Frustration

            Despite my already having previously been in Kurdistan for 6 months, it seems as if I am again struggling with some initial frustrations.  At this point it would be false nomenclature to call it culture “shock,” but there are certainly abject feelings to deal with.  Even if you know what to expect, when and how it is coming, sometimes it still manages to add to a state of melancholy.  Perhaps I am just having a bad day, but there is no doubt that this is stemming from being in the US, where I am entirely comfortable, and coming back to a place with cultures and traditions I may never completely understand. 

            To say that I am free-spirited would be an understatement.  I take great pride in perpetually trying to do whatever I want whenever I want.  Clearly, it has gotten me into trouble sometimes and led to some foolhardy decisions, but overall I have crafted a life that suits me.  I thrive in situations of great freedom, whether personal or professional, and steer clear from those who try to impinge upon my laissez-faire lifestyle.  However, in some situations, like being in another country, there are nuances you cannot control. 

            A micromanaging boss can be found anywhere, but a micromanaging boss 6,000 miles from home in a place where other cultural constraints are placed upon you is compounded.  Even having to deal with this situation made me slightly peevish after today’s meeting.  Things would be better if I had a companion here to spend time with, vent to, or get to know on a personal level.  However, even trying to have that relationship with a female is all but impossible.  Girls cannot really be seen in public alone with guys or, “people will talk about them.”  Social constraints create a situation where the nascent stages of any relationship are forced into secrecy or suppressed entirely.  There are two ends of the spectrum: marriage, and nothing.  There is no middle. 

            Clearly, I have been dealing with this for months now, but not even being free to talk to those of the opposite sex without worry is frustrating to say the least.  Granted, these are not life or death situations by any means; but coming from home back to here is certainly more difficult when the comparison of the two is still fresh in your mind.  So, after eating some delicious shawarma I decided to go to the liquor store.  Then, my friend who I rode with told me that, on principle, he could not give me a ride home if I had alcohol in the car.  Although odd since he isn’t drinking or even touching it, I said whatever and tried to get a taxi.  The first taxi I get hears the clank of my beer bottles, sternly says some things in Kurdish, and motions for me to get out of the cab.  Now I really want to drink. 

            None of these situations are even that big of a deal, but I have only been back for a few days and it will, evidently, take some additional time to re-adjust.  For now, a Budweiser and “Anchorman” will have to do.  As much as I think America can improve in sooooooo many ways, there’s still no place like home.  

Thoughts on Next Year

            As I readjust to my work schedule and life in Kurdistan a few things are quite clear: staying here is not the long term option I am looking for, and each passing day I become more intent on defining what it is that I am seeking.  I wouldn’t go so far as saying I have a mental countdown till my departure, but the reality that there is life after Kurdistan is calling loud and clear. 

In some ways this makes me better able to deal with the common frustrations of an American abroad.  I am excited to teach and continue cultivating relationships with my students. I know that my time is limited and I want to make the most of it.  In other ways, my patience has grown thinner.  I had little tolerance for bullshit from supervisors before; now I have none.  If pressed, I have no qualms about saying, “I refuse to work for this man, and if you try to make me, I will pack my bags and go.”  Today’s meeting with the Vice President was truncated, as is the norm, due to poor time management.  It was going smoothly until he hinted that Lazgin would manage another course we are doing.  I instantly started heating up and questioning this decision; had it not been for a shortened meeting, I no doubt would have stayed to argue.  But now that will be postponed until Sunday with Lazgin present.  Joy. 

Once the semester ends in May-June I am not sure what the rest of my experience here will be like.  In all likelihood, Paige will be heading back to the US.   Kevin may be on vacation in Thailand or somewhere else.  And I won’t have classes at the university to teach, meaning that I may end up having to teach at the Cultural Center.  These factors, combined with possibly having to change apartments, could make for a less than stellar final hurrah in Kurdistan.  I would consider leaving earlier, perhaps at the end of the summer, but quite frankly I need the additional salary.  I can’t afford to leave 3 months’ salary on the table like that, especially if it means having to pay for my own ticket home. 

