Chapter 32: Kurds and Survey - The Way Out

Author standing atop Erbil's Citadel

People would often ask me what the food was like in Northern Iraq, and to answer honestly I had to admit that for me it was pretty terrible. A combination of UN sanctions and lack of restaurants made the search for food, for which I was accustomed, a challenge. The UN club in Erbil produced a limited menu of barely edible greasy food and the sight of the overweight chef on one occasion with sweat dripping from the end of his nose forever dimmed my appetite at that establishment.

The supermarket in Dohuk was always a welcome sight and a cafe in Sulaymaniyah which modelled itself in a small way to a McDonalds only with a Mac instead of a Mc still fell short of producing food for a western palate.

Two weeks before my leave break I was speaking with a colleague when the subject of the limitations of local food came up. “Couldn’t you murder a Big Mac,” he quipped.

I walked away from the encounter holding his parting comment in my mind. I have never been a convert to the fast food revolution and hardly ever eaten Big Macs but the thought of eating one at that time stayed in my mind and festered. I became obsessed. It overcame all my thoughts and reasoning during the final days before my departure. I even thought through my schedule once I was out and tried to calculate where I would encounter the first McDonalds franchise. I knew there was one in Amman but I wouldn’t have time to reach it, but I was sure there was one in the airport at Berlin. There would have to be. I decided I had to wait until then to satisfy my craving. 

The days leading up to my departure were stressful. All travel arrangements during the entire four week break had to be finalised as well as the transport out to Amman. Nothing could be left to chance otherwise it would not happen.

The journey from Erbil to Amman took place in the one day. It was practical so the thought of overnighting in Baghdad was never in anyone’s mind, and in any case by then I just wanted to get out.

A UNDP vehicle transported me the five hour drive to Baghdad and set me down at the GMC depot. There, as planned, a long distance taxi was waiting for me and we were soon heading for the border. It would be another eight to nine hours before we reached Amman - if all went well.

The drive to the border was uneventful in the excellent driving conditions. The sight of Baghdad again and the retracing of my steps from three months ago when I ventured into this country gave my mind an opportunity to come to terms with my location and situation.

In the late afternoon we reached Trebil and I had a glimpse of the arches at the border crossing in the distance. Thoughts of my previous fear-filled experience at these custom offices flooded back into my mind and I approached the dusty buildings with apprehension. This time to my great relief all went routinely and at the completion of a thorough inspection of my bags we were in Jordon.

I noticed straight away the upbeat and vibrant atmosphere at the Jordanian customs. There was more energy, more commotion and I was feeling a great sense of relief at my return. We stopped and had dinner in the dining hall where I had eaten lunch three months ago. Back then I remembered approaching the food with trepidation, this time, however, I embraced it and consumed every morsel.

Once back on the road my feeling of relief and wellbeing soon turned to absolute sheer terror. As night fell the same scenario presented itself as it had on the road into Baghdad but not only were we on a much lesser standard of road (one lane in each direction) we were also contending with the continuous stream of oil trucks plying the route. The driver kept his speed and moved over into the left lane regularly to pass the much slower trucks. To my horror many of the trucks travelled without lights which meant they could not be seen coming in the other direction particularly amongst all the other lights on the road.

I was utterly petrified. There was nothing I could do except prepare for death. To add to the nightmare the traffic slowed at one point to creep around the burnt carcass of a truck which had recently crashed.

Fortunately the night sky was clear and a moon soon bathed the desert surface in a silvery light which made the detection of the rogue trucks a little easier, although the undulating nature of the terrain still obscured trucks on the other side of crests.

I have never been so glad to see the lights of a city as I did when I saw Amman’s that night. When the vehicle slowed inside the city’s limits, I breathed my first normal breath in more than three hours. By now it was after nine in the evening and I was utterly exhausted.    

   

The hotel seemed a different world filled with bright lights, people, bars restaurants and an efficient modern reception desk. The first thing I was asked for was my credit card. My what, I thought? My tired mind had to think for a few moments to determine where I had placed it, so many months ago.

Once I had reacquainted myself with the western protocol of checking in I reached my room and after a blissful shower slumped exhausted onto a crisp, clean bed, but with my alarm set for four the following morning to catch an early flight to Europe, my delicious slumber would unfortunately be only short lived.

Chapter 31: The President's Speech

The following is a copy of a speech given by the Iraqi President on the 16^th July 2001 relating to the north. It has been included in the context of historical interest only and to provide an insight into the ongoing political and diplomatic framework underpinning life in the northern autonomous region at the time of my visit.

It must be stressed that views and opinions contained in the text are not necessarily those of the author of this blog. 

