Just Words: Echoes of Kurdish Women

 

I cannot believe that one whole year passed without me posting anything. I wish I could say that life is great again, war is over, refugees are back, economy is stable, we don’t check news every single hour… many other wishes. None of these happened since I posted my last blog.
I feel like almost everyone, in Iraqi Krdistan, has to change their minds about setting resolutions and wishes for this new year. For instance, instead of what diet should they choose they must think how to reach enough food for their children. How to follow a healthy lifestyle should be replaced by “how to afford medicine if one gets sick?”. One must think of ” not losing ones home”  instead of travelling. Educators will not think about their resolutions for their educational goals, they are more worried about their government’s resolutions for them. Students will not decide to study harder; they will think about whether there will be cure for this schizoid educational system. Pregnant mothers wish there were nine more months to hold their babies inside. Tenants hope months have 60 days
I just wonder what kind of resolutions will our authorities choose for this upcoming year.

Here we are, stepping into another so called ‘New Year’. We, as Kurdish people, have gone through a lot. The year 2016 was one of the most severe years for us, no one ever wants to return to. Who knows what will the year 2017 surprise us with this time. We are sick of seeing heartbreaks, dusty faces, bloody streets, muddy tears, stained cheeks, starving bodies.
Will the year 2017 be the end of torture and oppression? Will all refugees and IDP’s say farewell to misery and uprootedness?
Will our women and girls  have equal access to freedom of speech and decision-making?

It is still winter. I hope our refugees and disadvantaged people get warm and cosy shelters. I hope their kids have enough light to find their pathways and pursue their passions.
Let’s hope that everything will turn out the way we hoped it would.

I am not starting my New Year celebrating, partying, dancing, cooking and travelling. There is so much going on right now. We do not have enough electricity, most of us have to think of how to afford kerosine for the upcoming winter days. It is hard to think about thousands of Peshmargas who have left their families in such a hard time fighting against ISIS.
I want to celebrate this New Year by posting a poem for those who see and feel the pain of disadvantaged people in this war torn region, especially children.

Rubbles

Hello!

this time

I am not playing hide and seek!

I don’t know

how I got stuck

under the rubble, here.

Can you hear me!

Sorry!

My voice’s dusty

and unclear

I promise

This time

I won’t cry for

chocolate,

cakes and biscuits

I can’t even

recall their colors

in this darkness.

 

Could you call mommy please,

not my dad.

His face was covered

with tomato paste,

some guys took him away.

Hello!

The world’s collapsed

on my tiny back,

can you hear me?                         Sarwa, January 1st 2017

War continues in Iraq and Syria. Each day thousands of innocents get injured or killed. Thousands of civilians flee their homes each day. It is too much for everyone to bear.

Tensions arise among allies so as to free Mosul from ISIS. Kurdish Peshmarga have captured many villages. Black smoke swims and curls in the air of areas affected. This, however, coincides with the cut of financial support which used to come from Baghdad to Kurdistan Region. I hope what Kurdish Peshmarga is doing is worth an effort.
Everyone fears that again many innocent fighters will get killed and the rich and powerful will get the lions share, like before. And finally, I wish soon peace covers its white sheets over our region again.
I cannot stop myself from posting Bob Dylan‘s timeless song Masters of War, with the attachment of Kurdish translation of some lines:

 

Masters of War

Come you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothin’
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it’s your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain

You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you sit back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
While the young people’s blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

You’ve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain’t worth the blood
That runs in your veins

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I’m young
You might say I’m unlearned
But there’s one thing I know
Though I’m younger than you
That even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good?
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could?
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die
And your death’ll come soon
I will follow your casket
By the pale afternoon
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand o’er your grave
‘Til I’m sure that you’re dead

گه‌وره‌كانی جه‌نگ

ئێوه‌ له‌ وێرانكاری زیاتر
هیچتان نه‌كرد،
هه‌ر وه‌ك یاری مناڵان
گالته‌ به‌ جیهانه‌كه‌م ده‌كه‌ن
ده‌مانجه‌یێكتان خسته‌ ده‌ستم و
له‌ به‌ر چاوم ون بون،
پاشان پشتتان لێم كرد و
دورتر ڕاتان كرد،
كاتێ فیشه‌كه‌ تیژڕه‌وه‌كان ده‌فڕین
.
.
چه‌ند ده‌زانم قسه‌ بكه‌م
به‌ر له‌وه‌ی نۆره‌م بێ؟
ده‌شێ بڵێن ساوام،
ڕه‌نگه‌ بڵێین نه‌زانم،
به‌ڵام هه‌رچه‌نده‌ بچوكترم لێتان_
یه‌ك شت ئه‌زانم
كه‌ ته‌نانه‌ت مه‌سیحیش

