Where sheep fear to wander

Between our new accomodations and the road to the airport is a field, a rather largish field containing a sort of pond and lots of ummanicured greenery through which every morning sheep wander. With them is a youngish shepherd who every now and then prods them westwards by hitting them with a stick. The sun chases after them and the temperature climbs towards 40 C.

Forget that the banks are strewn with garbage and the pond stinks like sewage, greeting the sheherd and wandering with the sheep (in the cooler early morning) was Cy's pastoral dream of Kurdistan... one which she didn't really get to indulge before leaving. Too bad as I had a couple of students (D and A) who could likely find greener, more romantic sheep/goat-grazing pastures ( like the mountainsides of Shaklawa) for her to tromp around in... and tromp safely.

D & A recently handed in research reports using background information and statistics they had collected at work (whereby they identified areas contaminated with mines and UXO - unexploded ordinances). Now thanks to their efforts, I know what the various types of mines imported by the former Iraqi government look like, what triggers them (and other UXO) and that the majority of people killed or injured by them in the last few years were teenaged shepherds. I am sure there are no mines in the field behind our apartments, but should you try to tromp through it, you would be reminded that you live in Kurdistan. The machine gun toting guards that inhabit the vacant lot to the right of the field might chase you,and ask you what you are doing in the field and direct you back to the road.

I write this post not because of Cy's recent departure, but because today I was reminded of this wish of hers by and the dangers of being a shepherd by an article in the Kurdish Globe on "Kurdistan Region's minefields". It mentions that the minefields are being successfully cleared and attributes the success to awareness campaigns of which my two students were clearly a part. Good going guys... "Harbiji Kak D & Kak A!"

Two Lives

Two lives, two wives, two families... A Hawleri friend desires this - "Two lives" not referring to the two lives discussed in Vikram Seth's biography, but to the two separate lives he wishes to live with two separate women in two separate families he will have here in Erbil. The scary part is that I think I was to consider being the second... Is it possible? As unattractive (mostly due to my Western perspectives) as I might be to a Kurdish man, I was told that I am beautiful, after all, "Woman - Fat - Good to Kurdistan!" I was then quizzed on my thoughts about a person having two families. I avoided response and was then pointedly asked a more personal question along the lines of whether or not I would ever consider being someone's second wife.

Hmmm.... I think NOT! I hope that is the end of that discussion, however, there was an interesting moment whereby I had flashbacks of India... except in India, it was never an earnest youngish man who I actually knew, but only flippant efforts by old rich silk factory owners (or jewelers) with nasty teeth looking for a fourth and final wife... Perhaps they thought a nice wheatish-colored Non-resident Indian (or half-Indian) might add to the prestige of their household. Here in Kurdistan, I think I would more likely bring dishonor and shame.

In the flight path

And a plane has just passed overhead, so close that it seems Marcello (one of the Bolivian brothers who manage the Internet services to this complex) in the far tower - Tower D- could reach out of his window with a poker and scrape the paint off the left wing. Cy is likely on that plane on the way to Dubai (a stopover that will be considerably less that the 7 hours she dreaded due to a 4 hour delay). I wonder how it will feel to be back in the US since she is unsure if and when she will return.

This morning, Cy woke me with to come gather the stuff she didn't want to cart back to the US... although it would have all have fit within her luggage allowance - she had the least luggage of any woman here (although she was well -and flamboyantly- dressed every single day). She regards clothes as kinds of costumes; a wonderful perspective that we took good advantage of at her farewell party two nights ago. The cafeteria musicians (who no longer work at the cafeteria) came and played some folk music, Kurdish and Turkish, along with a little Gypsy King's. Cynthia got out her Jordanian veil/mask decorated with coins (a item Tf wouldn't let me wear as he said I looked like a scary witch doctor of some sort) and her belly dancer's scarf and we all took turns dancing with it... although nobody could beat her flamenco. Later Z and Mu came and Mu helped Tf kill the multitude of mosquitos (who entered while the smokers were smoking on the balcony) by throwing the sofa's golden 'throw' cushions at the celing where the pesky devils were congregating next to the light bulb.

To be honest, although sad to see Cy leave, I didn't really want to get up to say goodbye as the mosquitos migrated to my house last night and I woke up with a lip so bitten and swollen I looked as though I'd been in a fight. Anyway, one more teacher has left and summer is coming. I still haven't made my plans and wonder when and where I will go, and who will return in fall... If I am here, I will watch their planes come in from my balcony and (if my camera is fixed by then) take a photo to prove how close to the flight path we really are.