Iraqi leader says Kurdistan enjoys autonomy; talks can take place later

 
In the name of God, and during a magnificent celebration which was full of feelings of love, pride and pleasure; and in the presence of a number of members of the Revolution Command Council [RCC], members of the Iraq Command of the Arab Socialist Ba'th Party, and the vice-chairman and secretary of the Legislative Council of the Kurdistan Autonomous Region and heads of the council's committees, leader President Saddam Husayn, may God watch over him, was decorated with the sash of jihad for the liberation of Palestine and its crown, Jerusalem. His excellency, may God protect him, was granted the jihad shield for the same purpose.
Due to his excellency's brave, firm and principled stand and the heroic jihad role, which is full of genuine pan-Arab spirit, and proceeding from the confidence of all the people - Arabs, Kurds and minorities - in the fact that the liberation of Jerusalem and its crown, Jerusalem, can only be achieved by the lofty Arab leader Saddam Husayn, the Legislative Council in the Kurdistan Autonomous Region has decided to grant his excellency, may God support him, the shield of jihad and the sash of jihad for the liberation of Palestine and its crown, Holy Jerusalem, in order to be part of the equipment of the war the Iraqis will wage under the banner of their unique leader to expel the Zionist invaders from the land of Palestine and to purge all Arab land from their filth, God willing...
[Saddam Husayn - recording] In the name of God, the merciful, the compassionate. Nay, we hurl the truth against falsehood and it knocks out its brain, and behold, falsehood doth perish! [Koranic verse]
Thank you very much, brother members of the Legislative Council of the Kurdistan Autonomous Region, for honouring me with this symbolic gift, the meaning of which I can understand very well. I also believe that all honourable people can understand the significance of this gift. We started talking jokingly, but despite our joking we were serious when we said that whoever serves his people faithfully, sincerely and fairly will be rewarded. He will be rewarded in the sense that the people will love and respect him. They will also obey his decisions, which, they believe, are for the benefit of the people.
You know that the autonomous region is in a special situation now. This situation was brought about in the circumstances of the 30-state aggression, particularly during the major aggressive military chapter of 1991. It continues until now, although, in terms of the real and direct response, this abnormal situation was changed, as you know, in the jihad operations launched by the people and the armed forces in the spring of 1991.
But why did the leadership leave this situation as is until now? Was it because it was incapable of correcting something which it felt should be changed for the better, or was it for other reasons? The answer is: for other reasons.
The basic thing we seek to achieve is to serve our people from the north to the south, be they in the autonomous region or in southern Iraq, and also in western or eastern Iraq. All of Iraq is, God willing, part of the nation. Each part of this nation can preserve its peculiarities so that we can serve the entire Arab nation after that. If such a service were not supported with absolute conviction by the people, then it would not be understood correctly. We know that the people, if they lack leadership, might lose direction for some time. The people themselves create or give birth to leaders, but people without leaders cannot find the correct path, so that they cannot grasp the historic opportunity as they should. We understand this very well.
But as regards our people in the Kurdistan Autonomous Region, we wanted our people to deal with the events and the circumstances in detail, with the good and the bad, so that they will later reach a conviction, the conviction that relates to their genuine choice. We understand that their choice will not be anything but a genuine Iraqi nationalist choice. This is because the state of affairs of our people in Iraq is one, be they Arab or Kurds, and under any conditions.
This state was not arranged hastily, as some other states in the world, near and far, were arranged. This arrangement was dictated by history and not by technical considerations. The Iraqis have lived on this land for thousands of years as one, regardless of the diversity in language, tradition, customs and national peculiarities. However, they all meet at the great post of the big tent, which is Iraq. This tent forms the real shield that protects them against the evils of time. At the same time, it provides the cover that protects them from the climate changes which may kill some people, and I am speaking figuratively here.
So we wanted our people to cope with life for some time away from the little annoyances created by the traffic policeman in the street, whose actions, as some people with evil intentions might say, are instigated by what they call the Baghdad regime. And also away from the soldier, who might act in such a wrong manner that his bad behaviour is said to be part of the central government's policy. Such occurrences would harm relations among the one people and also relations between the people and the leadership.
Talking about the same idea, you remember that during one of my visits to the governorate of Wasit, which was less than two years before the 30-state aggression, as I recall, I said: Leave our Kurdish people for me, away from the interference of the security and intelligence services. I do not want reports by these services. You remember that. Leave our Kurdish people for me so that we can detect the imbalance, address it, and march ahead as one people. This is our fate in this area, as predestined by Almighty God and as dictated by history over thousands of years.
