I had lived amongst the jumble of sand-colored buildings that seem to tumble outwards from the center of the city for almost a month without ascending the citadel that sits at its core. At midday Friday, we were invited into an old and famous tea shop sitting in the shadow of the statue you see above. This statue quietly contemplates the frantic comings and goings in the bazaar below and although I cannot tell you who the statue represents, I have been told he is a poet. This seems appropriate as I sit in the tea shop which is filled with young and old men (we are the only women) engaged in philosophical debate (I romanticize). There are shelves of what appear to be literature, poetry and other tomes of academic interest behind the counter and I have been told that many like to play backgammon here.
It is while surveying this scene that we decide to climb the tell and see what is inside the inner walls of the city. It is at the top of these layers and layers of civilizations that I first tasted my first Hawler calm. I also felt something intense and personal which I suspect is associated with my own complex relationship with the past (real and imagined). Here I felt, despite nomadic tendencies, connected to history. Although not born anywhere in or near this region (and my ancestors are still something of a question mark for me), the land beneath me owned me.
This story is to be continued anther day....
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