The Press and Journal (Inverness, Highlands, and Islands)
| George Mitchell
Fascinated by the lives of others, George R Mitchell gets under the skin of a country, often uncovering the dark corners of culture, politics and people. He now has 25 years of off-grid travel and 85 countries under his belt, and he’s in no mood to stop j
Kurdistan is a cash society, very few ATM’s exist here. I was therefore carrying dollars cash only; it felt like being in Russia and eastern Europe in the 1990s. Exchanging them into Iraqi currency gave me a thick wad of almost one million Dinar.
Two hundred miles north of Baghdad, Erbil – with a population of around 800,000 – is the capital of Iraqi Kurdistan. Muslims most of them may be, but they are fiercely proud to be Kurdish. After suffering much brutality at the hands of Saddam Hussein, the Kurdish people of Erbil took to the streets amid huge celebrations in 2003 with the fall of Saddam’s wicked Ba’ath regime. I will go into this period in much detail in the coming weeks.
There’s money here, lots of it. And oil, lots of it. Is this the reason that Baghdad does not want Kurdistan to ever become an independent state? It certainly has to be one of the main factors, I reckon. Price of petrol? Less than 50p a litre.
The Citadel, a world heritage site, sits right in the middle of Erbil city. It is thought humans first inhabited the Citadel as long ago as 5,000BC. Over the years, it’s been populated by such peoples as the Babylonians and the Assyrians, also captured by the Mongols and Muslims. As well as houses, this ancient “town” also housed mosques, schools, a Hammam and, believe it or not, a Jewish synagogue. Astonishingly, people lived up here, until 2007 – around 800 families. Remarkable.
Perched atop a rocky hill, it looks down upon modern Erbil with, I would say, authority. Past two security men who first checked my passport, up the steep path I walked, trying to keep the weight off my busted left ankle. There was no one else up there apart from me. Wow, what views, but due to the ongoing renovations to restore it to its former glory, there’s nothing to do up there. Currently, the best thing about is the act of looking up at it, and the stunning views looking down on to Erbil. Still, I wandered around, trying to imagine what it would have been like to have lived up here a few thousand years ago, in this heat, without electricity and air con.
It will be stunning once they have finished the renovations. I just hope, with all my heart, that they don’t then advertise it as an international tourist attraction and fill this ancient, enchanting place with shops and cafés and Wi-Fi.
Back down at street level, I stumbled into huge street markets which were selling absolutely everything. All manner of imported goods, kitchenware, household goods, lots of sweets, and lots of clothes, many fake designer labels, by the look of it.
Very friendly people, the Kurds. With almost no foreigners here – well, I didn’t see any – they are extremely welcoming indeed. I mentioned last week their gratitude to America and Britain for getting rid of Saddam. Oh yes, you’ll get a very different view of the Iraq war over here in Kurdistan. As I was told from day one: “We are not Arabs, we are not Iraqis... we are Kurds.” Sure, this is Iraq, but not as we know it. Not from the TV news channels, anyway.
I don’t know why, because it always turns my stomach, but nonetheless, I am always drawn to the meat market. I guess it’s because it’s real life. Real people buying and selling real food; the cornerstone of life. Food markets are always the beating heart of any place I visit.
I ventured deep into the meat section – as I’ve mentioned before, most definitely not for the faint hearted. Carcasses, hung on hooks outside butchers’ stalls as men expertly stripped them. Lots of live things also, in cages – ducks, rabbits, you name it. Goats and turkeys, tied by the legs, lying on the roads. I’m never happy seeing that, it never makes for pleasant viewing, but like when I was in the animal market in Amman, Jordan, it is not my country, so not my place to tell these folks how we think it should be done. Or is it? I’ve thought much about this recently and am therefore planning to write a column on the subject of: should you intervene or not? Coming later in the year…
I walked on and was drawn towards a large, open truck, much like
“It will be stunning once they have finished the renovations. I just hope, with all my heart, that they don’t then advertise it as an international tourist attraction...”
the one I arrived in from the airport. Two women were haggling loudly with the owner. What on Earth where they haggling over? Up I went and peered into the back of the truck where four huge cows’ heads – very recently parted from the rest of their bodies – lay, eyes open, staring back at me. Humongous heads. I did, of course, take photos, even though I knew there’s no way they’d be printed with this column.
They were obviously highly prized cows’ heads, the two women really were going for it, but the seller, didn’t seem keen to drop his price. Then, with me looking nothing like a Kurd or an Arab, surprisingly, one of the women turned to me and started jabbering away in Kurdish. She was going for it, big time, and using her hands to point at the heads, and at me and the seller. She seemed to think I understood everything; she seemed to be telling me the price was way too high and how much would I pay? I played along and kept nodding my head and scratching my chin as if deep in thought along with her on the price regarding fresh cows’ heads.
She then suddenly stopped talking and seemed to be in the process of making a decision so just before I walked away, I tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to me and I said in English: “Aye, you’ll need a big pot missus, if you’re gonna make soup with that.”
It may have been only 10am but with the temperature already getting close to 40 degrees, I took refuge outside a small covered tea/hookah shop. Fresh, piping-hot black tea with three unasked-for sugars was quickly placed in front of me – surprisingly refreshing in this baking heat.
My thoughts on Erbil? I liked it, really liked it. It had a good feel. Therefore, I’d end up spending many days in Erbil and, in fact, used it as my base for the month, in between other destinations.
Later that evening, I was back in the nearby suburb of Ankawa, which simply fascinates me. I strolled over to a beautiful church which had security posted outside. He held up his hand and wouldn’t let me enter the compound. Then he asked me in English if I was a Christian. Well, I was baptised so yeah, technically, I am, I guess. I told him so and he let me in to walk around the immaculate grounds. He never once took his eyes off me, though. The Kurds take their security very seriously.
It was now 7pm. Now, picture this. I’m officially in Iraq, a predominantly Muslim country. Isis fighters, although not in control of nearby Mosul since last year, are still around. It is the holy month of Ramadan, where Muslims don’t eat or even drink water during the hours between sunrise and sunset. I am sitting on the little patio outside my hotel, sipping a can of ice-cold beer. How is this possible? Well, Ankawa, which is a little Christian enclave, has shops that are allowed to sell beer. They open each evening once the Ramadan fast is broken. No one is batting an eyelid at me with my beer, locals simply going about their business buying food and preparing to break their long fast. No one is criticising or scolding me for not being “one of them”. Very tolerant, are the Kurdish people.
You know, this, in my opinion, is how it should be the world over. LALL – “Live and let live” should be the mantra for all of mankind. Extremists of all faiths and nationalities enrage me. If you can’t handle the fact that someone is Jewish or Hindu or a non-believer, or American or gay or Buddhist or whatever, then it’s your problem, not theirs. Such people who judge, scold and even hate entire groups of others who are different from them, really need to go and get counselling.
I didn’t sit out too long, though. Sure, the temperature had dropped from the midday heat, but it was still hovering around 30, and the mosquitoes were now out in force. I took my second beer inside to the chilled air con of my room and looked over my plans for the next few days. I was heading south; much to see, much to explore, much to learn about what the Kurdish people really did go through during the Saddam years.
To contact George directly about any of his columns, email nadmgrm@gmail.com