On Kindness: Part 2

Ramazan

I write this whilst sitting in Erbil airport in an odd mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration, having almost missed my lift here due to oversleeping. I'm heading to Jordan to start a new chapter of this journey. It's 2 am, and I already miss Kurdistan. 

A few weeks passed between the end of my last adventure and the start of this one, and as a result Ramadan (or as it's pronounced here, Ramazan) was in full effect. At various points in my life I've said to myself, "I should to try fasting for a month like the Muslims - see if I can do it!" As yet I have lacked the courage to do so. 

Duhok dam lake

I had traveled to Duhok over the weekend to see some friends and again had to get back before school. This time, at least there was no election on and I managed to leave long before dusk, but the heat was getting to the point of almost being unbearable. I cooled off in the Duhok dam with some local kids before sticking my thumb out. A few lifts later I was in a small town whose name I cannot remember but whose people I will not soon forget. As soon as I got out of the car, a softly spoken Kurdish man with striking blue eyes handed me a bottle of water, pushing my extended arm away to refuse the 1000 dinar note. As usual I become something of a minor spectacle and the man's brothers, cousins, and nephews all came out to see the man from the UK. They asked me all of the usual questions, "Are you married?", "Kurdistan Joana?" "Which is better, Kurdistan or Britain?" which, along with my replies bubbled out of mouths in a mixture of Kurdish, Arabic, and English. Pictures were taken, and bonds of brotherhood declared. 

Eventually, the conversation subsided and the fellow I'd spoken to originally invited me into his shop where he offered me a stool and sat on the floor. It is quite interesting to me that the Kurds actually seem to think that Westerners are uncomfortable unless they're in a chair! I refused the stool and sat down next to my new friend. As a pious Muslim, he was of course fasting so I felt bad even drinking water in front of him. But then came the million-dollar question - "Are you hungry?" I remember thinking, "Well, nowhere near as hungry as you!" But explained to him instead that I would feel awful for eating in front of him when he would not be able to do so for several more hours still. However, Kurds have a special way of insisting that is nigh on impossible to counter. 

A very typical Kurdish meal was delivered (sans meat of course), and we chatted while I ate. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit uncomfortable, but glad for the food after spending a few hours on the road. It turned out that these folks actually have relatives in the UK, and so I ended up on the phone to Shivan in London for a little while who promised me profusely that his family would be able to help with anything that I needed during my time in Kurdistan.

Barzan

With a full belly, I left my friends to continue my journey back home. I passed through the stunning Barzan region, the acquaintance of which I made all to briefly. I suppose that's yet another reason for me to return. Somewhat predictably, night began to fall far too early for my liking. I was still quite a stretch from my destination when a man driving a truck insisted on taking me back to his house for Iftar - the daily breaking of the Ramadan fast. I met the whole family, but our conversation was mostly by means of smiles and gestures as, again my Arabic was stretched far past my abilities and seemingly this was also the case for this family. Somewhat stupidly, I had already eaten falafel an hour before I was invited in, so my ability to eat enough to satisfy the mother's expectant gaze was significantly diminished. 

After 45 minutes or so I had to insist on leaving - I think that they wanted me to stay the night! The father of the family understood that I was in a bit of a hurry, and furiously waved down taxis while I desperately tried to explain to him that I was hitchhiking, without leading him to believe that I needed him to help me with money! Eventually I managed to get the Arabic word for hitchhiking from the google translate app. He dropped me off next to a gas station, where we said our goodbyes and I repeated the Kurdish epithet "Zorr Supas" to him as many times I could. I would have liked to be able to more eloquently communicate my gratitude, but alas repetition was all I had at my disposal. 

In no time, I rode off into the night on the back of a motorcycle, the speed of which made tears form streaks on my dusty, smiling face.