However, the Mother of Battles took place. Nonetheless, we have a will that is capable of resolving any situation that befalls Iraq. You know this and all the Kurdish people know this. We wanted the status quo to remain unchanged for some time in order not to lose any one of our Kurdish people. Later on, we will discuss things at the right time and put them in perspective. Every condition entails the use of certain methods, but the most important thing is the need to develop real and deep convictions by the well-intentioned nationalistic politicians, no matter what their leanings are, and by the [Kurdish] people in general. After that, people will be guided to the right solution.
There is nothing impossible, with God's grace, in front of your leadership and people. However, this solution should be one with minimum losses. It has to be nationalistic and initiated by our [Kurdish] people. For our Kurdish people, patience should not be termed desperation, nor should it be called submission. But when it comes to the foreigner, things are different. Differences among the one people are solvable. You can bear up with them and discuss them. The ultimate result is that we are one people, Arabs and Kurds, not two. We are one Iraqi country, not two. We want our people to be free and not to submit to anyone but God .
Now, what if it was said that the three governorates - which were originally two and the third was declared after the revolution - have become a state in northern Iraq? What will happen to the Kurds? Will they start speaking Kurdish? They already speak Kurdish. Who said otherwise? Will they start writing in Kurdish? They already write in Kurdish. This situation is different from the Kurdish situation in other neighbouring countries. You know them and they know themselves. One might argue that they want to think in accordance with their own culture. Let them do that. Another might say we want bodies to represent us, look into the local interests and be closer to finding solutions or proposing them. In other words, he might say that we want central councils. They already exist. There are executive and legislative councils. Another might argue that we [the Kurdish people] want to elect our local councils on our own free will. Let them do that of their own free will. Who prevents them from doing so? One might say: we would like to establish parties. Let them do that. If they want to establish new partes, other than the existing ones, let them establish other new parties so that they can reach the result that the ailment does not lie in the large number of parties. The most important thing is that one must represent the people out of respect for one's conscience and mind, not out of fear of the stick of the people.
Be confident, brothers, that if the people who claim that they rule the Kurdish people in the autonomous region had not thought of Baghdad's intervention, they would have opted for the harshest methods in dealing with the Kurdish people. However, many figures in the autonomous area deal with the Kurdish people out of their fear that Baghdad might use their maltreatment of the Kurdish people to seize the opportunity. They do not know that we wanted the Kurdish people to go through this experience so that they can come to realize who represents them in his conscience, mind and policies.
Convey my greetings to the Kurds, whether on top of the mountains, in the plains, in Klawhasan, Galialibay, Bikhal, Dukan, Darbandikhan, Dahuk and elsewhere. Please convey my warmest greetings. Tell them that when you become fully convinced and ready to indulge in a dialogue - whether through those who you believe can represent you - as one people and one team in order to reach what we aspire to, we will be equally ready. If we become positive that that this will not happen, then we will wait and tackle things in their course and at the right time. At this stage and until a later time, we want to develop one stand, one thought and one solution that fits the Iraqis. I am not talking about the people of Basra, Ninawa, Karbala or Salah al-Din, but about the entire Iraqis. The Iraqis must be committed to this stand in the future as they adhered to their unity over thousands of years. Those who are part of a state like Iraq are much more esteemed and honoured than those who live on a tiny and humble part that calls itself a state. God greet you, brothers, thank you and God bless you.
[Unidentified member of Kurdish delegation] Very profound statements, Mr President.
[Saddam] I have not made an effort to come up with these statements because this is a permanent state inside me. This vocabulary is available to me because they are the terms in which the interests of our people as a whole can be realized.
[Member of the Kurdish delegation] Sir, if you please. The Kurdish people are the same people they have always been, apart from the traitors, the agents, who are the majority at the time being. The people of the autonomous region have the same feelings that the people in Baghdad or any Iraqi governorate have.
[Saddam] Are you sure they are the same people? Why do the people of Maysan display the feelings we see, or the people of Ninawa? Why would the people of Al-Sulaymaniyah, Arbil or Dahuk not express the feelings they should? It is not possible to invent a description for a nation that is different from their historical description. It is one nation that shares the same cultures, kings, history, glories and swords.
Only a small-minded person would abandon a big clean sea for the sake of a corner or a stagnant canal that is controlled by foreigners who can deprive him of water whenever they wish, who can starve him whenever they want, who can also determine the manner in which he should work, act and take a stand.
A great nation is tantamount to a great armour, shield and sword. It is also tantamount to a big spade and a waterwheel for agriculture as well as a great protector of life. There is no substitute for a united nation. It is possible, however, to find some distinct features.
[Member of the Kurdish delegation] They can be found among the governorates.
