Embracing Randomness

            Duhok is not a city renowned for its spontaneity.  Each day closely resembles the last, and despite a lack of overall structure with regards to work, there is no notion of productivity, the people very much have a set schedule that they like to follow.  You know exactly what to expect when living here.  HOWEVER, as an American thrown into the Middle East, my desires to mix things up are well known.  This led me to two experiences, completely random, that are worth telling. 

UK Pub Time

            There aren’t many English speaking foreigners in Duhok so whenever one miraculously appears in the city we try to connect with them.  Samuel hails from the United Kingdom and recently came to Duhok as part of a teaching program.  Conveniently enough, he replaced Paige and me at the Cultural Center teaching for the notorious Lazgin.  We had gone out to dinner with a few other people once before and Samuel proved himself to be an enjoyable companion.   He is around my age, personable, jocular….and speaks English. This is an absolute winning combination.  I invited him out to dinner one night to Vin House, a Lebanese restaurant, to show him another place in town we like to go to. 

            As I walked into the restaurant I noticed that Samuel was accompanied by an older gentleman who I had never seen before.  John introduced himself and I quickly detected another accent.  I found out that he was from Scotland and also working for Samuel’s company; he was only in Duhok for one more day and was then heading to nearby Zakho, a town with even less to do than Duhok.  Conversation flowed over some cheese steak sandwiches and then the million dollar question was broached: What should we do next?  John offered the suggestion of heading somewhere to grab a beer.  Samuel and I agreed that would be fun as the night shouldn’t end just yet.  Little did we know what the rest of the night would bring. 

            We headed to Nohadra because it is the only location in town that I know of with any semblance of a bar.  Going inside we noticed that it was quite lifeless on this particular evening, but nevertheless, we ordered our drinks and sat down for a while.  John and Samuel were more loquacious than I was.  It was probably a combination of: a) them having already spent the day together and being more acquainted, b) their being from similar geographic locations, and c) my always having to get a feel for new people.  After we finished the pint we came up with the idea to head next door to the other bar to see if they had any cards we could play.  I was enjoying myself as both Samuel and John are interesting people, and I figured one more stop wouldn’t hurt as I had nothing to do the next day. 

            I had actually never been to the other bar, they are all nameless as far as I’m concerned, so I was intrigued as to what I would find.  Whereas the first one is more akin to a dive bar, this one was a little bit nicer.  We approached the bartender to order our drinks. Samuel and I stuck with beer and John ordered a glass of wine.  As the waiter brought our drinks to the table we knew there must have been some mishap in communication, shocking I know, as he brought John an entire bottle of wine.  At this point it became clear that we were going to be there a while. 

            After the first few pints went down the rest seemed to flow like water.  A beer out turned into 4-5, not enough to be intoxicated, but certainly enough to change the mood at the table.  We were all discussing everything from biotechnology to working in the Middle East.  John is actually a biotechnologist who has over 15 patents outstanding and more applications pending for a new drug that he helped to create.  I got the impression that he is actually quite wealthy, although his brash demeanor, humble style of dress, and Scottish ‘charm’ gave no such indication.

            Before we knew it the clock struck around 1am and the bartender was giving us the signal to leave.  Feeling good and not wanting the night to end, Samuel and John tried to persuade the bartender to sell us a few more drinks.  To my surprise, the bartender gave us one more round even as the rest of the bar had cleared out save for one other table.  After our round was promptly delivered, another one showed up within 2 minutes.  The gentleman at the other table also bought us a round!  He eventually came over to chat and his English was fairly decent as he, randomly enough, spent some time in Scotland himself.  Those drinks were downed and we were all feeling quite good.  I figured the night was over after the bartender yielded to frustration and finally kicked us out after EVERYONE else had left; wrong again. 

            We went outside and my stomach led us up the street to find some shawarma.  I always like to eat after a night of drinking so some of the alcohol can be absorbed before I go to sleep.  I devoured a couple of sandwiches and watched John fall down outside and drop all of his belongings.  This was the signal that we were all drunk, and like drunk people do, we wanted to find something else to do.  Samuel started approaching random people outside of the shawarma shop and asking where we could buy whiskey.  Evidently, we could not play cards at my apartment without whiskey, so the search was on.  Surprised yet again, Samuel, using broken Arabic, found a cab driver who would take us to the Promised Land. 

            We pulled down a slightly darker street and stopped at a building tucked away from the main road.  I immediately noticed that this was the same trailor I had played poker in before!  We went inside and started talking away with all of the employees.  After about 10-15 minutes we secured a large bottle of Jack Daniels: Black Label.  I had completely wiped out my supply of cash with my share of the bottle.  Now, we were on a dark street with no taxis in site.  Randomness continued to ensue and a Black Hummer with two young guys offers us a ride.  Being drunk we gave a collective, “Fuck it” and hopped in. 

Their level of English wasn’t great but the language of fun took over.  They quickly cracked out some Corona’s in the car and passed them back to us.  In the US I would ask to get out of the car; in Iraq there are no laws against such things, and I had no other options, so I went along for the joyride.  By the time we got back to my house it had to be around 2am.  After all the twists and turns the night had already taken, it HAD to be almost over.  Wrong again.

