Eva intends to return to this blog as soon as possible to document her time in Iraqi Kurdistan in 2003, but she is busy preparing to return there later this summer as her husband Meran starts another year-long tour as a civilian contractor (interpreter/translator). He goes back next week, she and their three sons go later.
Please be patient, and check back in the fall to find out more, or subscribe to the newsfeed for this blog to be automatically updated when new content is posted.
In the meantime, you can find out more about Eva and Meran from another perspective, at the Waiting Place...
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Note to Readers:
Saturday, May 01, 2004
Qamishlu is a little town in Syria that borders both Turkey and Iraq. For most Kurds traveling back home it is a major stop. Both because it has a large Kurdish population and also because this is where you stop at the local KDP office and make sure your documents are in order before usually taking a boat across the Syrian border to the Kurdish/Iraqi side and officially entering into Kurdistan.
When we arrived in Qamishlu it was still before noon. Since it was early, usually you have to get your name approved and listed before noon or you will have to wait for the next day, we assumed we would be able to keep going and cross that day. Yet when we arrived at the KDP office we were told that it was too late, too many people, Tomorrow...We were exhausted, with three small children, Tomorrow was not what we wanted to hear. We tried to ask why, but they ignored us and kept making our paperwork ready for tomorrow...In the end I guess they were really busy or just didn't feel like making the effort that day. When they got to me they asked the name of my parents and I told them they said that won't work. I said why not. They told me that Syria would question my parents names because they sounded foreign, and I would have a better chance if I changed them to Kurdish ones. So my mom, Patricia, became Piroz. When that was done they told us to make ourselves comfortable at one of the local hotels. They had a taxi guy on call and he drove us over there. We got two rooms. One for the two ladies accompanying us and one for me, the kids and Meran's cousin. Each room had an enclosed shower and two twin sized beds. Down the hall there was a community bathroom, with about 4 stalls and two sinks. The toilets were Mideast style, porcelain like ours, but sunk in the ground with no base, making one to have to squat to use the toilet. They also had the water hoses, no paper, due to the Muslim tradition of cleaning oneself after using the toilet.
After we bargained a price for the room and got ourselves situated I layed down with the boys. Eventually all three fell asleep with me, all of us on one twin size bed. I took this opportunity to go buy some dinner and honestly, to go explore. Since I was a child I have always wanted to see the world. I was envious of Indiana Jones. Now here I was, in a foreign country and I was eating it up. Everything I saw, the stores, the people was new, and it was exciting. Because that area of town was populated with a lot of Kurds I was able to ask around where to get food. Yet the place I went to they ended up only speaking Arabic. Lucky for me, I took two years of Arabic in college, and while I am not fluent, I know enough to ask a price, know the price, pay, and say thanks. I ended up buying a whole chicken, yogurt, bread, and three drinks for around $3. In Syria, most things are dirt cheap, you almost feel wrong paying that little.
I went back up to the room, but the boys were still napping so I decided to go back and go shopping at the bazaar. I asked Meran's cousin, Abdullah to watch the boys, Mu'min had woke up, so I took him with me. We went around the bazaar, looking at watches, clothing, perfume, and many other trinkets. In the end I bought a soccer ball and three sweaters, for the little cousins whom we were going to be staying with. In Kurdish culture, when you come from a far away place, or when you come back for that matter, bringing gifts is a big deal. It really isn't so much the gift, but bringing it that counts. It isn't such a bad tradition, especially when you are on the receiving end!!
The only really annoying thing about the bazaar and what I encountered in a lot of places is the children that beg in the market place. They come up to you and say "Aunt", a term of respect there, "Do you have some money?" Prior to leaving for overseas, I was warned that not all of these poor-looking children are as poor as they make out to be and to be careful. One girl I ran into I kept politely turning her down, but she kept asking me over and over. Finally she grabbed my shirt, I asked her to let go but for about a half block she wouldn't release her grip, I guess in the hopes I would finally give her something. I was fed up and I turned to her, grabbed her by the shoulders and said "Do you want me to hit you?" in Kurdish. I think I shocked her because she was silent and walked away. Later me and one of the ladies traveling with me ran across the same girl, as she approached that lady to ask her for something she saw me and suddenly changed directions. I just smiled!
When we arrived in Qamishlu it was still before noon. Since it was early, usually you have to get your name approved and listed before noon or you will have to wait for the next day, we assumed we would be able to keep going and cross that day. Yet when we arrived at the KDP office we were told that it was too late, too many people, Tomorrow...We were exhausted, with three small children, Tomorrow was not what we wanted to hear. We tried to ask why, but they ignored us and kept making our paperwork ready for tomorrow...In the end I guess they were really busy or just didn't feel like making the effort that day. When they got to me they asked the name of my parents and I told them they said that won't work. I said why not. They told me that Syria would question my parents names because they sounded foreign, and I would have a better chance if I changed them to Kurdish ones. So my mom, Patricia, became Piroz. When that was done they told us to make ourselves comfortable at one of the local hotels. They had a taxi guy on call and he drove us over there. We got two rooms. One for the two ladies accompanying us and one for me, the kids and Meran's cousin. Each room had an enclosed shower and two twin sized beds. Down the hall there was a community bathroom, with about 4 stalls and two sinks. The toilets were Mideast style, porcelain like ours, but sunk in the ground with no base, making one to have to squat to use the toilet. They also had the water hoses, no paper, due to the Muslim tradition of cleaning oneself after using the toilet.