In my pondering about next year’s course of action, I have been thinking about joining the National Guard.  I still have a lot more research to conduct, as well as speak to a recruiter and current Guardsmen, but it remains a possibility.  I will slightly alter my training regime to allow me to be able to pass any military physical test with flying colors.  There are still a lot of questions I would like answered, and concerns mollified (like deployment), but I will continue to think it over.  I have also begun taking some ASVAB practice tests to see what kind of positions I would qualify for.  As of right now, Intelligence and Civil Affairs positions seem to have piqued my interest.  But then again, all plans, especially those produced in my current state of mind while in the Middle East, are tenuous at best.  This will probably be one in a string of many posts musing over potential avenues to take next year.  

Voyage Home

Over the Pond and Back Again

            Given the nature of my surprise visit back home, no previous blogs mentioned the intent or destination of my trip; it was all kept general enough to show true excitement, but not specific enough as to indicate why.  The veiled nature of my actions will now force me to summarize in retrospect. 

             Initially, I had every intention of going to Germany.  I had specific flights targeted, the budgetary outlays accounted for, and a pretty detailed itinerary.  The “Purchase Now” button was all that needed to be pressed to make my German excursion a reality.  Despite my intrigue with the country and satisfaction with what I had planned, something wasn’t cliquing.  It just didn’t feel right.  In an unexpected turn of events, at about 3am on a random evening, I decided that I would surreptitiously abscond home instead. 

            It had been a while since I had seen my family, a lot has changed since then, and a lot of new changes were on the horizon.  Grandparents had passed, new ones were about to made, and, to be frank, I couldn’t justify spending the money to vacation alone while all of this was taking place.  To make my surprise visit successful I had to let a few people in on my true plans.  This would ensure that at every leg of the trip someone was there to coordinate my arrival and subsequent SURPRISE to an oblivious family member.  Lindsay, Matt, Maureen, and George all knew of my plans well in advance.  To their credit, not one of them blew the surprise and they maintained absolute silence. 

            My journey home was your run of the mill 30-hour trip with multiple car rides, planes, and layovers.  At this point I feel that I can travel almost anywhere in the world with the utmost of patience because of these embarkations.  Once I touched down in NYC the hugest of smiles lit up my face.  Not only could I understand everyone around me, but I could read again!  The greenback supplanted the Iraqi Dinar in my wallet, and I wasted no time heading to Chili’s for a Buffalo Chicken Sandwich…mmmm. 

            When I finally had arrived in Boston a few hours later I had a surprise of my own waiting for me: Dave.  He was supposedly unaware of my impending visit, but due to logistical concerns he had to be told of my trip.  Nevertheless, it was great to see Lindsay, Matt, and Dave waiting for me.  Damn it felt good to get home (after stopping to eat at Kowloon, of course). 

Time in NH

            The rest of my time in NH can adequately be described in one word: excess.  Just like before I left to come to Kurdistan, my return home was filled with attempting to satisfy every desire I would be or have been without.  Drinks flowed on a daily basis; my plate was never empty; and my lungs, well, they were kept in a state which certainly affected my portion sizes.  I made little to no attempt to work out, and made every effort to sit on the couch and soak in March Madness or play video games with Paul, Jeff, Corey, and Matt.  I did play tennis a few times as well as basketball, football, and soccer; however, it was nothing quite intensive enough to cancel out the exorbitant amount of indulgence that categorized my visit. 

            When I saw my Mom for the first time it was by surprising her at work.   Matt and Lindsay were standing in the office lobby and I sat in a chair slightly off to the side.  As the secretary called my Mom to the front she spoke to them, glanced over at me, and then talked to them again.  After a second of thought, and another double take, she finally realized it was me.  The ensuing excitement in the air was palpable. 

