Whenever Baghdadis hear the name “north” of Iraq, they recall the natural resorts they used to visit. Nostalgia is part of Iraqis’ life. For thirteen years, they were deprived of going to this northern part of the country because of the separation the Kurds announced after they liberated themselves form Saddam’s regime in a bloody uprising in 1991. Baghdadis remained nostalgic to the old days for thrirteen years until 2003.
Stress is an inspirable companion for me and most of my friends. The current situation turned our life into hell. Thus, we decided to make a change. S., A., and I decided to go to Kurdistan for a break.
We decided to go to Sulaimaniya and Erbil and spend most of our time in the natural resorts more than the two cities themselves. The last time I went to Sulaimaniya was in 1990 before the uprising but I visited Erbil last year for work.
As we were smoking Hookah in A’s house, we talked about the road to Kurdistan and how dangerous it is for more than an hour. Finally, we decided to take the risk. If we have thought about it more than that time, we would have cancelled the trip. Our families were happy and afraid at the same time. They thought it was a great idea to escape from the unbearable stress for some time but they were worried about the road and its danger.
S. called his Kurdish friend who recommended a Kurdish driver to take us up there. The driver, Kaka Hamah, took us in his Toyota air-conditioned car in a 5-hour driving trip. I didn’t take my work ID. They may be enough to make insurgents behead me. My friends did the same. We decided to take only our national IDs which are less dangerous than the work ones.
The road to Kurdistan
As we left Baghdad, we entered Diyala province where Zarqawi was killed and where the 19 cut heads were found few days before he was killed. I can’t hide the fact that I was afraid they may stop and kill us. My father’s name is a Shiite name and this is what Zarqawi’s men want. I tried to keep myself strong by joking with my friends ignoring my fears.
An hour after we left Baghdad, we reached a small rural town. A big sign written on a brick wall explained where we were. “Hibhib town welcomes you,” the sign read. Hibhib is the town where Zarqawi was killed. When I read the sign, I was about to ask the driver to take us to where Zarqawi was killed. I was so curious to see the place, but when I thought about it more I realized that it was a very stupid idea to subject myself, my friends and the driver for the danger of being kidnapped or killed.
As we were driving and when I saw the watermelon farms, I realized that we are in Uthaim, an area where everybody said it is dangerous enough for people to be killed, robbed, kidnapped, or beheaded. Few weeks ago a roadside bomb killed about 14 laborers. Few days after that armed men stopped two buses and executed 20 civilians, 12 of them were high school students heading to have their exams in their schools.
I imagined what happened to these people and how I may face the same fate. I said to myself if I am lucky, I may survive but if not, I may be killed like those innocents and will be mentioned in history as one of the hundreds of thousands that are being killed. In all cases, I didn’t think seriously of death. I had a faith that I am going to survive.
Luckily, we passed Diyala province unharmed. Kirkuk province was the second province we arrived before reaching Sulaimaniya. Tuz Khurmatu, a town in the province was our first step in Kirkuk.
Police checkpoints were more than usual in the town, the driver said. A police officer at a checkpoint stopped our car and asked, “Where did you come from?”. “Baghdad,” he answered. Then the officer asked us to get off the car to be searched. I didn’t feel bothered at all like other people who were being searched as well at the checkpoint. This made me feel that these people are doing their job perfectly. However, I should be cautious because these may not be police. They may be insurgents in police uniform.
I asked the officer why there are more checkpoints here than in other town and cities we passed through. “Explosions rocked Kirkuk this morning,” he said.
After we were searched, the driver turned on the radio in order to hear the news about the bombings. Kirkuk was supposed to be our second step after Tuz Khurmatu. Radio Sawa’s news bulletin came with the first news headline. “More than 15 people were killed and dozens were wounded in five car bomb explosions targeted civilians in the oil-rich Kirkuk,” the anchor said. “I have to report on this!” I joked with my friends who believed it for a second. “Don’t worry! We have a correspondent in Kirkuk and a good one,” I told them.
Kirkuk was crowded, not with people but with checkpoints. The security forces were all alerted after the five explosions. We were stuck in traffic for more than hour because of the checkpoints. Army and police were forces were nervous shouting at people and pointing their guns at the crowd in a scary way we call normal in Baghdad.
It was the first time for me to see Kirkuk. I always read and heard about it. “Oil” is the first thing that comes to any Iraqi’s mind whenever Kirkuk is mentioned. But the city that lies on a lake of oil is neglected, filthy, and dusty.
Azadi hospital was on our way. It seems that an Iraqi should see dead and wounded people even if he or she wants to have fun. Women wailing and men crying were gathering at the main gate of the hospital while other men were carrying the dead in the wooden coffins to be buried.
Arriving Kurdistan
Beautiful mountains and valleys welcomed us as we arrived in Sulaimaniya. At the checkpoint, Peshmerga stopped our cars and asked for IDs. Politely, he asked us to get off the car and stand near a building where Iraqi and Kurdish flags were flapping high. He searched the car and let us in.