[Saddam] They can be found in the governorates. The governorates have their own distinct features within the local government laws. As for language, culture, poetry and prose, the revolution has had its say in that regard. Everything has become clear. Only a small group of hunters of blind worms, not vicious creatures, will benefit from a state of disarray in Iraq, God forbid. These can be present among the peoples of any nation, at any time.
[Member of the Kurdish delegation] Our people will only be pleased when the sun shines again on Kurdistan. This will happen soon, with God's will.
[Saddam] We are only urging our Kurdish people not to allow foreigners in their country, by which I mean the land of Iraq, the land of the Kurdish people and all the Arabs. Basra belongs to the Kurdish people as much as Al-Sulaymaniyah belongs to people from Al-Najaf. Expel foreigners from the autonomous region and everything will be made clearer to the Kurdish people and the political forces. Patriots will come to the right solution. The agents will take their belongings and follow the foreigners who have been expelled.
It is not wrong. It is not incitement. It is not out of line to say that every honest Kurdish person should expel every foreigner he sees from the autonomous region. They should be expelled. As for the Iraqis, whether they agree or disagree, it is their internal affair. No foreigner should be allowed to remain. The Kurdish people are harbouring foreign intelligence under various names and descriptions, of which they are aware. There must be no foreigners in the autonomous region. There are no foreigners in the other governorates in Iraq, apart from those who perform services to the people according to certain procedures. These services are carried out using Iraqi money, not these foreigners' money. We pay them money to perform certain services.
Foreigners in the autonomous region are all spies. If foreigners here are given a chance they will become spies as well, in the same way the dogs, members of UNSCOM, were spies in Iraq, in Baghdad and Al-Najaf. Members of UNSCOM acted as spies in the autonomous region as well. You know what happens to spies who are exposed. So, banish foreigners. Focus on expelling foreigners. Foreigners only go to the autonomous region aiming to deceive and play a wicked role that aims at bleeding Iraq to weaken it.
I interrupted you. Excuse me. We have not had a chance to discuss the cause of our people in the autonomous region for a long time...
[Saddam] Our Kurdish people know that at the outset of the Mother of Battles, and before the beginning of the showdown, I chose a purely Kurdish brigade to protect the presidential palace.
[Kurdish official] Yes, sir.
[Saddam] I also chose another brigade to protect the National Assembly.
[Kurdish official] Yes, sir.
[Saddam] These are the two major presidential palaces.
[Kurdish official] Yes, sir.
[Saddam] Our people should know this.
[Kurdish official] Two infantry brigades that are entirely made up of Kurds. This is the way I deal with our people. I deal openly with our people. In order to improve our people's standards, it is no longer useful to them to say this is Kurdish, that is an Arab, this is a Shi'i and that is a Sunni, or I fear that this and that is impossible. This should not be the case. He who does so wants to be a ruler. If the issue is to be a ruler, then we can become rulers just like them, and they are well known [not further identified]. I do not refer to them by name because they might become angry and our comrades do not want us to make some of them angry. We do not want to become rulers. Had we wanted to become rulers, we would have been defeated a long time ago. We are strugglers. We are in the middle of our people. If they carry a rifle we will carry the rifle with them; if they carry a shovel we will carry the shovel with them; if they ride a tractor [preceding word in English] to plough the land we will ride a tractor to plough the land; if they resist all evil in the world we will resist all evil in the world. Sometimes we are in the front and sometimes we are on the flanks, and at other times we will be where we should be. We do not have the standards of the rulers who want to spend some days in order to take a salary or to earn illegal money, illegal reputation or illegal stands.
[Kurdish official] May God grant you victory. God willing, the Kurdistan Autonomous Region will be liberated. We are your faithful soldiers.
[Saddam] The Autonomous Region is liberated. It will be liberated when the individual becomes liberated from inside. When every Kurd becomes aware of his patriotism, he will be liberated. Regarding the other procedural issues, they are very easy. We want our people in the Kurdistan Autonomous Region to have in their mind and conscience the people who are part of them and of whom they are part , and the people who seek to plunder their resources to put them in Swiss banks and live there. The Kurdish people are Iraqis and the Iraqis have a long history. So, they can use their intuition to understand the situation. So, how would it be if the situation were exposed to them? They can now understand those who are part of them and those who are like leeches that suck their blood and make investments even if they raise legitimate slogans. I would raise all the slogans that the other sides raise if they do not raise them. However, I raise them for dialogue and discussion. I see what is right and wrong in them within the framework of the one people, the one state, the one stand, the common eagerness and the one history. Slogans can show who is sincere and who is a liar. But this can only be done by action, deeds, stands and behaviour. These are the only factors that determine the final results and the points of success or failure. May God grant you success...
[Saddam] This is our approach. Someone can be a disobedient son for some time. If he wants to correct his stand, please help him do so. Rancour and revenge cannot solve the problems of the one people, but tolerance can do so. However, right is right and falsehood is falsehood...

