Chapter 29: Kurds and Survey - The Hills are Alive with Hydro Energy

Bekhal

I was soon to realise the benefit of my role with UNDP-ENRP. With ten or so mini-hydro schemes scattered across the three northern governorates I was in the fortunate position of having to travel throughout much of Northern Iraq and witness its spectacular glory.

After only one day in the office to gather my thoughts I was on the road again. The Z70 project was seriously behind in its schedule to obtain reliable field data for feasibility studies and design due to my delay in obtaining a visa. With no time to delay I headed for my first site with a UN driver and two surveyors from the national staff. The site was in the Erbil governorate, north east of the city, near the border with Iran.

We headed out across the plains towards the mountains. The air cooled slightly as we gained altitude and eventually we reached a field office located in the Islamic town of Soran. After dropping off our overnight bags we continued through the mountains until we pulled up near the village of Azadi, directly opposite a mine field which was being methodically and meticulously combed of mines by a team from UNOPS.

A machine for clearing Landmines

The significance of the location became immediately clear. Being near the border with Iran, areas like this had been planted with mines during the Iran-Iraq war. Having had no time to undergo my landmine induction I applied what I considered common sense and simply followed the others down a narrow track to the energetic bubbly stream which was the subject of our survey. It was exactly one week since I had left the homogenous environment of Australia to be now tip-toeing though a mine field. To add to the authenticity of the location we found a discarded shell from the war lying beside the path.

A village boy was employed by my team to assist and data collection at the site began in earnest.

At the end of the day I was driven the short distance towards the Iranian border. We came across a small village at the foot of a long slope running up to a saddle between the mountain ranges where a large gate signified a closed border crossing. Driving slowly through the village I was surprised to see that each and every home was crammed with white and electrical goods which I presume had come from Turkey. As we emerged on the other side of the village I was shown a large paddock down to our right filled with horses. I was told these horses carry the goods across the border on mountain paths.

Returning to Soran that evening we visited an eating establishment filled with men situated on the main road through the town. Its tiled interior was simplistic but practical. As my new Iraqi/Kurdish comrades educated me on life in this intriguing land, we feasted on a meal of flat bread, grilled chicken and soda followed by a glass of sickly sweet black tea. During the meal I became aware of increasing disturbances in my abdomen.

I returned to the field office to find, much to my surprise, that a bed had been prepared for me up on the flat concrete roof. I was assured that sleeping on the roof was the more comfortable option during the hot summer months. During the night I was woken several times by an undefinable wailing. I noticed no one else sleeping on the roof appeared disturbed by the ruckus.



Awaking to a spledid view from the roof of the Soran field Office

I awoke the next morning with the sun on my face and somewhat bleary eyed from the intermittent sleep. I was rewarded for my discomfort by with spectacular views of the town and surrounding mountains bathed in morning sunshine from my bed. My new Islamic friends told me the source of the unfamiliar sounds during the night was the mullah’s call for prayer at a local mosque.      

I was taken for breakfast to an earthen floor eatery with some shabby wooden tables with benches and a rickety desk just inside the entrance. A container sat on the floor filled with yogurt and while we sat at a table waiting a man walked hurriedly in from the street and dropped a pile of flat bread khubz on the desk and promptly left. At the sight of this action something in my packaging dependant brain snapped and with my stomach still churning wildly culture shock struck me like a swing of a bat. I refused all food that came my way much to the bewilderment of my companions who attacked the bowls of yogurt with vengeance and tore at the layers of bread with gastronomic gusto. I resurrected some dignity by accepting a glass of the sweet black tea.

I kept the culture shock to myself and excused my lack of appetite on my sensitive stomach. With a shrug they devoured my portion of the meal as well.

Country Mosque

As we drove back up to Azadi I tried to rationalise the experience I had at breakfast. I reasoned that once I overcame my hesitation towards unpackaged food it was reasonable to assume that the food was mostly organic and preservative free. It was probably considerably more healthy than the over processed, chemically laden foodstuffs crammed into most of the supermarkets back home. With this thought in mind I became more at ease and looked forward to adjusting to this new diet once my stomach acclimatised.

A few days before my field trip to Dohuk I moved out of the Chwa Cha for the comfort and convenience of a house in Ankawa. Some of the more opportunistic Kurdish families were taking advantage of the new found demand for housing by having the UN in town and were renting out their homes at western prices. They were prepared to go and live with relatives or even disappear overseas for the sake of this perceivably endless cash cow. The benefits of living in Ankawa were significant. Everything was within walking distance, relieving the reliance on the UN shuttle cars to and from Erbil every day. The houses were spacious, often two storied, with the convenience of kitchens, large bathrooms and comfortable lounge and dining areas. It also provided handy access to small corner stores crammed with many western commodities, bread shops, fruit stalls and most importantly, the UN club. I predicted an upturn in my social life.



Bekhal

Dohuk turned out to be a different city to Erbil altogether. Set between mountain ranges it had a three dimensional feel and its close proximity to the Turkish border gave it a more western outlook and to my cultural delight it had the largest and best stocked supermarket in the whole of Kurdistan. The ex-Sheraton hotel perched high on a hill provided magnificent views over the city and a hint of luxury which made the cash only at checkout seem decidedly awkward and out of place.

Dohuk from my hotel Window

Dohuk from my hotel Window

There were two routes linking both Dohuk and Sulaymaniyah with Erbil. The quickest and most comfortable were the “front” roads via the Iraqi towns of Mosul and Kirkuk respectively. However, to travel on these roads, travel permits were needed at the checkpoints as a portion of the journey was outside the autonomous region. As my travel permits, at that time, did not allow this passage, my only way to access the two cities was via “back” roads wholly contained within Kurdistan which added several hours to the journey over roads of a lesser standard which wound through rugged mountainous terrain.   



Dokan Dam on the "back" road to Sulaymaniyah

I found these journeys, while they lasted, a breathtaking and awe-inspiring delight. The towering mountains and deep gorges together with wonderful vistas from high passes were a window into the soul of the earth. The twisted and thrust rock formations on such stark and graphic display gave a humbling insight into the enormous force potential which lay beneath my feet. I took the bold liberty of regarding them as playboy centrefolds for geologists. If this was any other part of the world I imagined the area would be turned into a national park with a million or so visitors a year. As our vehicle burrowed its way through the dramatic landscape I considered myself fortunate that I was one of just a handful of international workers who could enjoy this natural splendour.