Thanksgiving Abroad

           Holidays are a time to be spent with loved ones.  Regardless of whether you talk to family members every day or on that one day a year, there is a comfort in knowing that you are with your family on special occasions.  Today, which happens to be Thanksgiving, is my first holiday abroad.  As Thanksgiving is not celebrated in Iraq, what goes unseen or unheard can easily go unnoticed.  For much of the day this was the case; business as usual.  Facebook having a scattering of holiday messages reminded me of the festivities back in the US, and this started to make me miss home. 

            The invention of Skype is truly a saving grace for people in my situation.  I am able to talk to and “see” my family, at least for a few minutes.  For this I am incredibly thankful.  But no amount of time in front of the camera can replace the actual sense of togetherness on the holidays.  A holiday is only a holiday because of family.  Without family celebrating a common cause, it is just another day in the year.  I have a strong feeling that being here will make me appreciate the holidays much more when I go home. 

            My biggest fear is that some members of my family won’t be there when I return.  This was something I considered before coming here, but I could not ultimately let it sway my decision.  Papa is 96 years old and is probably in as good of health as a 96 year old can be.  However, it is obviously a tenuous situation and anything could happen at any time.  This holds true of my other grandparents as well.  I desperately hope and pray that the inevitable patiently awaits my return to the US, but these things are entirely out of my control.  For this reason I want to seize every opportunity possible to talk to them.  Days like today are tough and are slightly more emotional because of this. 


----Addition - I just got to Skype with Papa and it lit up my night.  Thank God for technology and these otherwise unavailable opportunities. I have to say that Skyping with him is the absolute epitome of a "feel good moment" if there ever was one.  Thanksgiving is now complete.  :)

            Regardless of what happens, there is no direction but forward.  I have to make the most out of whatever comes my way and trust that, guiding power or not, everything happens for a reason.  I have plenty to be thankful for and absolutely no reason to complain.  I feel that after a fairly solemn post, it is important to reflect on the true meaning of today: gratitude. 

Things I am thankful for: Skype, my family, the ability to read and write, food, steady income, a computer, electricity, a warm bed, the ability to run, my vision, washing machines, refrigerators, hands, the sun, friends, power adaptors, sneakers, my education, opportunities in life, all of my past experiences good and bad, and my favorite prayer, the Serenity Prayer, which I say every day…

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;

Enjoying one moment at a time;

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

Taking, as He did, this sinful world

as it is, not as I would have it;

Trusting that He will make all things right

if I surrender to His Will;

That I may be reasonably happy in this life

and supremely happy with Him

Forever in the next.

Amen.

Fighting Boredom and Opportunities Ahead

           As a staunch supporter of the notion that Americans work entirely too much, I am never one to complain about having an excess of time for leisurely pursuits.  My current situation in Iraq is leaving plenty of time as we are only working 12 hours per week.  Thus far, I have kept myself entertained through pursuing a combination of varying activities.  I have stayed entirely clear of alcohol or smoking; am reading much more than in the US; have cut down on spending; am eating healthier; and have designed a workout plan to get in better shape.  As a whole, these are all undoubtedly net positives. But there is still something to be desired.  Many times I feel as if I am fighting a losing battle against boredom.

            I have friends here, but they are largely limited to the few people who speak English.  It is much more difficult to broaden your network when the language barrier is so great.  Given that I have been in NJ for 7 years, I am used to being away from my family; however, having to set up time to Skype is far different than randomly sending a text or call.  These two factors contribute to a sense of feeling alone at times.  I fully expected this coming into the position, so I am far from complaining; I am only expressing that it does set in from time to time.  These feelings are compounded by continually having to rely on other people.  I cannot go to the store and ask for a specific product because I don’t know how; I cannot search for stores online because hardly anything has websites.  Thus I am continually having to ask for someone to essentially “hold my hand” to accomplish the most trivial tasks.  No amount of gym time or detachment in a book can mollify these feelings.  It is just something that I have to deal with. 

