These boys gathered for a parting shot outside the home of aKurdish beekeeper we visited.
Showing posts with label Photos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Photos. Show all posts
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Boys with a Bike
These boys gathered for a parting shot outside the home of aKurdish beekeeper we visited.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Notes From Kurdistan
(This piece was first distributed over email, I repost it here with some photographs from my trip)
Girls learn to sow at a Women's Center
Girls learn to sow at a Women's Center in a village an hour from Erbil, Kurdistan
For the past few days I have had the immense pleasure of running around the hills of Kurdistan. Accompanied by two colleagues, and a team of 10 PSDs (personal security details) I have definitely been treated like royalty, or at least a CODEL as we fly over the rolling hills of this northern province of Iraq, drinking tea with the locals, eating grapes with the Sheiks.
Kurdistan, yes, the place where the Kurds come from, is located on the northern border where Iraq meets Turkey, Syria and Iran. What has made this experience even more unique, is that just last week, while still in Baghdad, I attended the Al-Anfal Campaign Trial of Saddam Hussein. This, the second trial deals with the 1987-88 genocide against the Kurds in which a reported 182,000 lost their lives in brutal attacks including the widespread use of chemical weapons.
Kurdistan, yes, the place where the Kurds come from, is located on the northern border where Iraq meets Turkey, Syria and Iran. What has made this experience even more unique, is that just last week, while still in Baghdad, I attended the Al-Anfal Campaign Trial of Saddam Hussein. This, the second trial deals with the 1987-88 genocide against the Kurds in which a reported 182,000 lost their lives in brutal attacks including the widespread use of chemical weapons.
(below: A snapshot with some of the kids at a sport center for internally displaced persons)
The Kurdish region is rife with political complexities and this is not the place to try and explain the PUK vs PDK and the dress code of the Peshmerga, rather, I want to highlight the marvelous experience of actually getting to sit down in the most modest of villages interacting with men, women and children.
We drove between villages in Erbil, Duhok and Sulaymaniya province visiting beneficiaries of some of the USAID funded projects in the region. This included a visit to the mayor of a small 34-family village who benefit from a bee-keeping program we ran last fall. Next we attended a training session on the proper use of pesticides, held at a local mosque and widely attended by farmers from this particular village. Here we listened to the frustration of farmers at the realities of not having access to government.
We spent the night in the "5-star" Al Ashur hotel in Sulaymaniya. The run-down structure runs on a skeleton staff, and serves the same food for lunch and dinner with no menu. Nonetheless, there is great potential for its location begs the launching of boats, jet skis on Lake Dukan, and a myriad of other activities such as hiking and mountain biking in the awesome foothills that surround the property. Not surprisingly, it is on the same compound as the Iraqi President Talabani's residence - a large squarish structure that I could see on the hill directly opposite my hotel room window.
Today we attended another training, this time in the recognition, prevention and treatment of zoonotic diseases, again in the modest mosque of a small village. Interestingly, this time the attendance was almost exactly 50/50 males and females. Reason being of course that it is often women who participate in the keeping of farm animals (currently livestock amounts to 50% of Iraq's agriculture activities, which in turn employ 30% of the workforce). We had a heated debate about the culling of birds in the village following the Avian Influenza scare in another part of Kurdistan last year, with demands for reimbursement for such acts.
Leaving the training session, we headed deeper into the hills of Sulaymaniya, and the countryside continued to grow more and more beautiful. For the California crowd, I would say it looked something like the rolling hills in the Sacramento area, during summer, when everything is golden brown, and the bugs are buzzing in the heat...rolling hills, with scattered trees (although much of Kurdistan suffered immense deforestation during the Al Anfal Campaign as innocent civilians fled to the mountains for refuge), and the neat rows of grapes and other fruit trees.
We drove between villages in Erbil, Duhok and Sulaymaniya province visiting beneficiaries of some of the USAID funded projects in the region. This included a visit to the mayor of a small 34-family village who benefit from a bee-keeping program we ran last fall. Next we attended a training session on the proper use of pesticides, held at a local mosque and widely attended by farmers from this particular village. Here we listened to the frustration of farmers at the realities of not having access to government.
We spent the night in the "5-star" Al Ashur hotel in Sulaymaniya. The run-down structure runs on a skeleton staff, and serves the same food for lunch and dinner with no menu. Nonetheless, there is great potential for its location begs the launching of boats, jet skis on Lake Dukan, and a myriad of other activities such as hiking and mountain biking in the awesome foothills that surround the property. Not surprisingly, it is on the same compound as the Iraqi President Talabani's residence - a large squarish structure that I could see on the hill directly opposite my hotel room window.
Today we attended another training, this time in the recognition, prevention and treatment of zoonotic diseases, again in the modest mosque of a small village. Interestingly, this time the attendance was almost exactly 50/50 males and females. Reason being of course that it is often women who participate in the keeping of farm animals (currently livestock amounts to 50% of Iraq's agriculture activities, which in turn employ 30% of the workforce). We had a heated debate about the culling of birds in the village following the Avian Influenza scare in another part of Kurdistan last year, with demands for reimbursement for such acts.
Leaving the training session, we headed deeper into the hills of Sulaymaniya, and the countryside continued to grow more and more beautiful. For the California crowd, I would say it looked something like the rolling hills in the Sacramento area, during summer, when everything is golden brown, and the bugs are buzzing in the heat...rolling hills, with scattered trees (although much of Kurdistan suffered immense deforestation during the Al Anfal Campaign as innocent civilians fled to the mountains for refuge), and the neat rows of grapes and other fruit trees.
With the Peshmerga guard that travels with the agricultural implementing partner organization.
