Letters from Iraq:

[La Fidele]

A professor of mine took a sabbatical earlier this semester to travel back to Iraq (he conducted his doctoral research there). He's accompanied by two graduate students, and the wonderful thing is that they send journal entries through an email network. I find the stories really amazing, considering this allows us a different perspective of what's happening in Iraq, besides what the nightly news covers.

The first entry's a bit long, but a really funny read. If there's enough interest, I'll post more entries as I receive them. I hope you guys find as much insight as I have. Salaamo!

P.S.-just to be fairly citing this original work, the author is David Romano, professor of political science at McGill University. The graduate students are Mike and Kariim

-------------------------------------------------

Oct.11-Oct.14

 

Hello Everyone,

 

Well, we finally made it to Iraq. We waited in Olympos (on the Turkish

Mediterranean coast the most pleasant place I could think of to wait for

anything) 10 days for permission from the Turkish Foreign Ministry to

cross from Turkey to Iraq. As they had promised (they said it would take

10 days), word came in that we had our permission. So we took a somewhat

hellish 26 hour bus ride to Silopi/Habur, the main crossing point on

Turkish-Iraqi border (and also about 50 km from the Syrian border).

 

The following morning, we hired a Turkish-Kurdish driver who took the 8 km

to the border, and who would cross with us and take us another 10 km on

the Zakho, the nearest Iraqi Kurdish town. Like on our previous attempt

to cross (Sept.26), the first step was getting approval from a junior

Turkish intelligence official, posted in a little mobile home office

beside the bridge that takes us over the Zab river into Iraq. Waiting in

line ahead of us was an Iraqi Kurd who lives in Dollard Des Ormeaux, the

Montreal neighbourhood I grew up in. Our turn came and this time we were

on the list (although at first the official said we were supposed to have

ID cards from the NGO we are working for and a fax from Ankara in our

possession, I would have none of it Take out the list, effendum!). He

found our names, called his commanding officer on the little red phone,

and informed us that we could now proceed to the passport police for our

exit stamps. At the passport police office, I gave over our three

passports and that of our driver. They were plenty friendly with us, but

also asked our driver if he was going to bring them a package of tea:

 

Driver: Uh, no, I dont have tea.

Police: ARENT you going to bring some tea?

Driver: Uh, yes, of course, be right back.

I then collected our passports and found our driver outside, who promptly

declared that he would be damned if he was going to bring them tea.

 

