yazidis are only allowed to marry within their caste. Marrying outside your caste or outside your religion is often punished by death.

In 2007, a girl named Du’a fell in love with a Muslim boy in Bashiqa, near Duhok. Rumor got into the community that she had converted to Islam to marry him. The girl went into hiding but was found and dragged into the town’s square, where members of the community stoned her to death.

When we finished our visit of the temple, we had some time to wander around. There were some young people and families having a picnic. The place was quiet and beautiful and I was glad we were welcomed by the Yazidis and they were open and willing to show us their holy place.

PS. If you like my posts and would like to support me please hit the pot -there is a donation button on the blog, I have to eat and drink too!

References:

1. http://www.iranica.com/articles/yazidis-i-general-1

2. http://360.tizianoproject.org/kurdistan/#/213, Yazidi’s Power and Peril, accessed June 30^th, 2011

My First Day in Suleymania: A visit to Qalawa Refugee Camp, Suleymania, Kurdistan--062911

2011-06-29T12:15:00.001-07:00

It was noon and the driver arrived to pick me up. I had accepted a new job and was moving once again, this time to Sulaymaniyah, after 4 months living in Erbil, the capital of Iraqi-Kurdistan. The modern city of Sulaymaniyah was founded on 14 November 1784 by the Kurdish prince Ibrahim Pasha Baban who named it after his father Sulaiman Pasha. Because it was founded as the capital of a powerful Kurdish principality, Sulaymaniyah has developed into a large city with a population of about 1million people. It is the cultural center of the Sorani-speaking Kurds and an important economic center for Iraqi Kurdistan.

A view from the Dukan Lake, Suleymania

I had a mixture of happiness and nostalgia, leaving Erbil, which I already considered home, even though it was very different from my home; language, culture, women’s place in society, but I had learned to accept it and love it, I had friends and had established many relationships. I was happy and ready to try Suli’s way; everyone I had talked to said it was better than Erbil, in terms of customs and traditions, they kept stressing the fact that people in Sulimania were more open and that I would feel better here.

Om Suli, I was invited to attend a puppet show in the Qalawa refugee camp and of course I was in, since I love anything that has to do with children. We arrived to the camp and were greeted in the entrance by a man. There was an empty, rocky and dusty lot and my first reaction was one of shock. I had only seen the Palestinian refugee camps which looked more like neighborhoods, with cements houses, being established more than 50 years ago. Blue tents served as roofs, held by big tires. I didn’t go inside the camp, since the children were practicing and anything could distract them; I perfectly new this from my experience working in a summer camp in Palestine. Instead, few girls came out to receive us and I greeted them in Arabic: Shlonish, How are you? Then I used a more colloquial expression: Shaku Maku, more like what’s up, and they replied; Kulshi Maku, Nothing’s up! This is a normal Iraqi response. We were all laughing!

Qalawa Camp was formed in June 2006 by a group of IDPs on an empty piece of open land southeast of Sulaymaniyah center. It is located in Sharwani area, near the Rizgari fuel station. We were told there are around 59 families living here. I approached two women that were near and asked them how long they were living in the camp, one of them said that she was from Baghdad and was living there since 2009. She said that there were no jobs and that they had problems with electricity.

According to a 2008 report from the International Organization of Migration (IOM), camp residents face poor conditions, as they have no sanitation, loose garbage around the tents, no electricity and no toilets. In addition, there have been cases of typhoid reported. IDPs have access to a mobile medical unit and water is being trucked in. The camp was formed when a large number of families fled sectarian violence in Baghdad and Diyala. During our visit we were told that the children from the camp do not attend school. According to a report from the Danish Immigration service from their visit to the camp in 2010, there were 27 children of school age in the camp in 2009. They were not enrolled in school, particularly if engaged in begging and lacking alternative sources of livelihood, declined UNHCR supported transportation to schools in the neighborhood. Only few of the camp’s children can read.

The children’s messy, untidy hair reminded me of their reality as refugees, but their smiles and beautiful eyes lifted me up. I started to ask their names, and they all took turns to tell me their names. One of them clung into my arm and kissed it, my heart wanted to melt but I smiled and kissed her head back. It was very hot and dusty, and we were trying to set up the stage for the puppet show. It was just a colored banner in Arabic and English welcoming everyone, but it was meant to serve as an interface between the public and the actors. We laid some blankets in the dusty ground for the audience to sit overlooking the mountains.