            Given these feelings, I actually look forward to working more.  I have been staying busy of my own volition, but I prefer to have an increased workload which will also supplement my current income stream.  Political science courses should start up within a few weeks and that will boost my hours up to around 22-24/week, not including lesson plans.  I am not incredibly psyched about teaching English, but teaching Political Science Terminology will hopefully provide a more interesting counterweight.  There is also an opportunity to teach TOEFL courses on the side which we may take advantage of; again, not the ideal position, but it is a means to an end.  I will still have a 3 day weekend and plenty of extra time for personal pursuits.  But I am still hoping for more. 

We recently met with the Vice Governor of Duhok as well as a member of Kurdish Parliament; both are fully supportive of our idea to start an NGO in Duhok.  With another Member of Parliament also expressing interest, we should have three high profile politicians secured to serve on our Establishing Committee.  They may even fund our initiative, which will be entitled the “Civil Society Development Institute.”  Starting this NGO was a main goal of my coming here, so I am excited about this opportunity.  It will not only provide additional income, but provide some quality hands-on experience with NGOs; connections to other international NGOs; a resume boost; and something to fill my voids in schedule.  The only problem is that things move slower than molasses here so I reasonably do not expect anything to start until January at the earliest.  Just like my vacation in December with Melissa, at least I have something on the calendar to look forward to!  

Aqrah

            Today’s journey into the great unknown led us to the city of Aqrah.  At this point it seems redundant to say it was a nice little town nestled in the mountains; nearly every town in northern Kurdistan comfortably fits this description.  In this respect there wasn’t much that made it stand out, except for a clear path to the top of a mountain with AWESOME views.  You could see for miles: rolling hills; rugged terrain; elevated houses; meandering roads; and a random donkey solemnly attached to a lonely post. 

            As you will see in this picture, I have a new hat called a Jemadani.  Turbans are common across Muslim cultures, and this one is the Kurdish style.  Given that blondes with blue eyes are about as common as giant dragons here, Paige is usually subject to the most indiscreet gawking; however, armed with my new Jemadani, I believe that the oddity that was my outfit evened the playing field.  At times it seems as if the two of us were a walking tourist attraction.  In most places drawing that much attention, even without the hat, would make me feel uneasy, but not here.  The people are truly so amicable and benevolent that you feel nothing but the absolute best of intentions. 

            Another example of this is that we were invited to a village to have lunch with one of our ESL students, Aras.  The spread that lay before us consisted of two rice dishes, each topped with chicken and lamb; Kurdish version of salad; chickpea and onion soup; vegetable soup; olives; and fresh bread.  In the houses that I have been to there have not been any kitchen tables so we all sit around the food which is centrally placed on a mat.  It is convenient in the sense that everyone has equal access to all dishes, and it is accommodating for large numbers; however, after a while it can be quite uncomfortable if you are not accustomed to sitting cross-legged for extended periods.  After lunch the trays of food kept on coming.  Chai tea soon follows the meal and a tray of dessert is close behind.  I have been regulating my portion sizes quite well, but one visit to a family will change all of that.  Before you have completed your first dish the second helping is being piled on, and I have come to realize that, “No, thank you, I am full,” roughly translates to, “Oh my God, please give me more.”  It was a delicious meal which inevitably led to a sedated state of food coma. 

            This particular household had 14 people living there.  There were so many children running around it could have easily been mistaken as an after school program.  It seemed as if every time one of them left a room, they promptly entered a cloning machine and then re-entered with their new counterpart.  Paige and I sat there as the centers of attention in a room filled with over 20 people, only two of which spoke English.  Positively, we could say whatever wanted knowing full well that nobody could understand us if we spoke quickly enough; contrarily, this left some moments where we were both left not really sure what to do except smile and nod.  Despite obvious communication barriers, it was never really awkward and the atmosphere was light hearted and fun. 

            Whereas in the US we depart from home at age 18, here you typically stay until you are married, and even then it is no guarantee that you will embark on your own.  Financially, this saves a great deal of money and I have consistently found that these large households all pool their income together, jointly increasing their purchasing power.  It is entirely a collective effort.  These methods draw many questions in my mind as I consistently want to ask: How do you deal with a financially irresponsible family member?  What happens if someone draws more money out of your collective holdings than they contribute?  How do you decide on large purchases?  For an American who has a laser-like focus on personal finances, it would be incredibly difficult for me to live in this system.  However, it seems to work for them quite well.  As I continue to learn more I will undoubtedly want to write about this financial collectivity again.  