The next stop was the army search. The career military corporal in charge

looked in the back of the car and told us to take all our bags out and

place them on the searching table. Mike, who was showing another soldier

our exit stamps on our passports, hadnt heard the request. I relayed it

too him, so he went to the car to get his bag a little after Kareem and I,

where the driver told him to screw it and leave his bag in the car no one

noticed and Mikes bag did not get looked at. I wish it was my bag that

got left in the car, however as it happens, the soldier found amongst all

my papers a document in French which described a French language school

located in Erbil, Iraqi Kurdistan. Now although the corporal did not

speak French, he sure as hell could recognize the word Kurdistan. I know

from experience that it is not a popular word in Turkey, so I had taken

the precaution of crossing out Kurdistan in the three instances that it

appears on that document. I thought that would be sufficient to indicate

that I was not interested in political irredentism or offending Turkish

officials, on the off chance that they find that one document out of the

many I had in my possession. Big mistake. Apparently there is still a

word that Turkish officials can not hear, like the Knights who say ni^ in

Monty Pythons film, the Holy Grail. For Turkish officials, that word is

Kurdistan. The corporal who found the document didnt even pronounce the

word he just said whats this? and promptly brought the paper over to the

intelligence officials in the mobile home. The intelligence officials

also asked, whats this? I explained that it was a publication put out by

a Kurdish-Franco association about a French language school in Erbil,

northern Iraq, and that I was not the one who had written the document and

invoked the word that can not be mentioned adding that I had, in fact,

crossed out the forbidden word. At no point was the word pronounced

during this exchange. They asked us to wait outside. After a few

minutes, the intelligence official asked again if we had ID cards from our

NGO. I repeated that we did not, but we had introductory letters from the

organization. I was asked to fetch the letters from the car, along with

other IDs besides our passports. I showed him the letters, along with our

McGill University ID cards (my post-doc supervisor, Prof. Rex Brynen, has

used a McGill ID card to get past an Israeli check-point, and I used one

in 1994 to avoid getting arrested in the no-mans land on the Greek-Turkish

Cypriot border, so why not to get us into Iraq?). He wanted more

documents. So with some hesitation, I also pulled out a letter of

introduction from the Canadian Department of National Defence, which is

funding my post-doc research in Iraq, and for good measure, my business

card. The junior official did not speak English or French, however, so he

had someone else waiting for permission to cross into Iraq orally

translate the NGO letters for him (I guess a translation from me was

likely to lack objectivity i.e. her Majesty the Queen of England, the

Pope, and Jean Chretien ask that David, Kareem and Mike be allowed into

Iraq actually, the Queen does ask that, as Mike later found the following

passage on the back of our passports: The Minister of Foreign Affairs of

Canada requests, in the name of Her Majesty the Queen, all those whom it

may concern to allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance

and to afford the bearer such assistance and protection as may be

necessary.). Anyhow, he then called the commander on the red phone and

then had another junior intel official drive the documents over somewhere

(presumably to the commander). We waited and waited, and I began chatting

with the corporal who had originally found the paper. He first asked why

we werent going to Palestine, where there is also a war (I refrained from

pointing out that Palestine is not the name of a state as of yet, much

like Kurdistan). I then again pointed out that this document was not a

big deal, and that I had not tried to hide the document, but rather

crossed out Kurdistan because I knew how they felt in Turkey about the

word. When I pronounced the word that can not be said, he actually

flinched a bit and said tehilekeli (dangerous) and I thought to myself,

is it a dangerous word, or is it dangerous to say, or both?.

 

I said, Look, I know you had a big problem in Turkey with the PKK, and I

understand your feelings on the issue, thats why I crossed the word out.

Corporal: A big problem? No, a little problem. Turkey is a huge,

powerful state, and these guys [points south, towards Iraqi Kurdistan] are

not a problem.

Me: Yeah, of course youre right. (Meanwhile thinking to myself, Well, if

it was such a little problem for you, why this whole thing about the word

that can not be said, and why was most of the southeast of Turkey under

martial law throughout the 1980s and 1990s, and why are two-thirds of

Turkeys 600,000+ armed forces continually deployed in the southeast, and

why did the government tank the countrys economy with out of control

military budgets, and why the thousands of destroyed and evacuated

villages in Turkish Kurdistan, and why all this effort to restrict

foreigners access to northern Iraq, and why all the human-rights

violations and restrictions on Kurdish language and statements that might

threaten the territorial integrity of the Republic, etc).

 

But the corporal and all the other Turkish officials at the border were

being quite courteous and polite during this process, and I also wanted

their permission to cross to Iraq, so I continued to keep my wise-cracks

to myself (which was difficult, since if a political science degree is

good for something, knowing enough to point out the inconsistencies in

someones arguments has to rank near the top of the list). Besides, I hope

the Turks do come around to the point of view that the Kurds are not a big

problem, and allow Kurds in Turkey (as well as Iraq) much more autonomy

(in whatever political form everyone can settle for) and the freedom to

revel in their identity, so perhaps I didnt fundamentally disagree with

the corporal.

 

In any Oase, a new intelligence officer arrived while I was talking to the

corporal, with about 20 minutes worth of more questions about the

document, who gave it to me, what this school in Erbil was, and what I

planned to do in Iraq. I had learned my lesson well enough to stress that

our mandate with Caritas was for all of Iraq, and that we had no extra

interest in Erbil or Suleimaniya (i.e. the Kurdish part of the country).

Like the others, he was polite and courteous, explaining that there was

actually no problem, they were just collecting information I said to him,

Look, you know they use this word a heck of a lot in northern Iraq this

isnt knew to you or anything. Yeah, we know, we know, he replied.