After some running around and playing, we were able to gather the children in a circle, to get ready to start the show. Then one of the AUI professors, who have been working on the camp arrived and our circle was destroyed. They all gathered around him to welcome him. The roles were reviewed by the volunteers and the children took their puppets and gathered behind the improvised stage. The show started and the puppets as well as the children’s heads were coming up and down. The narrators, a boy and a girl, who were able to read, took turns in telling the story and the children came on stage often times delayed, but we laughed and clapped and enjoyed the performance. The children were happy and full of energy despite the burning sun. It was the first time that they had the opportunity to show their abilities in public. The event was very simple, and yet empowering. It was a symbol of what can be achieved if we can give time, love, solidarity and hard work.

I can’t wait to go back to Qalawa, it reminds me how blessed I am and why I am here; to share what I have with others and to make these children hope for a better future. It reminds me that I CAN do something to change the world by changing peoples’ lives, one at a time.

“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget.” A. Roy

Children of My Heart: The other face of Iraq, Israel, Palestine, Turkey

2011-06-18T12:17:00.000-07:00

This is a photo essay that I made, which expresses much of what I feel about the situation here in this part of the world!!!

Obama and Netanyahu vs. Normal People, Istanbul, Turkey---June 6th, 2011

2011-06-07T08:14:00.000-07:00

I was reading the Israeli historian Ilan Pappe’s recount on how he threw a shoe at his TV, the moment Obama was justifying Netanyahu’s remarks that there would be no return to the 1967 borders. I don’t blame him; I wanted to do the same when Netanyahu said, on his speech to the congress that “We will be generous with the Palestinians”, referring to concession on Palestinian land.

We have Obama and Netanyahu in one camp and on the other camp the Palestinian leadership threatening to go to the UN to ask to be admitted as a member state with a unilateral declaration of a “Palestinian state”. What does this all means? The UN has not been capable of enforcing its countless resolutions, end Gaza’s blockade or exert pressure to end the illegal occupation. Moreover, all these initiatives are disconnected from the daily suffering of the Palestinian people.

As Dr. Eid Haidar states in a recent commentary: ”Depicting such a declaration as a “breakthrough,” and a “challenge” to the defunct “peace process” and the right-wing government of Israel, serves to obscure Israel’s continued denial of Palestinian rights while reinforcing the international community’s implicit endorsement of an apartheid state in the Middle East”. This pseudo state is just an attempt to silence non-violent resistance and the international support that the Palestinian cause has gathered in recent years.

This unilateral declaration takes for granted all the facts on the ground: the more than 573 checkpoints, the Jewish-only colonies that annex more than 54% of the land of the West Bank. In his article Dr. Haidar continues to explain that:”This same idea of “independence” was once rejected by the PLO, because it did not address the “minimum legitimate rights” of Palestinians and because it is the antithesis of the Palestinian struggle for liberation“. Once declared, the future “independent” Palestinian state will occupy less than 20 percent of historic Palestine. By creating a Bantustan and calling it a “viable state,” Israel will get rid of the burden of 3.5 million Palestinians. The PA will rule over the maximum number of Palestinians on the minimum number of fragments of land — fragments that we can call “The State of Palestine.”

But in this scenario, there emerges a third camp, the ones that Pappe call: all those who are unwilling to succumb and are telling the elites that its world and agenda is not theirs. As Ilan Pappe so rightly expresses: the support for the people’s effort in commencing a new phase in the popular resistance against the Israeli occupation is galvanizing the global Palestine solidarity movement with the similar energy generated before by the Boycott Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movement. So much can still be done, in total disregard of the hegemonic discourse and inaction of western political elites on Palestine. So much has already been done in the continued resistance against the Israeli destruction of the land and its people.

This popular resistance is also expressed by the brave civil society initiatives in recent years that brought both the symbolic relief of empathy and human solidarity, as well as the token amounts of substantive assistance in the form of much needed food and medicine. One of these initiatives was last years’ Freedom Flotilla, which was so violently intercepted by Israeli commandos in international waters on May 31, 2010, resulting in nine deaths on the Turkish lead ship. Defying the first attack, a second Freedom Flotilla will set sail for Gaza, carrying various forms of humanitarian aid, including medical, school, and construction materials. It will consist of 15 ships - including the Mavi Marmara from the first flotilla - sailing from Istanbul, but also vessels departing from several European countries, and carrying as many as 1,500 humanitarian activists as passengers; doubling that of last year.

Like many other global citizens, I am one of those participating in these civil society initiatives, by living and working in Palestine and Israel, and supporting grassroots initiatives from local organizations working with women and children. Contributions like this serve as a bridge between east and west, and provide an alternate source of information, coming directly from the ground. They also support Palestinian daily struggles such as being arrested for farming their land, tree planting to prevent more land confiscation, or visiting families that have been victims of house evictions and demolitions.