Epic Battle

           For reasons that continue to elude me, I still cannot understand how mosquitoes sneakily make their way into our Zeri Land Apartment.  It seems as if every day there are a few of these furtive creatures that somehow, beyond all reason, gain entry to our 4^th floor apartment.  Their numbers are not indicative of an infestation, as there are only a few a day.  However, their mere presence stirs a great deal of petulance and eagerness to rid the apartment of this lingering problem once and for all.  Despite my best efforts to close every nook, cranny, and orifice, the mosquito ninjas prevail. 

            Most of these miniature bedevilments are quickly killed upon sight.  We have become quite proficient in the business of aeronautical insect disposal.   However, every once in a while we will come across the lone, maverick mosquito who is clearly well skilled in evasive maneuvers.  These Top Gun insects must have been at the top of their flight class as they swiftly move with great alacrity.  Last night, I had an epic battle with one of these creatures.  I chased him all over the room; tried tricking him by flickering lights; tried to lure him out of his hiding spots; and swung and missed him at least three times.  After nearly 30 minutes of ill-fated pursuit, I despondently went to bed. 

            To my surprise, when I awoke I found the creature fluttering about in front of my eyes, as if he was taunting me after completing a most delectable breakfast.  HA!  The last laugh was mine, however, as his transient existence would soon come to end at the brunt of my ESL book.  It was a Pyrrhic victory, albeit in the most infinitesimal sense, but a victory nevertheless.  This was truly the cagiest mosquito yet, and hence I felt it necessary to blog about him, may he rest in peace.  Not to mention that we have a 10-day vacation and I have absolutely nothing else to do.  

Immaculate to Grotesque

            In another solid showing of hospitality, Paige and I were invited over to our friend Salih’s house to eat some dolma, a stuffed vegetable dish which is considered a Kurdish specialty.   It takes a lot of preparation and is a hearty dish.  It consists of many vegetables including tomatoes, green beans, onions, and potatoes all stuffed with this rice mixture.  Here is a picture:

            This is probably the 4^th different Kurdish person’s house that we have gone to, and the results have all been the same: ornate decorations coupled with an immaculate cleaning job.  In middle school my friends used to say that my house in NH was out of a magazine due to its cleanliness and the decorations.  I like to think of myself as neat and organized, but all of these houses are absolutely spotless.  It appears as if a professional cleaner lives and works non-stop in the homes.  It is actually quite impressive, especially considering that many of the families have multiple children running around. 

             The architecture of the houses is visibly appealing and gives otherwise indistinctive neighborhoods a charming feel to them.  You do not see two houses next to each other that are exactly the same.  All of the houses are quite different and have a fascinating design that exemplifies a construction process and architectural designs that are nowhere near what we typically see in the West.  There are no yards, and little to no grass, but there are numerous balconies.  Even though the houses adjoin those of their neighbors, large walls give some semblance of privacy.   Here is an example of a one of the houses:

     

Now, I’ll move on to the disgusting part of this post.  During dinner we were told about this dish called Pacha that is consumed all across the Middle East and even into Iran, Georgia, and Armenia.  It is a traditional dish which consists of a sheep’s head, stomach, and feet being boiled into this broth and soaked up with bread. As if this wasn’t grotesque sounding enough, the cheeks and tongues are considered the most desired parts, and the stomach can be stitched closed and filled with rice and vegetables.  I consider myself to be an adventurous person, but there is frankly no way in hell I am trying this dish.  After a quick Google search I read about the dish and found the following pictures.  The fact that Pacha consistently ranks as one of the weirdest and most unappetizing dishes in the world doesn’t make it any more appealing.  Just like the scene in the Chinese restaurant from, “A Christmas Story,” I don’t want my meal watching me as I eat it.  

Pacha may be absolutely delicious, but I will never know. 

Lalish

For the next 10 days we are on holiday due to the Eid.  I don’t know enough about this holiday to adequately describe it, but I can say that it is about four days long and involves a lot of visiting family members and constant feasting.   For us Americans this translates to a lot of down time and relaxation, which is most welcome at this time.  Today we decided to take a trip, with two of our Kurdish friends, to the city of Lalish in northern Iraq. 