            Spending time at her house is growing ever more comfortable.  I am always reticent in any “new” situation like that, so it takes some time, ok a lot of time, to completely warm up.  It seems like they will stay together for a while, and I pray that it works out.  I like George as well as the rest of his family, and the overall situation seems to be going smoothly for everyone.  Maintaining continuity in the family has, for years now, been a goal just out of reach.  Now resting on the near horizon, I hope that these same people stick around for quite some time.  The dynamics of family change, but the people in it don’t have to. 

            There are many differences at the house in Raymond which are worth mentioning.  Lindsay, and now Aria, are moved into Papa’s old apartment.  Much of Papa’s old material possessions are now scattered across the house, awaiting their fate at a yard sale or elsewhere.  My room is still very much the same, although half of it now resembles a UPS store due to stacks of boxes.  In my deepest heart of hearts I know that we won’t be able to stay there forever, so I like to be prepared, despite my desire to maintain the beacon of stability at 3 Glen Ridge Road.   

            No matter where I voyage in the world and what I experience, and regardless of any changes that take place, things in Raymond still by and large feel the same.  My own journey continues to meander along some unbeknownst path, but Raymond, and my friends in it, always remind me where I came from.

Mass

            After spending some time in NH I made the trip down to Massachusetts to see the rest of the clan.  Maureen told the kids that there was a surprise for them, and they naturally presumed that it was a present.  Seeing their faces undoubtedly showed that they were not disappointed, and neither was I.  When my Dad came home from work Maureen had told him that I emailed from Germany and wanted to Skype.  As he sat at the kitchen table waiting for me to sign on, I strolled out of Kyle’s bedroom and asked, “Waiting for me?” 

            Seeing everyone was great for a number of reasons.  At times it is difficult to not feel that I am missing Kyle and Kory grow up.  I see them every 4-6 months and only for a few days at a time.  I cherish those moments, and they are quite enjoyable, but the daily grind of seeing and hearing about their experiences is curtailed due to distance.  Trying to balance time home, my sense of adventure, and building a career isn’t easy.  It is a constant journey of evaluation, re-evaluation, and self discovery. 

            Since my grandmother’s passing I have spoken to my grandfather quite a few times, but it was good to be able to see him.  Life is a gift that can be taken at any time, as was made clear in a short period, and I need to be even better about seizing opportunities to spend time with loved ones.  His spirits seem ok, but the feeling of overall resignation is clear.  When I go home again I will need to think of something random to add a spark to an otherwise mundane schedule.  I can add that to the list of things I am already planning for when my “university deployment” in Iraq is complete.  There are about 6.5 months left on my contract and although I have no inclination of what’s next, yet, I know one thing for sure….I am going home for at least 1-2 months first.  

Finding the Groove

            Listening to lectures on culture shock in my English class is actually proving to be quite relevant to me as well.  The reader of the passage, being played from a CD, mentions 4 main stages of culture shock: Excitement, Rejection, Acceptance, and Acculturation.  When someone takes the leap of faith and moves to another country they generally travel through these 4 phases, depending on how long they are away.  Initial excitement about the possibilities that lie ahead is followed by rejection of all things new and different; once the realization of cultural nuances set in you accept your surrounding and appreciate them.  The final stage, acculturation, comes after some time and is when you are fully acclimated to your surroundings and consider yourself a “part” of this foreign culture. 

            As I played the lessons aloud to the class I was internally debating my own stage of progression.  I have probably just left the Rejection stage and am now in the beginning stages of Acceptance.  I no longer question things when they happen, despite how irreconcilable they are with some of my own values and desires.  I have learned to maintain an open mind and see things for what they are, not what I would have them to be.  There are obvious pros and cons, but the vital point from the lesson, in my opinion, is that cultures are not worse or better; just different. 