هه‌رگیز نابورێ له‌وه‌ی كه‌ ده‌یكه‌ن

 

با پرسیارتان لێبكه‌م:
ئایا پاره‌كه‌تان ئه‌وه‌نده‌ باشه‌؟
لێبورده‌ییتان پێ ده‌كڕدرێت؟
لاتان وایه‌ ده‌توانن؟
پێم وابێ ئه‌و كاته‌ ده‌زانن،
كه‌ مردن وێرانیی خۆی دێنێ
ئه‌و هه‌مو سامانه‌ی پێكتان هێناوه‌

هه‌رگیز ناتوانێ گیانتان بكڕێته‌وه‌

هیوادارم كه‌ بمریت
وه‌ زوو ژیانت دوایی بێ
له‌ پاش نیوه‌ڕۆیه‌كی لێڵ
دوای تابوته‌كه‌ت ده‌كه‌وم
ته‌ماشا ده‌كه‌م كه‌ نزمت ده‌كه‌نه‌وه‌
بۆناو جێی مردن
وه‌ له‌سه‌ر گۆڕه‌كه‌ت ده‌وه‌ستم
تاوه‌كو دڵنیا ده‌بم كه‌ مردویت.

October 19, 2016

 

The Faculty of Arts at Soran University held the first literature and arts festival on 4 May 2016.This special festival showed the best of Soran City: its university; schools; colleges; institutes and local community groups.

Hosted by Soran University, English Department, but taking place out in the community, this was a festival to celebrate creative Kurdistan. Packed full of poetry, stories, songs, music and drama it was a day for connection and collaboration.

The festival opened at 9.00 am in Soran University and was attended by the Mayor of Soran, Mr Krmanj E Solaiman and the Director of Education, Mr Aziz Saeed, Dr Nahro Zagros, Vice President of Soran University and of course Prof Qais Kakl the Dean of the Faculty of Arts. All guests gave messages of support and hope. A former student, Shkofa Ahmad, performed her poem My Qamishli, which is published in the UK.

Following the opening, students and staff from the English department attended Dilman school where the students had prepared a drama and some poetry, which was excellent standard. We then moved on to Shahid dr. Abdulrahman and Bnari Hendren school, where students had produced artwork and etchings. The standard of creativity was great at both schools and Soran should be proud of its students and teachers who put in the extra time to help the creativity flourish.

We moved on to Bulbul park in the bazaar where we were entertained by poets from the community and the university. The festival then moved to the gardens at the Faculty of Arts, where first stage students from the department of English were serving delicious food that they had cooked for the occasion. Here we were joined by members of the community who performed poetry, songs and music. Second stage students gave a drama that had the audience laughing out loud.

The afternoon, took us out to another school in Soran named Tanial, where pupils performed a play that they had written. It was well attended and community members could be seen overlooking, which was the whole idea of the festival.

We then moved on to the bazaar where an environmental display had been prepared. Mr Hazhar Mahir Abdulrahman from Soran University, works with schools in the area to raise awareness. He set up WAAR Organisation for Environment Protection. We gave out trees to the shop owners with leaflets advising how to care for the environment. Many students and members of the community joined us.

The festival then moved on to Gulan Park for the grand finale. Collecting together the best of the day and introducing some new acts from Soran International School (Sabis) there was an atmosphere of Hope and Light. Attended by hundreds of people from the community the evening ended with music and dancing.

While there were some technical and timing issues throughout the day, they dim in the light of the creativity that was brought to the festival by the community and the students of Soran University. We hope this was the first of many.

By Muli Amaye

I am very proud to be in this amazing project called Many Women, Many Words, which is a collaboration between writers and researchers at the Soran University in the Kurdistan region and Lancaster University in the UK.
Before talking about the project, I must talk a little bit about the experience of Kurdish women.