            This city, sacred to the Yazidi religion, is about an hour away from Duhok.  Most of the tidbits we have heard about the Yazidi people so far have been tainted with skepticism and disdain; they have even been referred to as “devil worshippers” by Muslims.  Given that the Yazidi claim to have been around long before Islam, inhabit the same region, and live fairly different lives than your average Kurds, this is semi-expected and must be taken with a grain of salt.  After doing a little bit of my own research online there are certainly some odd intricacies about the Yazidi people, i.e., not accepting converts, not allowing intermarriage with other faiths, having a caste system, not stepping on doorways, having a family never leave the holy site, etc.  These types of beliefs certainly seem odd to any outsider; however, in my opinion, just about all of organized religion has odd beliefs and rituals, most of which seem ridiculous when examined with rational thought. 

            Lalish itself was quite small, and was essentially a quaint village tucked in the mountains.  At first glance you would not think it to be the holy site, akin to Mecca, for a religion with over 300,000 followers in Iraq alone.  As we approached the village two things were clear: we had no idea where we were going, and everyone seemed to wear suits or dresses but barefoot (in holy sites you must remove your shoes).  I was incredibly thankful to have our Kurdish friends, Aza and Herman, with us to guide the way.  Despite our friends being Muslim and the village being, I imagine, 100% Azidi, the common language of Kurdish allowed us to meet a friendly gentleman who took us to the sacred temple and arranged for a free tour for us. 

            The temple itself was nothing spectacular, and bore no resemblance whatsoever to elaborate Western churches or intricately designed Eastern mosques.  It was a simple building with conical shaped figures at the top.  After removing our shoes in order to enter the temple we found that the interior walls remained empty except for the black marks where candles had been lit.  There was no decoration in the temple, except the large amounts of cloth tied to central pillars.  We were told that Yazidi would place money in the cloth and then tie it to the pillar; after a certain amount of time they would come back and get it and they would have good luck.  Something could have been lost in translation here, but as we continued through the temple the theme of good luck continued to appear.

            In the next room we saw people trying to throw a cloth onto the remnants of what looked like an old statue.  You had to close your eyes and throw the cloth onto the statue’s head.  If you succeeded on the first try, your heart is pure and your wish would come true.  You had a second try if your first attempt failed, but anything after that you were out of luck.  Paige and I both landed the cloth squarely on the first try, which made me internally chant, “USA! USA!”  Additional rooms in the temple were similarly indistinctive, and the rest were filled with large urns which the Yazidi had previously used to store olive oil.  Fresh water from the mountains flowed into small pools in the temple, and these were considered holy.  In the final room we found two small holes in the ground.  One was supposed to represent paradise, and the other represented hell.  The idea was to stick your hand in both holes; paradise would feel far cooler, and hell would feel hotter on your hand.  I felt nothing, but I was nonetheless intrigued by sticking my hand in this strange pair of apertures.    

            Departing the temple we continued our ascent through the village.  Stares were coming from every direction, but this was not surprising since it happens just about everywhere and I am not sure how many Americans have ever gone to Lalish.  Neither of our Kurdish friends had ever been either.  As we climbed up staircases interwoven in what seemed like people’s houses, we came to the top of the village.  The conical shaped Yazidi structure was prominently featured for the whole village to see, and the panoramic view was quite picturesque.  All in all, my experience in Lalish was a brief but worthwhile experience.  I did not get to learn much about their people or culture, but to see something different than what you are used to is almost always a net positive.  

Frustration to Mollification, Mob Money, and Protests

         On countless occasions I have wanted to throw my hands up in the air and resign myself to the belief that the unceasing inefficiency we are presented with would render my stay here fruitless.  It is only through the equally powerful countervailing presence of splendid hospitality that mollifies my state of angst.  It seems that every time we face situations where the outcome is nowhere near what we had hoped for, but unfortunately have come to expect, someone is there to pick us up, often unknowingly, with a simple act of kindness. 