Oftentimes, I feel my small contribution is useless. But in this historical moment, I feel part of a bigger movement; the movement of those who are opposing power, dictators and leaders speaking out of their own interest and not that of their people. I feel part of the popular struggle, an Arab Spring that will overcome what Ilan Pappe calls the “Obamafication” of our world.

One Year from İsraeli raid on the Mavi Marmara will not Disuade New Flotilla

2011-06-02T08:47:00.000-07:00

İ am in the south east of Turkey therefore unable to participate in the one year commemoration events in İstanbul but here is an extract from the Turkish newspaper Hurriyet:

From Hurriyet Daily News:

Cries, shouts and slogans against Israel echoed down Istanbul’s famous İstiklal Avenue on Monday night as thousands gathered to commemorate the nine people killed last year on a Gaza-bound aid flotilla.

The marchers also came out to express their support for a new flotilla set to depart at the end of June, a group of ships that includes the same vessel fatally raided by Israeli commandos May 31, 2010.

On the eve of the first anniversary of last year’s raid, thousands of people marched toward Istanbul’s Taksim Square, shouting “Allahuekber” (Allahu Akbar – God is the greatest) and carrying posters reading, “Cooperation with Israel is a crime against humanity” or “Palestine’s resistance will win.” While many protesters were supporters of the İHH, some foreign tourists also joined the march.

Here we go again: A Second Flotilla

Some 15 ships will sail toward Gaza in the last week of June, carrying approximately 1,500 activists from about 100 countries. The first flotilla, which set sail in May 2010, contained about 700 activists from 38 countries on six ships. The Mavi Marmara will be among the 15 vessels carrying humanitarian aid, as well as medical, school and construction materials, along with other ships departing from the United States, Canada, Spain, France, Italy, Greece and Ireland.

“We do not believe that Israel will make the same mistake [as last year, to attack the flotilla]... We will sail peacefully, everything will be open,” said Hüseyin Oruç, a representative of the Humanitarian Relief Foundation, or İHH, which is one of 22 national networks in the coalition organizing the international flotilla.

Oruç also responded to the Israeli government’s efforts to get other countries’ governments to stop their citizens from participating in the flotilla. “We are living in democratic countries, where all rules are defined. No government has the right to tell us not to join the flotilla,” he said, adding that the activists are acting within the norms of both national and international laws.

“Even though people died last year, the flotilla managed to draw the world’s attention to what is happening [in Gaza]. Therefore it is important to go there again,” protester Muhammed Gün said to the Turkish newspaper.

İHH head Bülent Yıldırım made a similar announcement earlier in the day. “As you know, Egypt just opened its Rafah border against Gaza, but it is just for people to pass, there is no development on humanitarian aid,” he said. “Therefore our mission is still critical.”

The Mavi Marmara is set to sail to Gaza again in late June as part of an international group of 15 ships. According to convoy organizers with the Humanitarian Relief Foundation, or İHH, 500,000 people applied to join the second flotilla, which will sail toward Gaza in the last week of June, carrying approximately 1,500 activists from about 100 countries, as well as carrying humanitarian aid and medical, school and construction materials.

“We contacted the U.S. government last Monday, and the first thing they gave us was a travel warning to Gaza,” Ann Wright told the Turkish Newspaper Daily News on Monday, adding that more than 60 U.S. activists would join the flotilla nevertheless. She said they would ship 10,000 to 15,000 letters from Americans to the Palestinian people.

“We are going to carry the thoughts of the American people [to Gaza],” Wright said.

Turkish FM warns Israel not to repeat last year's flotilla 'mistake'

“We think Israel has enough experience not to repeat such a mistake again,” Foreign Minister Ahmet Davutoğlu said late Thursday in a televised interview.

The foreign minister said the government was working on all scenarios, including worst-case scenarios, in regard to the new flotilla bound for Gaza next month.

The Israeli government has so far only contacted the Turkish Foreign Ministry in an attempt to avert a repetition of last year’s crisis on the Mavi Marmara aid ship, well-placed sources said, adding that no other diplomatic initiative had been taken since that time.

Turkey: Traveling Between Mountains and the Sea and other Interesting Things- Trabzon, Turkey-May 17,2011

2011-05-18T09:27:00.000-07:00

“This feels right”, I told Joe, my hitchhiking partner from Luxembourg, as we got off the truck that brought us from Trabzon into Samsun through the Black Sea coast. “I feel this really is enjoying life; the right moment and the right place”.