After we bargained a price for the room and got ourselves situated I layed down with the boys. Eventually all three fell asleep with me, all of us on one twin size bed. I took this opportunity to go buy some dinner and honestly, to go explore. Since I was a child I have always wanted to see the world. I was envious of Indiana Jones. Now here I was, in a foreign country and I was eating it up. Everything I saw, the stores, the people was new, and it was exciting. Because that area of town was populated with a lot of Kurds I was able to ask around where to get food. Yet the place I went to they ended up only speaking Arabic. Lucky for me, I took two years of Arabic in college, and while I am not fluent, I know enough to ask a price, know the price, pay, and say thanks. I ended up buying a whole chicken, yogurt, bread, and three drinks for around $3. In Syria, most things are dirt cheap, you almost feel wrong paying that little.
I went back up to the room, but the boys were still napping so I decided to go back and go shopping at the bazaar. I asked Meran's cousin, Abdullah to watch the boys, Mu'min had woke up, so I took him with me. We went around the bazaar, looking at watches, clothing, perfume, and many other trinkets. In the end I bought a soccer ball and three sweaters, for the little cousins whom we were going to be staying with. In Kurdish culture, when you come from a far away place, or when you come back for that matter, bringing gifts is a big deal. It really isn't so much the gift, but bringing it that counts. It isn't such a bad tradition, especially when you are on the receiving end!!
The only really annoying thing about the bazaar and what I encountered in a lot of places is the children that beg in the market place. They come up to you and say "Aunt", a term of respect there, "Do you have some money?" Prior to leaving for overseas, I was warned that not all of these poor-looking children are as poor as they make out to be and to be careful. One girl I ran into I kept politely turning her down, but she kept asking me over and over. Finally she grabbed my shirt, I asked her to let go but for about a half block she wouldn't release her grip, I guess in the hopes I would finally give her something. I was fed up and I turned to her, grabbed her by the shoulders and said "Do you want me to hit you?" in Kurdish. I think I shocked her because she was silent and walked away. Later me and one of the ladies traveling with me ran across the same girl, as she approached that lady to ask her for something she saw me and suddenly changed directions. I just smiled!
Friday, April 02, 2004
Tuesday, October 7th, 2003:
We finally made it after 4 days of traveling!! Words cannot express how tired and hungry we were. Never again will I travel without Meran or a good friend with me.
We traveled from Nashville to Chicago, Chicago to Jordan, and Jordan to Syria by plane. That leg of the journey was fairly good; Albeit we had a 12-hr flight between Chicago and Jordan, but problems with the boys were minimal. Although, honestly, with 3 boys, aged 6, 4, and 18 months, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Food was good until we got to Jordan. There a can of soda cost $2. I only got bread, cheese, and a drink for the children.
When we arrived in Damascus, Syria that was the turning point of the trip. We had to bribe guards at customs, inserting a 20 dollar bill into our passports as we passed them inconspicously to the guard who would look at them, check the computer, and then nod and mutter something, stamp it, hand it back, and wave for us to move on.
Then we had to hurry to the baggage area and get our luggage before someone either stole it or picked it up and demanded a tip for their services, unsolicited at that. We had 12 suitcases total, of which only 3 were mine and Abdullah's (Meran's 18-year-old cousin). All 9 other bags were the two ladies that were traveling with us, Khiyal and Badria, and would eventually go to another northern Iraqi city called Zakho.
One of the ladies had a friend meet us at the airport in Damascus. He had been waiting for awhile when we arrived Friday at 11 PM. He had brought his brother-in-law's van for us. These guys were experienced!!! Somehow they managed to fit all the suitcases, our carry on luggage, and us (3 ladies, a man, and 3 children), plus them (2 guys) all in one van.
They took us to an old part of Damascus, where the streets were tight and you could barely squeeze your car through. This area I nicknamed "Little Kurdistan", a Kurdish version of Chinatown, because it was all Kurds in that part of town. This man took us to his sister's house. These people were not that well off. They didn't have much, but they offered us water, tea, and a chance to stretch our legs and rest before continuing on later that night. Around 1:30 AM we left their house and started on the long car trip across the Syrian landscape that would last over 10 hours. We found out later that our driver had taken us the long way and there actually was a route that would've cut a couple hours off.
It was a little before noon Saturday morning when we arrived in the border city of Qamishlu, Syria...
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
My name is Eva Abdullah. I am a Muslim-American woman married to a Kurdish man. I recently traveled with my three children, Salih, Bilal, and Mu'min to Kurdistan last fall. The journey was a long, and tiring one, yet it was filled with intersting places and captivating people and cultures well worth the exahaustion. If you find this may interest you, join me as I retell my journey through these entries.
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