Chapter 30: Kurds and Survey - Erbil in Heat

UNDP-ENRP Headquarters in Ankawa

In one of my early emails home I referred to my new surroundings as having all the trappings of a surreal, late-night, B grade movie that doesn't make a scrap of sense. At the time of writing, I know doubt was still on an emotional roller-coaster ride wildly swinging through the spectrum from intense fear to sheer joy and exuberance. I was in one bizarre place and on one bizarre merry-go-round.

Erbil

With the passing of the weeks, my emotions settled and I was able to analyse my environment more objectively.

Under cover market in Erbil

It still, however, remained a surreal and perplexing place. Erbil I came to discover was a low, sunburnt, dusty, dirty and noisy place. One day I did drive pass the “official” tip but the boundaries were blurred beyond recognition. Litter was everywhere throughout the city and so were small black shopping bags which blew across the landscape with careless abandon.

Ankawa

On one occasion when I challenged a driver for throwing rubbish out of the car window degrading the environment his reply together with a shrug was, “what is the problem, Mr Peter; it’s already stuffed?” How could I argue with that? 

Erbil

With petrol and diesel at only a few US cents per litre the inhabitants could not get it through their vehicles quick enough, and in most cases accompanied with belching plumes of black smoke.

The sight of countless numbers of machine guns and several bombed and shrapnel pitted buildings reminded me that things could be turned on if necessary and quickly as well. I had an uneasy feeling that it was quite possible to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The bombed remains of a hotel in Erbil

The bombed remains of a hotel in Erbil

Occasionally a car bomb would arrive from the south, managing somehow to avoid detection at the checkpoint, and I did have the pleasure of hearing a couple of them go off whilst seated in my office, although in each case the damage was usually minimal.

Erbil

Once I began using the “front” roads to reach the other governorates I was shocked to see tank installations to the south of the road. They may have appeared Second World War vintage but I would sometimes spend restless nights calculating how long it would take for them to cover the ten or so kilometres to Erbil.

The political significance of the region was continuously being reinforced by the sound of American and British jets flying overhead high in the sky. So high in fact they were impossible to see even through the telescope of the theodolite.



Roadworks in Ankawa

And then there was the heat. When it reached forty-five degrees I was informed by my national staff that it was to get hotter. It still had to reach fifty degrees they said. I wondered what on earth the difference was between forty-five and fifty degrees. I couldn’t imagine it getting any hotter. But it did, and I was soon to find out that there IS a difference between forty-five and fifty degrees. The heat was indescribable. Hair and clothes felt like they would ignite. They were almost too hot to touch. It was like being baked in an oven. The highest reading I saw was fifty-two degrees. For three months the temperature remained above forty degrees and I saw not a single cloud in the sky.

Ankawa

I also witnessed something peculiar happening in the high temperatures. Most houses had a reservoir on the roof for the cold water supply. Through this period of scorching hot days the cold water coming out of the cold tap was hotter than the water coming out of the hot tap which was heated by a gas burner.

Many internationals struggled in the searing temperatures and I knew of one instance when someone left the project due to the heat.

Bread Shop in Ankawa

A device developed in the region to combat the heat to enable sleep was a bulky, clumsy device which when connected to an electrical power source would turn a tumbler which forced air through a wet matting subsequently cooling it. But with the houses without any form of insulation, constructed entirely of glass, metal, concrete and stone, the effect of these cooling devices had limits and I found sleeping in the heat preferable to the machine’s constant rattling noise.

The hot nights encouraged alfresco dining in the front yards of the Kurdish homes surrounded by the orange trees. With entertainment limited to the UN club, dinner parties were a popular social occasion amongst the international community. At one such party I met a Mongolian woman who said that she had experienced minus fifty degrees in her homeland. Here she was subjected to plus fifty degrees. I marvelled at human adaptation and resourcefulness allowing survival through a hundred degree temperature range, the difference between water freezing and boiling.

But the true delight and joy, I discovered, of being in the region (and it was certainly not the food) was the Kurdish people themselves. My experience found them to be gentle, kind and welcoming with an extraordinary sense of humour. They would find the lighter side of any taxing situation. And to me at least they were a constant source of entertainment and amusement.

Ankawa

The hot summer evenings would find them sitting in front of their homes, on the pavement with their backs to the high concrete fence, panting in the heat hosing their concrete driveways with copious amounts of water. Why they did this I was never able to determine but I imagined it was to cool the concrete and possibly the air above it.

Ankawa

On one occasion after a long hot day of travelling I returned to Ankawa and we pulled in, expectantly, beside a group of children standing on the footpath. My window was wound down by my driver and a rapid loud exchange of words took place between him and the children with me sitting in the crossfire. I was hot, stressed and exhausted and finally my nerves snapped and I urged the driver to tell these @#*!%$ kids to #$@*&! off. Without a change in emotion or tone he switched to English and said, “Mr Peter, I would like you to meet my children.” I could only slide down in my seat with embarrassment.