The first thing I did was asking Kaka Hamah to turn off the AC. I wanted to breathe the fresh air that came from the mountains. I wanted to smell the scent of the trees. The sight was amazing. It was heaven on earth. Huge mountains are lined up with a green cover of fruit trees and birds soar high in the clear sky.
In Sulaimaniya city center, life was so urban and nice. We rented a furnished apartment and took rest for few hours before starting the first trip in the city.
At 7 p.m., the three of us started our first trip in the city. We asked the reception of the apartment building of what the most beautiful places in the city are. He mentioned several places including “Parki Azadi”, an amusement park where most of the tourists go to as the first thing to do.
S waved to a taxi driver. “Do you speak Arabic?” S. asked. The driver said he does. As we stepped in the car, he said, “Every Kurd was born before 1980 speaks Arabic because all of us were forced to join the military under Saddam while the new generation did not. They did not speak for 13 years [the period from the uprising to the start of the occupation].”
Contrary to all the rumors that were spread in Baghdad and other cities that the Kurds hate Arabs, I noticed how they still like Iraqi Arabs.
The park was another copy of a bigger version in Baghdad. It was very much like the former Baghdad Island which was turned to be a U.S. base after the occupation. The Baghdad Island is now neglected empty of people but with stray cats and dogs.
We spent two hours there and then went to another place, Salim Street, where people walk and enjoy beautiful weather and then returned back to our apartment. Like any reporter, news flow in my veins. I asked my friends to let me watch the news in case I missed something. As usual, the news was all about killings, bombings, shootings and a new scandal committed by US soldiers. Al-Sharqiya TV channel broadcasted footage of a US soldier playing on his guitar and singing happily about the death of Iraqi civilians. I watched the whole news bulletin and drank my beer. “It seems nothing wants to be changed,” I told my friends. “C’mon! Drink your beer and forget. Nothing is new!” they said.
The next day, we went to Dokan Lake, a beautiful lake surrounded by a series of mountains. We swam, took photos and enjoyed the nature and the beautiful sight which we’ll miss a lot. After we swam, I stood at the edge of one of the mountains and gazed silently at the beautiful valley that leads to the lake. The peaceful and quiet sight made me feel so comfortable. Peace is something precious. It is what we need.
The next day, we went to the Sulaimniya University as S wants to apply to get his masters in Law there. In the afternoon, we went to the Sulaimaniya huge markets where hundreds of people were shopping and having fun. I bought a collection of Sulaimaniya famous sweets to give to family and friends.
We spent the next day in Sarchinar resort. It was one of the most beautiful areas I’ve ever seen. Casinos, restaurants, wedding halls and amusement parks made up our day and night. The flowing of the spring water clustered the people around it. Some of them put the Hookah in its cold water and others put watermelon to be ready to eat cold. For us, we preferred to spend the day in one of the cafes smoking Hookah and drinking alcohol. It was one of the best nights I ever enjoyed.
After the short beautiful trip in Sulaimaniya, we decided to go to Erbil’s resorts. To be frank, I don’t like Erbil, the city itself. It is boring and the people there are more reserved than the ones in Sulaimaniya.
After two hours of driving, we reached Erbil checkpoint. No Iraqi flag was seen. It was only the Kurdish one. People say it is an order by Masoud Barzani, the president of the region, who controls Erbil and Duhok 100 percent and is known of his hatred to Arabs although he called for Saddam to help him back in the 1990s against Jalal Talabani when the two leaders fought each other. But in Sulaimaniya, the Iraqi flag was flapping high beside the Kurdish one on every government building. People say it is because Sulaimniya is the hometown of Jalal Talabani, the Iraqi president.
At the checkpoint, a group of Iraqi Arab travelers were gathering around a Peshmerga officer. “I said Arabs are not allowed, unless they know someone living here. That’s it.” I heard him shouting. When he saw our IDs, he dismissed us like the dozens of families and people. For about two hours, I was able to get a cell phone and call a friend of mine who knows the director of the security in the city. By one phone call, the officer gave us a face of hatred. He was forced to let us in. the phone call came directly from the head of the security.
As we arrived downtown Erbil, we booked in a hotel, took showers, and left for lunch. After lunch, we had a wonderful trip in the Erbil natural resorts: Bikhal and Gali Ali Bek waterfalls and Shaqlawa resort.
Shaqlawa resort was the last step in our trip. The weather was very cool and the dinner we had was very delicious. As we finished dinner, the waiter came to collect the dishes and said, “Shlonak Eini?[How are you, in Iraqi Arabic]” I asked him, do you speak Arabic? He smiled and answered, “of course, Kurds and Arabs are brothers but not Zarqawi.” We all laughed out loud and said, “of course, not.”
The next day, we packed our luggage and headed back to Baghdad where a day curfew was imposed and a suicide bombing killed dozens in a famous Shiite mosque.
