A Schizophrenic Kurdistan: Living a different life everyday

Its dawn, the rays from the sun shine across my bedroom and my eyes open wide, I grab my IPhone and I see that its 6:30am. Time to get up?  I then realize its Friday, my off day from work. I try to get back to sleep but I am too awake.  Instead, I decide to jump out of bed and start my weekend. I put the angelic voice of Fairuz on, open my windows and here I find myself meditating to the beautiful view of Sulaimani, while inhaling the biggest dose of fresh air possible. I look down from my balcony and I see a few old men with their cute traditional Kurdish shalwal and qamis on, with a bag of fresh bread in their hand. Me drooling for some myself, I choose to change quickly and run downstairs to get some from the neighborhood bakery.  I walk by the teahouse, and here I hear the stirring noise of the teaspoons in the chai istikan (little tea cups), the closest noise to my heart and mind.  Here I think to myself, what a beautiful start to a day for me.

The view of Suli from my balcony :)

Ring, ring, ring! I answer “Alllllo”.  “Helene gean, chaki? (you okay? In Kurdish) What are you up to today?  Mom wants to have you over for lunch.” Me feeling love all over again, of course I have to accept the invite. We will come and get you; I don’t want you to be taking a taxi cab yourself though Sulaimani is safe.  I dress very proper for a Kurdish house and by that I mean, I put on a long dress, some light makeup and some jewelry.  They pick me up, and as we arrive at the house, to my surprise I find a house full of ladies dressed in Kurdish garb.  They all get up, each and every one granting me three to four kisses.  By the time I kissed the third lady, I figured that the kissing trend is three until the fourth lady grants me the fifth kiss. I also figured that some men were not okay with me shaking hands with them. They offered me a seat. I was a bit culture shocked; I kept my arms tightly folded on my lap. I kept smiling and wondering how many eyes could possibly be looking at me, what could they be thinking of me?  They then called me to have a seat on the sufra (they had the food laid on the floor).  The sufra was packed with a variety of Kurdish dishes.  They stuff my plate with red meat. It almost broke my heart to state that I am vegetarian and I don’t eat meat.  I heard this cute grandma aged lady utter, “vegetarian chia? (what is vegetarian?), she has to eat meat,” she asserts, bless her heart. Kurds never accept no for an answer. I realized that no matter how much you eat, in Kurdish culture, they always complain about you not eating enough.   After a delicious meal, they serve you tea with deserts.  My mom’s advice buzz in my head; “Helene you need to smile less, talk less and suppress the cockiness you inherited from America when you are around locals.” 

The next day, I am invited to a cupcake party by one of the American faculty members at work.  This time, I find myself putting a pair of plane leggings on with a T-shirt. I realized there was no need for any make up or proper dress code. The environment was totally different; everyone had a story to share about how their experiences have been like in Kurdistan.  I found myself giggling, expressing myself and filling my dish with whatever satisfied my appetite. The servings of food were nothing like what I had from the previous day. 

For a very awkward reason, I get totally distracted in the cupcake party.  The distraction got me thinking hard about what my life has been like ever since I moved back to Kurdistan.  I thought about everything, the friends I have formed, the number of families that have given me a warm welcome to their houses, my job, my students, societal expectations, the compromises I have made and the changes I’ve noticed in me. What got me thinking the most however, was the double lifestyles I practice here in Sulaimani; one with the American expatriates and the other with my local friends in Sulaimani.  I noticed how different I have been behaving in both settings, the invite over my friend’s house yesterday and the one at the cupcake party. Then I remembered this one liner from a friend about living a different life style every hour in a schizophrenic Kurdistan. Yes, I am living two different life styles with two completely different expectations and standards.  

Just like a schizophrenic, I have voices constantly telling me what to do to meet each societal expectation, voices telling me what is okay to do or say and what is not okay to do or say.  My schizophrenia is simply a cultural paranoia that simply demands loads of understanding and compromise.