We literally sat in my apartment drinking whiskey and failing miserably at playing cards for 2.5 hours.  John and Samuel were absolutely wasted and eventually fell victim to tautological arguments and discussions of English vs. Scottish people.  I quietly listened and internally mulled over the idea of when I could finally go to bed.  At 4:30am, my wish was finally granted as I had to kick them out.  John lit a cigarette and spilled the ashes on my floor as a nice goodbye.  Samuel was most apologetic as he literally had no idea what they were arguing about for so long.  Come to find out, John took a nosedive once he left my building and Samuel had to carry him to the only open bakery so he could hail a cab. 

All in all, it was actually one of the more memorable nights I have had in Duhok.  It could adequately be described as a shitshow, but as I have mentioned before, sometimes that is exactly what is needed to break up the monotony of daily life. 

Ice Cream with Imams

            After a normal day of work I sat at home a little bit bored.  Kurdistan has 1,000 holidays and the following day happened to be one of them, thus expediting the weekend.  But I had nothing to do, so I called my friend Warvin, a local Kurdish girl who could easily fit in an American lifestyle, to see if she wanted to go out to eat chicken wings and smoke some hookah.  Samuel joined up with us about an hour later.  We sat and chatted over some dinner, smoked, and taught Samuel how to play the card game Comkin.  It was about time to leave when my phone rang.  It was Waleed, a gentleman from my English class who is about 40 years old, has a very low level of English, and happens to be an Imam. 

Earlier in the week I asked him if I could go to his mosque with him to check it out.  I am always up to learn new things, see different places, and broaden my horizons.  We had set up a time for me to visit on Friday after he conducted the prayer session so I was surprised that he was calling on Tuesday night.  Through a translator he asked if I was busy and wanted to come out now.  It was about 9pm, but I had nothing to do the next day.  I had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do, but, similar to the bar night, I decided to embrace the randomness. 

Waleed pulls up to the hookah bar to pick me up and I noticed two other individuals in the car.  As I get in the car I notice that they have full beards, are wearing traditional Kurdish clothes and hats.  Waleed informed me that they are also Imams at different mosques in Duhok.  I had never spoken to an Imam before, and even though their English wasn’t great, I thought it would be interesting to see what they had in store and I could also practice a little Kurdish. 

The plan for the evening was to take me to each of their three mosques so I could get a feel for what they are like.  The mosques varied in external design, one was far more elaborate than the others, but internally they were nearly identical.  All of them are gated in but seemingly never locked.  There is a small ‘garden’ near the entrance which is really just a grassy patch surrounded by a few flowers and shrubs.  Near the door of the building is a common area for worshippers to wash their hands, face, and feet.  This is must before you pray.  Before entering the mosque itself you must also remove your shoes so there is an area for that as well.  Once you finally get inside you are greeted by a large, open space.  The walls are nearly bare, and only a chandelier hangs in the center of this room which can easily hold 500+ people.  Imam Ali tells me that over 2,000 people fill this room and even overflow outside on Friday, their most important day of prayer. 

There is no furniture in the room except for a few stands holding the Holy Quran.  In Islam, prayers are combination of kneeling and standing on a prayer rug, so no seating is necessary.  At the front of the room is a clock indicating the 5 times you pray each day, and a microphone for the Imam to discuss the day’s teachings (in Kurdish) and lead the prayers (in Arabic).  I had only previously been to one mosque before so this was an interesting experience to see 3 different mosques, and to sit in the Imam’s chamber of each.  At each location I was greeted as a most welcomed guest and given a small gift (musk, a book, and dates).  The finale of the evening was stopping at a local store and picking up some ice cream.  We ate it in the car on the way to Imam Hussain’s house to enjoy tea, cookies, and sugared dates. 

As I informed a few others of my excursion, I was greeted with some surprising words.  Warvin told me to be careful as you never know who you are dealing with here.  Granted, this is true anywhere, but I have never once felt my safety was in jeopardy here so I felt it imprudent to act as such now.  The fact that they were bearded Imams seemed to make my more Westernized friends as uncomfortable as it would your average American.  I showed my friend Sabah, a well-educated and incredibly nice physicist, the pictures of the evening and he said, “They are terrorists!  I really don’t like people like that.”  I was sort of taken aback by this comment as this judgment was purely based on their outward appearance.  I think that it is these type of flash judgments which exacerbate our differences rather than come together through our commonalities. 

These men, while surely more conservative than your average Kurd in a number of areas (I cannot confirm this due to the language barrier), are still just humans.  Just like anyone else, they are capable of good and evil.  I felt no ill will from them whatsoever, and I found the dichotomy of our clearly contrasting styles to be almost invigorating.  Here I am, an American with a bright shirt, shorts, and sneakers, enjoying a night out with people who would make heads turn at every corner on a New Hampshire street.  That is exactly why I think that experiences like this are important.  For them, they can see that Americans can be open-minded, have a genuine interest in learning about a religion that is not their own, understanding, and warm to someone who is often misunderstood.  For me, I can show pictures of this experience and offer anecdotes backing up the claim that not every bearded Muslim is a feared terrorist with radical extremist goals.  Islam is a religion of peace, despite its being misconstrued all over the world by many.  But Christians are no less guilty, and any amount of bad apples, past or present, should not spoil the entire lot of millions.  The same goes true for Islam.  Any opportunity that I receive to combat stereotypes, argue against flash judgments, and open my mind to something new I will readily accept.  Life is an experiment, and to truly make the most of it, we must be open to all that it has in store.