            About 6 months into my Kurdish adventure I am now really finding my groove.  I not only have a set routine, but my group of people I can rely on is expanding more quickly now.  I not only feel comfortable out and about in the community, but I feel as if I am becoming more and more a part of that community.  Granted, the language barrier still glares down upon me, but it has taught me the value of patience.  One of the lagging factors in my acceptance of the society was the lack of fun extracurriculars to partake in.  At home I would indulge in a regular bevy of activities which included: basketball, football, bars, nights out in the city, sporting events, video games, ice skating, you name it.  In Kurdistan my options have been constrained to soccer, the gym, or restaurants.  However, to the chagrin of my attempted purity, I have found some new friends to play poker and enjoy beers with; and there is a possibility that I won’t be quite as lonely either (due to cultural sensitivities, I will stop this part here).  NOW I can finally enter the acceptance stage.

            Speaking of poker, I have to show these pictures of where we played.  It honestly felt like a room from the movie “Taken.”  It was shady, fairly run down, compartmentalized, and in a dark corner of the street.  There were about 7-8 little rooms of a trailer, each equipped with a small table, a few chairs, and a heater.  Each room is served by a bartender and you are left completely to your own vices.  You could drink, gamble, whatever; all things that run counter to Islam.  It seemed that many a Kurdish man found a quiet escape in this dark building.  Despite the shady ambiance of it all, it was actually really fun. 

            One last tidbit, here are some more pictures of Chucky.  I love that dog, but man does he shed.  He took many naps in bed with me in the two days he was here, and when I had guests for American style hamburgers ( thick and juicy as opposed to pancakes) , I made one for him as well.  When he left I was a little sad as he really is an awesome dog, but once I cleaned up a wigs worth of hair from the floor the feelings subsided.  I think I’ll stop here for today, but my trip is coming up and I CAN’T WAITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!

Some Randoms

          Tonight should be a fun night as I am getting to play some Texas Hold ‘Em with my students.  It is funny because they asked me to play at a bar and mentioned not to say anything to anyone about it lol.  Everyone is turning into rebels. 

            An additional source of joy today is getting to FINALLY play with a dog.  I have always had a dog ever since I was a little kid and I love their companionship.  Paige recently asked one of our students if we could have a “sleepover” with his little Jack Russell terrier named Chucky.  He is a spunky little rascal, and his presence in our apartment, despite his incessant shedding, is most welcome.  Chucky was already jumping all over my bed until I kicked him off for humping my arm. 

            Lastly, here are a few pictures from a couple of days ago.  The female political science students organized a party where they all cooked traditional Kurdish food and brought it into the cafeteria for the whole program to enjoy.  They did a fantastic job and really had an impressive array of food.  This is another instance of Kurdish hospitality which exhibits the mindset of looking at things from a community perspective; otherness as opposed to “me”ness. 

           

 Here are some good pics of Duhok after a recent dusting of snow.  The mountains surrounding the city looked really pretty.  

It Was Bound to Happen...

           Sooner or later, it was bound to happen.  By “it” I mean that despite my well-intentioned and overall successful effort to acculturate to life in Kurdistan, I am still an American and need to let loose every once in a while.  Last night was the culmination of what has been building up for some time.  What was supposed to be a night out chatting over a drink and food turned into, in my mind at least, a golden opportunity to get fall down drunk. 

            Mohammed, one of the professors in our English course for faculty members, was nice enough to invite us out.  At first I just wanted to go home and relax, or even play poker with my political science students, but he was quite persistent so I acquiesced.  After a fairly regular week, with typical stresses and enjoyments, I was looking forward to starting my weekend with a solid session in the gym followed by a pleasant dinner. 

            In the evening the upstairs classroom of the Cultural Center transforms into a restaurant.  The overall ambiance is very relaxed with dim lights and shades of red everywhere.  Tables are plenty spread out so even if the place is full, which it never is, you still maintain a level of privacy.  The night started out with just Paige, myself, and Mohammed.  He is a jovial man, probably mid 40s, and his English skills are around the high-intermediate level.  His invitation to dinner was not surprising since it has become common to receive them from students, but it was also an opportunity for him to brush up on his conversation skills. 