Ankawa

On the way to the UN club one balmy evening I saw a man sitting on a chair in the middle of a vacant building block getting his hair cut complete with barbers shawl. 

A church in the Distance - Ankawa

Another time I came across a man standing on top of a fuel transporter inspecting the portals, smoking.

Boy catching a lift atop an oil Tanker

One day when I was walking back to my office from the club after lunch I came across a sight which I just could not comprehend. A man was at the top of an aluminium ladder tampering with the electrical wiring above the street. The ladder was in the middle of the road and was being held upright by several of his friends below. I could not see this ending at all well. Either the man would touch a live wire and the current running down the ladder would throw his friends away and the ladder with man atop would come crashing to the ground or a car would come around the corner startling the helpers who would scatter, again leaving the ladder and man to come crashing down. I did not wish to be involved in any of this so I continued on to my office without ever knowing the outcome.

Then there were the simple joys of sitting on the roof of a colleague’s home drinking beer and watching the sun set below the horizon in magnificent reddish splendour (made all the more brilliant following a dust storm) or just lounging beside the pool on a Friday.

But what was most surprising of all was that it was with this bizarre, surreal, quirky world with its enchanting people that I was unknowingly falling hopelessly in love.

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.

Chapter 28: Kurds and Survey - Good Morning Kurdistan

Saturday 26^th May 2001

I was awakened by the sound of car horns emanating from the street. The room was brilliantly lit by sunshine and already hot. I rose, pleasantly relieved to have finally reached my destination. My work colleague, who I had found at a swimming pool the previous evening, intercepted me in the hallway and promptly introduced me to the workings and idiosyncrasies of a Kurdish bathroom.

  

After a cautious shower I met him in the kitchen to reacquaint over a breakfast of flat bread and yoghurt. I sensed immediately that weight loss would be one of the many new experiences I would encounter during this visit.

He suggested I stay at the Chwa Cha Hotel; premises which were situated in Erbil that had been approved by UNDP to provide accommodation for international staff. At thirteen dollars US per night it could be an inexpensive interlude until I found rental accommodation within Ankawa itself, he recommended.

After breakfast we walked a short distance along dusty concrete streets to our office which turned out to be a regular Kurdish home positioned a few blocks away from the main UNDP offices. On the way I couldn’t help but notice that the streets had no signage and as far as I could tell no names.


On the way up to our room on the second floor my colleague led me throughout the ground floor introducing me to many of the local staff engaged on the project. I was acquainted with the messenger boy, the cleaner, the draftsperson, a secretary, a geologist, a surveyor, two engineers and the national project manager. The messenger boy, in this fossil fuel soaked country, was cooking a small pan of breakfast over a tiny portable gas stove as a woodcutter would cook his breakfast over an open wood fire in a forest.

With the introductions to the local staff dealt with I was led up stone flagged stairs to where the international staff were housed. I was overcome with pride to find my name and title already attached to the door of my office, although the faded, dusty paper suggested it had been placed there six months ago when I was first expected to arrive. After a brief greeting with the international project manager I was shown to my desk and the main briefing began in earnest.

I was told about the Oil-for-Food Programme established by the United Nations, under Security Council Resolution 986, to protect the welfare of ordinary Iraqi citizens affected by the international economic sanctions imposed in the wake of the first Gulf War. Revenue was derived for the programme by allowing Iraq to sell oil on the world market, a portion of which found its way to funding the United Nations Development Programme’s Electricity Network Rehabilitation Programme (ENRP). My colleague went on to say that UNDP/ENRP was mandated to address the need for basic humanitarian levels of electricity supply throughout the northern governorates of Iraq namely Erbil, Dohuk and Sulaymaniyah (population 3.5 million). It seemed the governorates of Erbil and Sulaymaniyah were cut off from the national grid and had to rely on two hydro power stations whose generation capacity was insufficient to meet the demand, particularly during drought conditions. The governorate of Dohuk still continued to be linked to the national grid but received limited supply.

UNDP’s role in northern Iraq was unique in that it engaged a team of international consultants directly to implement ENRPs obligations which were the basis for our involvement.

My colleague then explained to me the organisational structure of UNDP/ENRP pointing out the key personnel. Gradually all the names, terms and abbreviations which I had been subjected to over the past six months became clear. Finally he added our small project to the mix, enigmatically named Z70, and its role in the overall scheme of things. We were to build mini hydro power stations in the mountains enabling small remote villages to have access to an electricity supply. 

It was explained to me that in my capacity as a cross governorate international surveyor I was responsible for training and supervising the three teams of local surveyors and draftspersons in each of the three northern governorates, to establish site control at each of the selected locations and produce data and drawings for the feasibility, design and construction of the small schemes.