Meanwhile our driver was pacing around like the energizer bunny, Mike was

chain-smoking, and Kareem just looked a little puzzled. It would have

been just too agonizingly frustrating if, with the exit stamp already on

our passports, if they changed their minds and said we couldnt cross As

the new intelligence officer went to call the mysterious commander again,

our driver came and gave me hell: You know how they are! Why the heck did

you have that piece of paper with you? I really wish you had thrown it

away in Silopi! He was right of course I have to try to reign in my

fondness of testing the borders of ridiculousness. Anyhow, after calling

the commander one last time, the intelligence officer handed me back all

our documents and passports, wished us a bon voyage, and waved his hand

towards the bridge. Our driver was so excited to get out of there he

nearly ran over my foot by starting the car moving before I was completely

in it.

 

On the other side a Welcome to Kurdistan region of Iraq sign, KDP

(Kurdish Democratic Party) officials and about a 1 minute interview

accompanied by sickly sweet tea, (names, fathers names, grandfathers

names, reason for visit) and bang, welcome to Kurdistan. As we left the

border post towards Zakho, we got our first sight of a U.S. soldier

sitting alone just inside an office-like building, M-16 across his lap,

eating some chips, looking very relaxed.

 

In Zakho we met with someone who used to work as a contractor for our NGO

(part of our job here involves collecting advance information for

projects, needs assessment, etc), and then hired a driver he knew to take

us to Erbil. The fastest route to Erbil, however, passes through Mosul,

which has become a largely Sunni Arab pro-Saddam city since the 1970s and

80s, and which has had its fair share of unrest since the Americans

arrived. In short, we were a little nervous about Mosul, but hey, were

just passing through, so no sweat, right? Wrong. Our 15 year-old BMW

broke down right near the center of Mosul, beside one of Saddams former

palaces. Our 21-year old Kurdish driver, probably on his first drive some

foreigners for way too much money stint, kind of panicked and just kept

trying to turn the ignition again and again. Then he just sat there

wondering what to do, not really answering Kareems questions about our

plan of action (seeing as we have left Turkey and now entered Iraq, Kareem

has become official translator and I kind of just enjoy the scenery, which

in this case was passing cars and strange looks from the locals).

Eventually our driver decides hes gonna run off and find another car says

he has a Volvo with some friends in Mosul. So we kind of sit there,

trying to look like locals (we had Mike lie down in the back seat, and I

sat in the front with Kareem, ready to try to get the car started one last

time in case we saw trouble coming.), and feeling very nervous as every

passing heavily-armed American patrol carefully eyed us to make sure we

werent a roadside suicide-car bomb. Kareem kindly pointed out to us that

the Arabic graffiti on the wall of Saddams adjacent palace said: Long live

Saddam and free Iraq. The driver eventually came back with no Volvo,

played with the ignition a few more times, got us going just enough to

block oncoming cars on the highway for 5 minutes, and then again just long

enough to get us back to the side of the road 50 meters further up. Then

he announced he was going off again to find a new car good idea we all

thought, just make it fast. After a lot of sweat on our part and what

felt like ages, but was probably no more than 30 minutes, he came back

with a Kurdish taxi-driving friend of his. As blackhawk helicopters

hovered nearby and yet another American patrol passed by, Mike, Kareem,

our two Kurdish drivers, and some local 20 year-olds they asked for help,

pushed the car into a vacant lot, while I guarded the new taxi (how I

would have guarded it from anyone who wanted it in a place like Mosul is

beyond me, but whatever). The locals, who were quite recalcitrant about

helping push the car, eyed Mike with expressions ranging from who the heck

are you to what the hell are you doing here. Kareems non-local Arabic was

also a likely source of puzzlement. They pointed at Mike and suspiciously

asked Ruskie?, at which point Mike promptly became Russian, smilingly

mumbling Da, da! They all trotted back over to the car, and as Mike sat

in back and the new driver got behind the wheel, Kareem, the previous

driver, and I, argued about who got to sit where in our new, somewhat

too-small-for-five-people-and-baggage car. Mikes pleading of lets get the

hell out of here, plus some large-caliber gunfire in the distance, settled

the issue we would sit wherever it was quickest to reach, and continue

our drive to Erbil without further delay.