On this, our last stop for the day, we visited a house way at the top of a small hill, right down in the bottom of a breathtaking valley. The hill sits perched on the edge with picture windows from the ceiling to the floor. Needless to say, I was quite surprised at this obvious opulence, not exactly our run-of-the-mill beneficiary, until I realized what the aim of the project was.
The property is that of Sheikh Muhammed Mahmoud Abdullah. A wealthy man with connections in the right places and a family currently in London, he returned to his old Peshmerga stomping grounds, where he, himself had been blinded by the chemical attacks during Al Anfal. When he pointed in one direction across the mountains he said "Iran is about 6 hours walk that way", it was clear he knew this from experience.
Following his 6 month recovery, the good Sheikh remained in the UK, only to return and build himself what he refers to as his "Freedom House", where the bar apparently opens at 6pm and wine, beer and Rakia flows, "even in Iraq" one of us asked, to which he answers "of course yes, up here [Kurdistan] it is different", and my hunch is, no one argues with the Sheikh anyway. His servants return with a tray of chai, followed by home-grown grapes and figs, topped off with more chai and the best Iraqi sweets I've had. We discuss the 30 varieties of grapes the viticulturalist has found in the area and prod him on information about the sustainability of agribusiness with the right kind of funding.
When I ask for the bathroom he assures me there is a "western" toilet at the top, which I respectfully acknowledge but still opt for the Arabic version by the front door. (which I secretly prefer, makes squatting so much easier)
Long story short, our project funded a trellising and drip irrigation pilot project, currently implemented by a 70 year old Lebanese with a PhD from the Soviet Union who used to be the head of the fruits department in Baghdad under the previous regime. The idea is that if the village sees the Sheik's yield and quality increase, they will come begging for the technology, something that they currently shun for fear of a failing crop. Understandable of course, it's not like the Sheik needs a good yield to sustain his wine habits, but most of the folks down the hill in their mud huts surrounded by kids, do.
And so, my day ends with a 2.5 hour drive back to our office in Erbil, looking out the back of our overly up armored Suburban SUV, plated vest laying too heavily on my bladder full of chai and water...I cannot seem to wrap my mind around the dichotomy between the two sides of this country. On the one side, literally, a place where one feels free, wants to hike and mountain bike, a place where communities seem to make do, perhaps not flourish, but show me a post-conflict society where that is the case, but where people can concentrate on educating their kids and dreaming of their futures, versus what I see in Baghdad. This week, again a colleague lost a family member, this time a cousin who was so brutally tortured, they shoved a cue ball in his eye and stitched his mouth shut...he lived, only to die from his wounds two days later.
And I drive, through the mountains and over the hills of Kurdistan...my mind runs, runs away. Kids splash in wheelbarrows filled with water, folks sell Iranian gas in 10 gallons plastic containers next to the street, and Fleetwood Mac sings
"Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Don't stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterdays gone, yesterdays gone"
On this, our last stop for the day, we visited a house way at the top of a small hill, right down in the bottom of a breathtaking valley. The hill sits perched on the edge with picture windows from the ceiling to the floor. Needless to say, I was quite surprised at this obvious opulence, not exactly our run-of-the-mill beneficiary, until I realized what the aim of the project was.
The property is that of Sheikh Muhammed Mahmoud Abdullah. A wealthy man with connections in the right places and a family currently in London, he returned to his old Peshmerga stomping grounds, where he, himself had been blinded by the chemical attacks during Al Anfal. When he pointed in one direction across the mountains he said "Iran is about 6 hours walk that way", it was clear he knew this from experience.
Following his 6 month recovery, the good Sheikh remained in the UK, only to return and build himself what he refers to as his "Freedom House", where the bar apparently opens at 6pm and wine, beer and Rakia flows, "even in Iraq" one of us asked, to which he answers "of course yes, up here [Kurdistan] it is different", and my hunch is, no one argues with the Sheikh anyway. His servants return with a tray of chai, followed by home-grown grapes and figs, topped off with more chai and the best Iraqi sweets I've had. We discuss the 30 varieties of grapes the viticulturalist has found in the area and prod him on information about the sustainability of agribusiness with the right kind of funding.
When I ask for the bathroom he assures me there is a "western" toilet at the top, which I respectfully acknowledge but still opt for the Arabic version by the front door. (which I secretly prefer, makes squatting so much easier)
Long story short, our project funded a trellising and drip irrigation pilot project, currently implemented by a 70 year old Lebanese with a PhD from the Soviet Union who used to be the head of the fruits department in Baghdad under the previous regime. The idea is that if the village sees the Sheik's yield and quality increase, they will come begging for the technology, something that they currently shun for fear of a failing crop. Understandable of course, it's not like the Sheik needs a good yield to sustain his wine habits, but most of the folks down the hill in their mud huts surrounded by kids, do.And so, my day ends with a 2.5 hour drive back to our office in Erbil, looking out the back of our overly up armored Suburban SUV, plated vest laying too heavily on my bladder full of chai and water...I cannot seem to wrap my mind around the dichotomy between the two sides of this country. On the one side, literally, a place where one feels free, wants to hike and mountain bike, a place where communities seem to make do, perhaps not flourish, but show me a post-conflict society where that is the case, but where people can concentrate on educating their kids and dreaming of their futures, versus what I see in Baghdad. This week, again a colleague lost a family member, this time a cousin who was so brutally tortured, they shoved a cue ball in his eye and stitched his mouth shut...he lived, only to die from his wounds two days later.
And I drive, through the mountains and over the hills of Kurdistan...my mind runs, runs away. Kids splash in wheelbarrows filled with water, folks sell Iranian gas in 10 gallons plastic containers next to the street, and Fleetwood Mac sings
"Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Don't stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterdays gone, yesterdays gone"
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