As the contract was for three months on, and one month off, my next break I duly figured would be September.

Finally, as the briefing was drawing to a close my colleague offered me a warning, “but the two most important things to remember is, firstly, don’t touch the local girls and two, make sure you get a land-mine induction from UNOPS.”

I was well aware of the temptation contained in the first warning having seen an abundance of pretty jet-black haired young girls the previous night strolling the streets wearing merely T-shirts and jeans in the hot evening air. I asked what the consequences would be if the first warning was ignored.

“You could end up dead,” was the terse reply.

The second of my colleague’s warnings, I thought, needed no further explanation. 

Chapter 27: Behind the Moustache - Kurd Country

Thursday 24th May 2001

“Hello Mr Peter,” I heard through the heavy black bakelite handpiece that I held nervously to my ear. “My name is Kak Barcode (name changed to protect identity). What time will I pick you up tomorrow morning from your hotel?” the voice was upbeat and filled with enthusiasm.

I paused to digest this new reality. I suddenly felt threatened and uncomfortable. It felt like I was being watched - like someone knew my every move. I had been travelling alone for several days up until this point through foreign lands, but now someone knew the precise moment I had entered the hotel. Who would know that I had just arrived in Baghdad and had just checked into this hotel? How did they know? The next day was Friday which I had been told was the Islamic weekend, so I was expecting a day of relaxation at the hotel preparing for my travel north on Saturday. Who was this person, I wondered?

The voice sensing my pause continued. “I am your UNDP driver, Mr Peter. I am driving you to Erbil.”

I relaxed. I was not an unsuspecting character in a spy novel after all, merely being gently enveloped into the waiting hands of UNDP operations. My journey north must somehow have been rescheduled for the following day. I tried to collect my thoughts in a tired mind.

“How about 8 o’clock?” I queried cautiously.

“Very well Mr Peter, goodnight.” The phone went dead.

Friday 25th May 2001

With the room devoid of a mini bar, telephone and TV, and in the absence of credit cards, check-out was a simple and straightforward affair. Thirty-three dollars in US currency underneath my room key on the reception desk was all that was required and I was on my way. Manuel who was back on the job, or who had been on the job all night – it was difficult to distinguish - helped me load my belongings, with as much disinterest as the previous evening, into a white Nissan Patrol which had arrived in the lane outside the hotel punctually at eight - emblazoned with UNDP insignia. Mr Barcode, donning a livery of dark blue pants and a light blue open neck shirt, greeted me warmly before ushering me into the vehicle.  He then skilfully manoeuvred the vehicle through narrow, congested streets until we reached the Tigris River. There we veered right and skirted northward along its eastern, tree-lined banks for a time before suddenly turning right again and pulling up in front of a heavy metal gate watched by a sleepy guard. The driver and guard exchanged quick pleasantries before the guard swept underneath the vehicle with a mirror attached to a long pole checking for explosive devises. When none, thankfully, were found he opened the gate and beckoned the car through. We cautiously made our way through into a courtyard before a large, rectangular, concrete building and pulled in beside a neat row of similar looking vehicles to our own.

We were welcomed into an office occupied by a middle aged man who laid casually back in a comfortable chair against the far wall speaking slowly and deliberately all the while adjusting his suit and tie in an authoritative fashion and a younger woman who sat bolt upright at her desk working and talking quickly and efficiently. She was tall, dark haired and smartly dressed.

White boards covering the walls of the office revealed the logistical juggling act that the pair engaged on a daily basis - relocating UNDP personnel within Iraq and coordinating a continuous stream of international staff and consultants moving between Amman and Northern Iraq via Baghdad. It was a ceaseless and unrelenting mix of visas, logistics and diplomacy. The James Bond analogy that I had divertingly nurtured in my mind since leaving Australia quickly evaporated as the contents of the boards revealed that my fate was being carefully planned and coordinated. I winced at my paranoia of the previous evening. Of course they knew when I arrived.

We waited on a low couch against a wall drinking strong sweet tea watching the activities of the office until our travel permits arrived. Then we were promptly bustled out of the office by the woman who appeared intent on having at least part of her weekend off and were soon back on the chaotic streets of the city on our way north to Kurdistan.

After having had a good night’s rest I was able to observe my new surroundings with renewed interest and vitality. Again I marvelled at the splendid Arabic architecture and the magnificent fountains playing gracefully in the intensifying morning heat. At one point the breathtaking turquoise tiled domes of the Shaheed Monument rose from the congestion of the city on its platform sitting in an artificial lake. The sun reflected brilliantly off the forty metre high commemoration to fallen Iraqi soldiers during the Iran-Iraq war. It resemblance to a giant egg shell cut in half and moved slightly sideways and ajar was unmistakable. I was to learn later that the inward facing domes protected an eternal flame.