 

On the way out of Mosul, we passed a Sunni-Arab Iraqi police manned

roadblock, beside a temporary bridge which replaces a concrete bridge

blown-up by Saddams Fedayeen right after the war. A few kilometers after

that, a Kurdish Iraqi manned roadblock, controlling access to the Kurdish

areas of Iraq and staffed by the KDP (one of Iraqi Kurdistans two

principal militias). Once in Erbil we were received extremely well

friendliest people one could wish for really, and a bustling city with

absolutely no palpable tension whatsoever. Its amazing to be here again

in Iraqi Kurdistan Im too excited really. We have free and open

political discussions so many times a day, with so many different people,

that 2 days here is worth a months reading on Middle East politics.

Today, our Assyro-Chaldean barber (a short, thin, mustached, dignified

looking man in his early 50s) and his friend, for instance, discussed with

us how Islamists blew up his house because he was Christian (this was

before their bases near the Iranian border were smashed by a cominbined

US-Kurdish assault last March), and gave us the memorable comment that

When Saddam was a baby, he didnt drink milk he drank blood! His Sunni

half-Turkmen half-Kurdish friend (a shortish, pudgy, jovial fellow whose

eyes always look like he just though of a funny joke, and whose family was

expelled from Kirkouk by Saddam in 1989) told us how immediately after the

recent war, robbers invaded his fathers house, shot and wounded his

father, and stole most of their belongings. The robbers were caught by

the Kurdish authorities and brought to court and sentenced to prison, but

because they were friends of a high ranking KDP official, they only stayed

in jail 2 days. The three of us got haircuts and shaves for $2, and

chatted with both of them for the better part of an hour. Also, our hotel

lent us 200 Iraqi dinars until we could change money the following day.

The hotel is one of the nicest in the city, with satellite TV, large clean

rooms, and a staff whose service, professionalism and helpfulness puts to

shame any $200 a night hotel Ive visited in the West at the very

reasonable price of $25 U.S. a night for the three of us

 

Yes, everything is very cheap here (including the ice cream we bought

today Mike asked the price of the wonderful multi-flavoured soft stuff

coming out of the machine and was told 3 dinars (roughly 25 cents). He

got his ice cream and handed over the 3 dinars. When Kareem and I got our

ice creams, we then tried to also hand over 3 dinars. Some confusion then

ensued, with the ice cream vendor getting ompatient with us seems the

price was 3 dinars for 3 ice creams, and unlike the vendors we had met in

Syria, this guy never heard of ripping off foreigners). We may well have

a great 7 months here (although there is one potential problem

everyone appears to be convinced that we are American military people we

even sometimes get saluted military-style on the street and in the hotel,

by Kurdish peshmerga and regular folk, and when we tell them were here to

teach English, their reaction is, yeah, sure you are with a smile even

our barber today thought we were Pentagon or something we probably need a

woman or two to join us or something, so its not three young foreign guys

with short hair-cuts walking around).

 

Oh last two anecdotes now: the other night (our first night in Erbil), we

learned that the Saudi channel on our TV was showing The Big Lebowski (my

favourite film, and a film that Mike and Kareem have also seen several

times) in English with Arabic subtitles, at 11 p.m.. So at 10:50 we

decided we needed to buy some snacks to eat while watching the film in our

room, and that something bought from the store would be even cheaper than

in the hotel (I guess when you go to the store to pay 50 cents for a coke

instead of 75, youre getting kind of pathetic, but whatever, its the

principle). We stepped out onto the street in front of the hotel, and

things were pretty dark, quiet, and closed in all directions. Mike asked

if there was a curfew in Erbil, to which I replied not to my knowledge.

Just then two pickup trucks full of armed peshmerga (Kurdish soldiers) and

a Mercedes with some high-ranking KDP official pulled up in front of the

hotel. As they all pile out of their vehicles, Mike tells Kareem to ask

one of the guys with an AK-47 machine gun if any nearby stores are open.

Oblivious, Kareem approaches the closest person, which happens to be the

KDP official theyre all guarding. As about a dozen heavily armed guards

stop what theyre doing and alertly look on, the strange-looking foreigner

with a slight Morroccan hint to his Arabic says to the official: Do you

know where we can get some soft drinks and chips? The official looks

surprised for only about a second, then smiles broadly and points at the

hotel were all standing in front of, at which point Mike and I burst into

laughter, followed by Kareem, the official, and, with a bit of a delay to

see if their leader was indeed laughing, 12 overly-armed guards. So a

good chuckle was had all around and we got our soft drinks and snacks in

the hotel. (I should add that Kareem was already drinking prodigious

amounts of Fanta in Turkey here, however, he has discovered an excellent

Saudi Fanta-like drink called Miranda, and to the amusement of all the

hotel staff, he drank 4 at dinner, and is still drinking more now I

expect that he will soon explode in a toxic-orange carbonated cloud and we

will have to continue on without his translating skills).