Upon taking our seats I had already decided my drink of choice for the evening: whiskey.  I didn’t want to ruin my gym session by consuming excessive calories from beer and, to be frank, I wanted to get inebriated as quickly as possible.  I asked the waiter for my beverage and was absolutely delighted when he returned with Johnnie Walker: Black Label.  Not only was my food going to be delicious, but I could wash it down in style.  Like a boss.  To make it even better, they don’t mix drinks for you at many places here; they bring you a small bottle (20 cl) of booze and some soda.  For any of my friends from home who have experienced a “Ryan mixed drink” they know that it is 60%+ alcohol with a dash of soda. 

After chatting with Mohammed for about 30 minutes he told us that two of his friends would soon be joining us.  When they arrived I was surprised to see that one of the men, Sherzad, was someone I had spoken to in the gym before.   Sherzad is an older gentleman, probably over 55, who is originally from southern Iraq but fled to the UK when Saddam came to power.  He has traveled extensively, also teaches at the university, and speaks perfect English (in addition to Arabic, Kurdish, Turkish, and French).  The other gentleman, Jalal, is also from the southern part Iraq but, similar to Sherzad, fled the country many years ago; his destination of choice was Denmark.  Jalal and Sherzad were both highly personable, engaging in conversation, and intelligent individuals. 

By the time that they arrived I had already downed my first bottle of JW and was working on a second.  Any sense of being tired or stressed was washed away and replaced with a cheery gregariousness.  Conversation and drinks flowed and time was essentially nonexistent.  I felt bad that Mohammed’s ability to communicate was severely limited as we spoke quickly; but it was also nice to speak in a normal tongue and not a slower, modified version.  When you are constantly surrounded by people who have little capacity for understanding what you say, it is quite refreshing just to talk normally.  Ease of communication is certainly something we take for granted. 

Within a few hours, and after two more 20 cl bottles of JW (roughly a water bottle and a half full of just whiskey), it is safe to say that I was hammered.  Despite this, I was still able to maintain the ability to have an intelligent conversation; this is mostly because I was in my element talking about world affairs, politics, and challenges facing Iraq.  However, if we stayed much longer I probably would have slipped into the zone of yapping about unintelligible nonsense, aka jibba jabba.  Honestly, we left at the perfect time because this is when the rest of the night becomes a blur. 

Two of our students came and picked us up at the Cultural Center.  In hindsight, this was probably a bad idea, but it happened nevertheless.  I have no recollection of what happened after.  After piecing the story together we evidently drove around for a little while, stopped to buy a CD so we could listen to American music in the car, and then went home.  I don’t know what time I got home or went to bed, but similar to the pop-classic “The Hangover,” I was only left with some scattered clues. 

As I opened my eyes and realized I was in my bed, shirt off as always, I had a brief feeling of confidence that everything was normal.  It all went south from there.  I felt a slightly uncomfortable bulk near me and then I realized that I had in all likelihood spent part of the night sleeping on top of my laptop.  Luckily, my internet USB did not break.  After removing the blanket I then found that I was sleeping in my dress pants, belt and all.  I had taken the liberty of removing my shirt, but the pants were clearly way too much work.  I then look to my right and find pages of my daily planner torn and scattered on the floor (which is now quite inconvenient); my notebook is ruined and in the garbage (also inconvenient); and there are remnants of vomit on the floor and on the side of my bed (just plain gross).  Ouch.

After seeing the disaster that my room had become I promptly began cleaning up.  My phone was dead but still working, and since I woke up at 8:30am I imagine that I was in bed before midnight.  After all, we started drinking at 7pm.   I feel pretty good today, and there have already been numerous occasions where I just think about last night and laugh.  I think that was exactly the type of release that I needed.  I am no longer the type of person who parties every weekend, but I do value occasionally being able to just say, “Fuck it.  I’m getting drunk and we’ll see where the night takes me.”   Sometimes good, sometimes not, but always a story to tell J