My love affair with Baghdad would continue for the remainder of my time in Iraq. I always welcomed the brief encounters I had with this intriguing city on my travels to and from the north. Occasionally in the event of logistical hiccups I would be forced to spend extra nights which I would relish - spending time with colleagues at restaurants or attending private parties. I would listen with delight at the stories told by veteran expats of the exceptional times which were to be had in this magnificent city in past years. I could never recall a city in the world which I had visited where I had felt more comfortable and secure.      

We soon reached a motorway which helped us shake off the city behind us. We were stopped at a checkpoint on the outskirts and upon inspection of our travel documents the guards allowed us to pass.

I found the countryside similar to the previous day - flat with small clusters of earthen box like homes surrounded by simplistic agricultural activities and an assortment of domesticated animals. Large transmission lines occasionally draped across the landscape, appearing out of one horizon and disappearing over another, and at one point almost half an hour north of Baghdad we passed through shady plantations of date palms.

Since the warm and enthusiastic greeting outside the Hotel Petra, Kak Barcode remained mostly silent and made no attempt at conversation. I did learn that he was indeed Kurdish and was employed by the UNDP to chauffeur international staff but after that brief inquiry I allowed him to concentrate on his driving duties, which included frequent radio checks completed with methodical precision, without further interruption.

As we approached a particularly large road junction Kak Barcode’s radio conversations became more intense and we eventually veered off to our left crossing a large concrete bridge which took us to the western side of the Tigris River. My driver informed me that we were to reach our destination via Mosul, a detour that was necessary due to the vehicle shooting which occurred a few days prior. I recalled the conversation which I had overheard in the office in Amman. The reality of being in this country was dawning.   

We drove on in silence. I was adequately entertained watching this unfamiliar countryside drift by and observing the outside temperature gauge which had already climbed to well above 40 degrees Celsius.

After travelling almost one hundred and forty kilometres north of Baghdad we reached the turnoff to Tikrit. My driver broke his silence momentarily to point down the road towards the town saying, “Big Brother’s town.” I had the good fortune of learning the previous evening the meaning of Big Brother so I suspected my driver was offering a small snippet of tourist information by indicating the town was where a boyish Saddam Hussein had spent his youth.

Further up the road Kak Barcode also gestured towards oil fields in the distance with candle like towers burning off gas. It was not long after that the stench of crude oil perpetrated the air-conditioning of the vehicle.

Finally by mid-afternoon we reached the northern Iraqi city of Mosul, stopping to rest. My driver purchased a couple of bottles of soda and some candy, which resembled Turkish delight, from a street vendor. I decided to try it knowing that my stomach would soon have to adjust to this new diet regardless off the repercussions.

After a further hour of travelling east from Mosul we came across a long, metal bridge crossing the Greater Zab River - a youthful looking tributary of the Tigris River springing high in the mountains of southern Turkey and draining across Kurdistan into Iraq. We stopped before a dusty guard house made simply of concrete blocks stacked one upon the other topped by a concrete slab pertaining to be a roof. Several Kalashnikovs leant against the outside walls. Our travel documents barely aroused any interest from the two guards who were numbed by the heat sitting inside.

Crossing the bridge brought us into the northern Iraqi autonomous region known as Kurdistan, and the driver sensing that he was nearing home drove with more conviction and urgency quickly losing patience with all the battered cars, mangy dogs, donkeys and dilapidated trucks cluttering the road.

Then after almost seven hours since leaving Baghdad we topped a small hill and I had my first glimpse of the dusty plains city of Erbil baking in the hot sun in the distance. It straddled the ancient raised citadel like onion rings with the small Assyrian town of Ankawa sitting like a moon orbiting its planet just to the north. Scattered throughout Ankawa I could see the light blue flags of the United Nations fluttering lazily in the hot afternoon breeze. Mountain ranges straddling the Turkish – Kurdistan border stood guard in the haze behind. I was suddenly compelled into thinking that I was joining the throngs of other travellers and traders that had come before me over the many thousands of years, thankful to lay weary eyes on this city offering rest and nourishment after their long tiresome journeys.

As I gazed at the vista stretching before me I realised this would be an adventure like no other. It was certainly not one that could be purchased in a travel agent’s office - there was not a tourist to be found. This politically and geographically isolated outpost was to become my home for an undefined period of my life. This strange far away land with its intriguing inhabitants was to become intimately entwined into the fabric of my life. What lay ahead I could not possibly imagine.

Kak Barcode waved a hand across the dashboard of the car. “Erbil,” he announced proudly before we began our long decent.