 

As we took the elevator up to our room to see the movie, one of the

peshmerga got in with us he was about 6 feet tall and 250 pounds,

middle-aged, mustached and dark, wearing desert-storm camouflage and

sporting both a full-sized Kalachnikov assault rifle and an additional

side arm pistol. He pressed the button for his floor with the assault

rifle and we suppressed our chuckles. When the door wouldnt close fast

enough on the next floor, he then used the rifle to press the button that

rings the alarm bell (I assume he sought the button that closes the door,

which that elevator lacks), at which point I failed to suppress my

chuckle. Seeing that I apparently enjoyed the bell, he then also chuckled

and pressed it two more times for good measure. Just before we reached

our floor, Mike said to me in French: Look at his pistol I looked, and

the hammer was cocked back. It appeared to be a semi-automatic pistol,

and seeing as the safety was also likely to be off, a good sneeze on his

part and one of us could lose a foot (most likely him, however).

Incredulous, we went off to our room to watch the movie.

 

About The Big Lebowski Ive seen it around 7 times back home, and know it

better than any other movie. The Saudi censors edited the thing down do

death apart from cutting out any remotely sexual scene (including one

where a man licks his bowling ball before rolling it), they also cut out

any scene that referred to one of the characters (Walter, played by John

Goodman) as being Jewish (and they say theyre anti-Israel but not

anti-Jewish), as well as a scene that referred to a group of German

nihilists (I suppose that religious/ideological option is also too

explosive for the censors), and a couple of other scenes that Im not sure

why they deleted (perhaps the scissors and black markers just got out of

control).

 

In any case, Ive surpassed myself with the longest write-up yet, Mike and

Kareem have been asleep since 3 hours, and we have to wake up at 7 a.m.

tomorrow morning (technically this morning its 3 a.m., but I had no time

before to write, and dont expect to have any time tomorrow either) to go

to Suleimaniya and meet the university officials there. Ill try to send

this off tomorrow from the University of Suleimaniya, seeing as no one but

my Mother has heard from me since we made it to Iraq (I promised Mom,

without fail, one phone call on this trip as soon as I made it to Erbil,

and Im a dutiful son).

 

Cheers,

Dave

 

P.S. The following evening we played billiards in the hotel with most of

the high officials guards they taught us some Kurdish in the process, and

the big fellow who presses elevator buttons with his assault rifle turned

out to be pretty

[Raage]

To tell u the truth walaal i couldnt be bothered reading all that writin

[La Fidele]

It seems like I tend to overestimate the attention span of Somalia Online readers. Shame on me....or is it? :confused:

[Dhimbil]

Jazeera,

Actually i read this two days ago, its funny, they should count their blessings for surviving the car break down in mosul & the elevator incident lol, but didn't respond to the thread cuz of lazyness, so a lot of nomads could be doing that too, read & move on, ya know.

[Libaax-Sankataabte]

Jazeera, we all read it but the topic wasn't "flaming" enough for everyone to reply. It is the kind of article you just appreciate to read and move on.

[rudy-Diiriye]

i wanna know if jaziira ever talks about the problems in somalia! i just dont understand why we nomads give a hooth about Jaziira and the likes. do they helps

no! do they give a damn about us no! so what gives! u tell me nomads!!!!!! :confused: i say to hell with jaziira and the likes of it! it aint our keen!!!!!!

[La Fidele]

Oh, thanks for making me feel better Illmatic and Libaax

 

And Rudy, boy I don't know whatchu been smokin' but...you definitely got me laughing! And I didn't know that I was considered some non-human entity, referring to me as "it"...one second of INTENSIVE research (you know, click on the profile!) may solve your perplexing grammatical issues next time, all right?

[Libaax-Sankataabte]

Is rudy talking about Al-Jazeera the channel?

[rudy-Diiriye]

right on bro, get on de the negro bus and diz the

camel jokeys!