Michael Jackson in Dohuk

 

 (Above) The village of Shemsayyida, my employer's ancestral lands in the Zagros Mountains near the border with Turkey.  The Sayyids are descendents of the Prophet Muhammad.

As some of you know, I'm working as a research assistant to a Kurdish woman interested in starting a school. I'm sure I'll be writing more about her vision for education and our work in later entries. But for now, it's picnicking season in Kurdistan! After only a few days in the city (Dohuk) sitting at my desk most of the day, I was ready to join the flocks of Friday picnickers. (Friday is the day-off during the workweek, like Sunday for many Americans.) My employer invited me to join her in her usual Thursday evening trek to her ancestral lands, the village of Shemsayyida. There, she, with hundreds of other Kurds, has built a new house on ancestral land. The Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) has been providing loans for families interested in building homes in their ancestral lands, where years of war razed and emptied many of the villages.

Getting places in Iraq can be a little slow, as many roads need repaving. In our case, the Zagros Mountains necessitated a long, winding road. Our happy group - my employer, her friend and two daughters, myself, and the staff - made the two hour trek from the city to the village after sunset. By the time we arrived at the house, my stomach was churning from the hairpin turns, elevation changes, and general disorientation from being crammed in an SUV full of Kurdish speakers blaring Michael Jackson and dodging potholes and taking hairpins turns at a frightening speed (for me, at least). After a very late dinner and fireside chat, we all turned in for the night.

 

And we awoke the next morning to this view of the mountains and village from the back of the house.

 

 My employer, an architect and visionary, designed this beautiful house, which sits on a hilltop above Shemsayyida.

After a sumptuous breakfast of freshly baked bread from a clay oven, yogurt, cheese, and fresh fruits, we took a walk down the hillside and into the village and adjoining woods and agricultural fields. 

 I knew Kurdistan was no desert, but the landscape was breathtakingly beautiful: lush woodlands, streams and springs, and wildflowers. This tree (above) was delightfully gnarled and reached over a stream. I imagine generations of Kurds have climbed across it.

How cool and clear the water was! I couldn't resist rolling up my pants legs and wading, trying not to slip on the smooth river rocks.

The girls went for a swim in the stream! If I was their age, I would have jumped in too!

 Perfect weather for a hike. And here's me with the ancient chezar tree again. With its distinctive maple-shaped leaves and flaking bark, the chezar is the Kurdish equivalent of a Canadian maple.

 There were the most melodious songbirds trilling up there. Maybe one day I'll create a guide to birds in Kurdistan.

 This fellow was moving cautiously in the grass beside the river. I'd never seen a crab this big (about the size and apparent texture of an Idaho potato). Glad he wasn't in the vicinity of my toes when I was wading about in the stream!  The ecological diversity was astounding.

For Americans, picnics are usually casual affairs. In Kurdistan, they one of the main social events of the year. On the return to the city (Friday night), we passed scores of picnickers: sprawled on the grass or shaded by trees, dressed in the distinctive clothes of their tribe or village, some dancing the traditional dances. Inshallah (Lord willing) I'll be going to a picnic myself.

I just hope Michael Jackson won't be accompanying us.