            These efforts are by no means coordinated, for it seems that nothing here is truly coordinated.  I am now convinced that this sense of “otherness” is actually engrained in the people.  Considering the blunders in planning that we encounter on a near daily basis, it seems evident that this overwhelming hospitality is not nascent; it has been cultivated since birth.  Whenever you go to someone’s house you are treated as if you are royalty.  Drinks are brought to you on trays; an array of delectable treats, appetizers, and main courses are laid before you; and they will expect nothing from you but your company.  I can honestly say that I wish people were this friendly and welcoming in the United States. 

            After class many of my students will not even leave the room before I do.  No one will allow me to open a door for them as they must hold it for me.  If we ever reach to pay for something our efforts are almost always thwarted.  To become a member at the local gym there is a fee of 25,000 IQD/month ($22).  I have been going for over a month and have not once been asked for anything.  One of my friends even stated, “They wouldn’t dare.”  I was slightly confused by this at first, but in the overall context of their deference to foreigners it makes more sense.  Their laissez-faire attitude is no doubt amplified because I am an American and they want me to feel welcome in their country.  In my personal life here, this is greatly appreciated and has no doubt made a lasting impression. 

            Contrarily, when it comes to my working life, wrangling with this lack of real productivity and laid back attitude has left quite an impression as well.  Sometimes it feels as if people around us brainstorm the best and most efficient way to achieve a goal; and then summarily execute the opposing approach.  If it was not for the ability to work out and play sports on a near daily basis, combined with the convivial nature of the people, I’d probably be feeling much more reticent about sharing this experience.  Alhamdulillah (Thank God) for mixed blessings. 

Mob Money    

            Iraq has a largely cash economy.  There is little to no evidence of credit cards, save for the major institutions, and many citizens do not even hold bank accounts.  They simply keep all of their cash at home.  So far, we haven’t really had much of a need for plastic, and due to our limitations on activities in town, our expenses have managed to stay fairly low.  We are paid a salary of $2,500 per month and probably spend around $350.  The rest of my money is primarily allocated to student loans, despite my inner grumblings about the cost of higher education in America.  Herein lays the problem.  In a primarily cash economy with an inchoate banking system, my options to repatriate my income are extremely limited.  Evidently, Western Union does not ship money to the United States due to worries about money laundering, and many banks here do not even have the capability to wire cash to Western banks.  I am faced with two stark choices: keep all of my cash in my room, or pay an exorbitant fee of 2.5% to wire it back home. 

            As this picture indicates, having this much cash on hand is reminiscent of playing Monopoly.  Last month I was paid in all $100 bills; this time I was paid in denominations of 10,000 IQD…totaling 2.4 million.  When I was handed the manila envelope folded over it felt as if I had just earned my way into the mafia, or just consummated a major drug deal.  It was comic yet concerning; I don’t know of any American who would carry this much cash, especially given our adversity to risk.  I aim to resolve this situation as soon as possible, even if that means buying some chrome colored suits and hiring a few henchmen.  At least I can pretend I’m in the mafia…

Protests

            First emerging in the Middle East with the Arab Spring, and now diffusing across the globe with Occupy Wall Street, it seems as if 2011 is the year of protests demanding social change.  Considering I was in NH when protests erupted in the Middle East, and am now in the Middle East as protests are spreading across the US and Europe,  I have yet to come into contact with any major movement.  I happen to think that protests can be a valuable tool, but the end game and how your movement plans to change reality is the primary concern.  For this reason I probably would not be partaking in any protests if I were back home; however, I still want to see what is going on!  

            Well, it seems as if my wish was granted, at least to a minor degree.  We heard that 500+ students were planning a protest outside the University of Duhok to demand changes in the education system.  Feeling a tinge of excitement, I was ready to see the power of collective action!  Going outside the university I managed to see about 100 people chanting fairly loudly, with many holding signs that I could not read due to the language barrier.  The mantra of this whole ordeal was beyond me, but I was nevertheless interested.  News crews were there to capture the action and were interviewing charismatic students.  And then, almost as quickly as people gathered, they went off in their own directions.  It had to be the quickest protest I have ever seen.  After noting their lack of resolve, at least compared to OWS and the Arab Spring, we joked that they all seemed to say, “Well, we made our point. I hope they heard us and do something.  Let’s go have tea.”  At least I got to see some form of protest, despite its fleeting nature.