We had just started a two day hitchhiking journey to get from Trabzon, close to the north east border of Turkey into Cappadocia, in Central Anatolia. The direct way was 667 km, but our group decided it was better to split the journey in two stages; stay the first night in Samsun (337 km from Trabzon) and then from Samsun-Nevsehir (453 km). I joined this group of three European volunteers (1 Lithuanian girl and two boys, Luxembourg and Estonia) that were working in Georgia, which I met where I was staying in Trabzon. They had planned to travel to Capadoccia by hitchhiking and staying with local people through an online traveling club called Couchsurfing, where locals offer a couch, or advise to travelers visiting their city. [Trabzon-Samsun-Valley of the Fairy Chimneys-Sivas-Giresun (not shown)-Trabzon]

We arrived safely at our destination, after two days of travel. The views of the towns of Goreme and Urgup in Cappadocia, in the Central Anatolian region were something I have never experienced before. This place is unique; a result of volcanic eruptions more than ten thousand years ago, transformed rocks into chimney like formations. In the Bronze Age, it was home to Assyrian populations. The first Christians hid in underground cities like Derinkuyu, with over 8 stories down to escape the persecution of the Roman Empire in the 2^nd century B.C. It was also one of the most important places during the spread of Christianity. [Image from the internet, you will know why later in the post, Goreme, Cappadocia]

Our hosts were great. Couchsurfing and hitchhiking are an alternative way of traveling. You get a taste of the real life by meeting lots of local people. The main thing for hitchhiking is to have a good map and to be patient…..very patient, and positive. You never know what you are going to get, or where you are going to end up. It was relatively easy to hitchhike, mainly with truck drivers. We usually did not wait more than 10 minutes between rides and people were very welcoming. While hitchhiking, in trucks going as far as Uzbekistan, Iran, or here inside Turkey, I realized how small the world is and how far things and people can travel. I have delivered stones for construction, flowers and supervised a road construction; we even met with the major from the Kavak municipality, part of Samsun, when we hitchhiked with a civil engineer. [Image from the internet, you will know why later in the post, Urgup, Cappadocia]

I have been in Turkey for a month now and I have not paid for any accommodation, always staying with local people. I even got a free hotel room since one of my hosts worked in a hotel. I have met so many different and cool people, hosts and travelers. I have tasted the country’s different flavors, the Turkish Kurdistan, the Black Sea region and the Central Anatolia –of course not everything- the beauty, hospitality and diversity of Turkey are unique I have enjoyed the hospitality of Kurdish, Uigur hosts, and Turks from Arab descent. In all these days I have been treated with great respect. I have eaten the most delicious pastries and danced to the sticky rhythm of Turkish and Kurdish music.

Looking out the truck window, I could see the different green tones accompanied by white tops of peaks far away. We are driving around a small road surrounded by mountains -it didn’t look like a small road on our map-. There are no houses or any other cars or human beings around, just us and the immensity and beauty of the landscape of Şebinkarahisar, a town which was one of the few locations where Armenians actively resisted the Armenian Genocide.

We were dropped at the Şebinkarahisar Otogar and started to walk. It was impossible to hitchhike from there. A car stopped and with my beginner Turkish, I managed to understand that the guy would take us to a better place where there would be more trucks. Yakub, our driver for that moment, took us several kilometers away, and pointed to the mountain, where there was an old church. Then, he left us at a cross road from a quarry, where there were supposed to be a lot of trucks coming. A guy offered us to take us to the bus station, insisting there were no trucks, but we wanted to wait. I guess he was right; there was no one there for a long period of time. I kept thinking that we shouldn’t have left the first truck which was going to Erzincan, but the truck had some problems so we got off and kept going. We took another car for one kilometer or so, and kept waiting. After about one hour later, waiting in the cold, an old car with four young guys stopped and confirmed that they were going to Giresun, 112 km away. We couldn’t believe it; I thought that no one will ever stop in that very small and curved road. We continued on the curved road for about two hours. Our young driver played loud Turkish dance music and I couldn’t help but to laugh at all this craziness, while looking out the window to the beauty of the landscape. I could still see snow at the peak of the mountains. Our car hosts invited us for tea in a lokanta by the side of the road. Later they bought some cakes, chips and juice.