 

 

Kurds have a long history of marginalization and discrimination under the rule of four dominant states: Iraq, Iran, Turkey and Syria. Particularly in Iraq and Turkey, they have repeatedly risen up to seek greater autonomy or complete independence.
Kurdistan is a semi-autonomous state within Iraq, but during the rule of Saddam Hussein a deliberate programme of genocide was directed against the Kurdish people. Thousands of Kurdish villages were destroyed and many Kurds fled into neighbouring Turkey, Iran and Syria. The Kurdish Peshmerga forces mounted an armed resistance to Saddam, in which many women took part. But their stories of heroic resistance had their counterpoint in the stories of women who had to support their families in the absence of their menfolk, whose lives were often scrutinised and controlled by the Ba’ath Party, and whose displacement traumatised a generation.1
Women’s contributions to post-war recovery have always been ignored. This specifically applies to a stateless nation who has been displaced internally and externally several times. Iraqi Kurdish women have continuously been a source of security for their families during and after the war. Not only their roles have been underestimated, they have been hindered by many social, political and economic influences, a fact seems to be largely underestimated by academics and media.
Many Women, Many Words is a pilot project. It can serve as starting point for a larger research project across the entire region(s).
Here is how our visits started. First, we had to find some random women to tell us some stories from the past. There was not any rules and restrictions for the interviewees. Most of the women we interviewed, started their stories asking us about what should they talk about. And we would tell them that any event, experience or story they want to share with us and community will be great.During the interviews, we could see the joy and sadness from their eyes. Sometimes they made us laugh until our cheeks got wet. Or they would tell us sad stories of war, displacement and poverty.
To know more about their stories, I recommend you visit Women’s Stories.

Imagine living with someone for more than 50 years and being in love with him/her every single day. Suddenly everything seems like a dream. All love was just a movie ending in front of your eyes.

 

 

 Sitting lonely

I stare at the wall

and see your frozen smile

that once felt

close and warm

My head belches out

the days

you were more than

a mounted memory.

It tastes the sweetness glued

to our lips

over the morning teas,

our long walks

from Baghdad’s musical Souqs

to the buzzing city’s sunsets,

our giddy twilights

which made our hearts float

from the oriental roof-tops

to the bottomless dark nights.

Our laughter and

silly games with friends

til it was too hard

to be adults again.

Our eager ears

to hear the steps of our kids

when they creep upstairs.    

I stare at your attached smile,

all the tastes absorb slowly

into the distance

between us.                             Sarwa       March   2016            

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

   

 

Timing is not right, but I could not stop myself from posting this poem. It is written by my aunt. I am so proud of her. 

 

 

You were a traveller

in Noah’s arch

Neither the storm,

and the rain fall,

nor the waves

could take you away.

You stood still!

Just today,

I wrote a letter

in a solitary-confinment

which says:

“I have thrown the thing

 you were afraid of

 in a ditch

so it will never

grow again”.

 

By Zakya Ladeye

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wherever and whenever people succumb to myths and superstitions, the society will endure regressive political, educational and economic outcomes.

It is hard to argue this matter with older generation; but when I discuss it with some scholars and so-called academics, who have the same views, it will kind of give me shivers. It is really disappointing when it is the age of technology and digital miracles, individuals stay within their boundaries and absorb whatever chirped into their heads.

I always say that whatever happened and said in the past is bound by specific circumstances. How can someone say that according to our grand-grand-parents using any forms of technology is forbidden?! What I want to focus on is “context”. Let me remind you that people have moved from under the rocks into the caves, from caves into canopies then mud houses, villas, apartments, skyscrapers and, maybe Mars or Moon houses in the future. As people change their environment, their mindsets will change as well. Catastrophes happen when you have a 21-century house and a pre-historic brain. I am not saying that people’s changes have always gone to the best.People have always differentiated between good and evil. Men had been kind sometimes, or monsters other times. However, let’s not forget that what used to be evil may be viewed as virtuous nowadays.People used to be good hunters, and best hunters were even appraised or rewarded at times. But can we point to someone and say that he/she is the best hunter and grin at the same time?

My folks, especially men, still argue with me about whether women should travel alone or not.I am aware that some Islamic schools have mentioned that travelling for women is prohibited. Yet some recent Muslim scholars refer to the principle of ‘context’. In the past travelling was not safe and women needed protection. But nowadays, wherever you go, especially if you are travelling by plane or other transportation types, you are surrounded by security officers, police, travellers, not to mention communication technological devices which almost everyone has.

As I said, not much can be expected from a society which its individuals rely on words inside their frames. Especially in our society where we are surrounded by myths and lies descended from patriarchal mouths, women should be more aware and open to the changes happening in the outer world.