We made it safely into Giresun, trying to figure out how we got into that small and almost impossible to hitchhike road. We were about to take our last hike into Trabzon, about 150 km from Giresun. I wanted to go to the toilet and I saw there was a place by the side of the road where cars couldn’t see. I jumped through the grass to one big rock and all of a sudden I fell. I tried to incorporate, realizing that I have twisted my foot and could not stand up. I yelled to Viljar, my traveling partner and he came quickly, he put some spray and scotch tape to support my injured foot. He carried me out of the rocks into the main road, where he managed to find a truck. Viljar carried me again, running with all the bags, then I managed to hold myself to the side of the truck, jumping in one leg until I got up in the cabin. Counting my bags to make sure I had everything with me, I realized I had lost my camera, probably where I felt. That hurt me more than my twisted foot!! The driver stopped for tea and I stayed in the truck. A guy brought me a cup of tea.

Next day I was very sad, wanting at all costs to go back to Giresun to look for my camera. The one detail was that besides I could not walk, I wasn’t exactly sure were the car had left us, and the exact place where the camera could be. I looked at the map and was more confused about the exact place. I burst into tears, tears of frustration, tiredness, anger… My working instrument, I had lost all my pictures, my memories. I was so angry! How could this happen to me? Since I got into Turkey, (a month now) I had been sick, first a bad cold, followed by a urinary infection-which made me spend one whole day in the hospital in Nevsehir, now I twisted my foot and lost my camera…..The only thought in my mind was that I wanted to be home, safe and to see my family.

One of my flat-mates came and said something in Turkish, not literally, but something like this: Everything happens for a reason and something better will come out of this. I calmed down and stopped blaming myself and everyone else. I had to get over it, rest and try to get better as soon as possible. Maybe something better will really come out of this…

10 Things I Will Never Forget About my Journey...Israel/Palestine/Iraq

2011-04-30T06:10:00.000-07:00

This is a reflection on what I 've lived and witnessed for the past 10 months while living in Israel/Palestine and Iraqi-Kurdistan. I thought of putting this list of the things that had impacted me the most on my journey. If you have been following my posts you may be familiar with the details' if not, you can always refer back to previous posts. This list is in no way extensive, rather is just something I was reflecting on the other night before going to sleep. I would need many sheets of paper or many web pages to list all the people and events that have touched me on this journey but here goes a small preview....

1. Living and working at the Tent of Nations, a Palestinian Farm surrounded by all sides by Israeli settlements. Watering the plants, trying to keep the farm despite the daily challenges of the occupation. Working at the summer camp with 60 Palestinian kids was no easy task but will stay in my heart FOREVER. (July 2010)

2. Staying at Al-Arakib village on the desert in Beer Sheeva, Israel after the first village demolition. (July 31st. 2010)

3. The amazing women of Kayan in Haifa, Israel who work with their hearts to empower women in the northern part of Israel. (Sept-Nov. 2010)

4. The pharmacist in Nablus, West Bank, who introduced his sons to us, one next to him, the other one who spend fifteen (15) years in jail for throwing stones when he was 11 and the third one on a picture on the wall, he was killed in the 2000 Intifada by the Israelis. (Oct. 30th, 2010)
5. Being tear-gassed by the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) in the village of Beit Ommar, West Bank on a peaceful demonstration over the illegal settlement of Beit Ayn. (Nov. 22nd 2010)

6.Watching the children selling gum in the streets in Erbil, Iraqi-Kurdistan. (Several times, Jan-April 2011)

7. Watching one widow woman in Khabat village 30 km from Erbil, crying because of the poor living conditions she and her children were living and the helplessness of not being able to provide better for her family. (Jan 11th, 2011)

8. Being the only women in the citadel, sitting and sipping my coffee, later I learned it was a men-only area. (Jan 14 th, 2011)

9. Being almost killed in the mountains of the Iraqi-Kurdistan, when our car slipped on a cliff on Massif mountain in the outskirts of Erbil. (Feb. 4th, 2011)

10.Being yelled at by the Sami Abdelrahman Park in Erbil,Iraqi-Kurdistan because we were lying on the grass and then a second time because we were dancing! I yelled back at him in Arabic telling him to bother the two guys next to us who were also lying on the grass. (April 1st, 2011)
Please, if you have been following my journey, or have been part of it in one way or the other, let me know your thoughts by email or by posting a comment into the blog comments section. I'd really like to hear how it has changed your or your community's perspective, life or way you perceived this part of the world. I would like to include these comments on o book project that I am working on. Also please feel free to share with friends, family, at work, or just to open a life changing possibility reaching someone with totally opposite views...

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Individually and collectively, we can raise the consciousness of the people of this planet, so that each of us will be viewed as members of the same family,who are here to claim their birthright of unconditional love and...[ ]. If we don't do it; who will. From the song Sisterlove The Hypnotist, Cafe del Mar Vol. 1.

Peace,
Joha