I cant give a proper "goodbye"
So it was 9am on August 30th, 2012. I was still asleep until I heard my phone ringing. It was my driver from the American University of Iraq in Sulaimaniya (AUIS). “Miss Helene, where are you, I am in my way to get you.” I immediately jump up quickly and try to comprehend the driver’s words. He is in my neighborhood and I am not even ready. I rush to take a shower and then get ready to meet him.
As you read my words in this blog, you will understand that the transition from the U.S. to Kurdistan has once again begun! This time the jet lag is taking a toll on me. I am up all night and have the hardest time waking up in the morning. I would like to start this blog from the second I met my driver in Hawler to my settlement in the pak city, the residential housing that belongs to AUIS.
So here is the dialogue that occurred between my driver and I. For the purpose of this blog, I decided to refer to him as Kaka Driver.
Kaka Driver: You are a Kurd, Miss. Helene!?
Me: Yes I am kaka but I don’t speak fluent Sorani.
Kaka Driver: I figured. Where in Kurdistan are you from?
Me: I am mixed, my mom is Hawrami and dad is from Zaxo.
Kaka Driver: How come you speak Hawleri?
Me: I understand its strange. I have formed a Kurdish language of my own considering my father spoke Badinani with us and Mother spoke Sorani. However, my primary school was in Arabic and then we left for America when I was little. Thus, my Kurdish has been morphed with an American accent, like all of the diaspora’s children.
Kaka Driver: Um I understand. So how did your parents meet?
Me: Wella it’s a long story but nothing can explain “qismat u nasib.”
Kaka Driver: Are you married?
Me: (I internally start thinking of how many times I have been asked this question over the past 1.8 years of my stay in Kurdistan.) No Kaka I am not married. I am single.
As Kaka Driver saw me yawning like non-stop, he felt bad, toned down with his personal questions and offered that I take a nap on the back seat of the SUV. I thanked him but preferred that I continue the journey and observe the beautiful mountains of Kurdistan.
As we continued the ride, I observed the beautiful mountains, with Adnan Karim’s voice in the background. I closed my eyes and wondered how I was able to be away from Kurdistan for 2 months? Will I ever be able to return to America for good?
In my two month stay in America, I had the chance to reconnect with a few friends from my college days. Mom felt that I was missing Kurdistan during my stay with her. I was tormented by jet lag and everyday I’d wake up well before dawn, do my usual 10 kilometer run and then join mom for a fresh breakfast and then set by the window of the living room, wait for the first rays of sun to shine and see myself tremble with loneliness. I was not a stranger to this city. How can I be? I grew up here. I knew the streets; I had cousins, close friends, etc. But after two years in Kurdistan, I was so used to my days being immersed with personal intimacy.
In Kurdistan, at any given hour in the day, at least four different people can tell where I am, what sort of mood I am in, and what my plans are for the evening. In America, I could die of food poisoning from takeout, and no one would find me for a day. So don’t be surprised that this Kak Driver, who just spent a few hours with me driving me from Hawler to Suli, offered me his number and asked that I call him whenever I need anything.
Mom has sensed my loneliness, and to cheer me up, she set up an iftar for me to invite my friends from college. Like so many Americans, my friend’s perception of Kurdistan and the whole Middle East was screwed up. You can drive and go out at night alone there? They asked. Wait, hold up, that means you don’t need a man to be with you 24/7? I did not blame them for not knowing much about my culture and country, but I also didn’t have the patience for these types of conversations anymore. I was too frustrated to slow down and explain in a step-by-step fashion. They wouldn’t understand how to be a Kurd / Middle Eastern in this era meant you were obsessed and condemned. I realized that after 2 years of being in Kurdistan, my energy for explaining my culture has decayed. Before moving away from Boston, my desire to explain everything was boundless.
My heart has yet to heal from seeing mom’s tears in the airport as she saw me departing. My eyes are not quite clear from the tears as I saw my siblings let go of me for departure to Kurdistan. As Kaka Driver and I continued our drive in the mountains approaching Sulaimania, I just wished that I could enjoy the natural beauty of Kurdistan with my loved ones, with my nieces and nephews hearing them call me by nickname “mati Heleen.”
I realized that I am a part of two completely different societies: the West and the Middle East. I also realized that I will always be treated like the American in Kurdistan and the Kurd in America. Every time I get ready to leave one society, I fail to give it a proper goodbye. I therefore think that I should resign myself to never saying goodbye because every time I find myself exit in one world, I feel the tug of the other. The yearning, which I must embrace, is a simple reminder that I am a whole but composed of two different cultures.
We entered the Tasluja checkpoint and here I get a call from the AUIS asking where I am, I looked at Kaka Driver who was so focused on getting me over to the campus. I wondered if he will ever be able to comprehend all that I have shared with you in my blog. I must admit that for a second I envied him. What for? I’ll leave that for you to figure out.
As you read my words in this blog, you will understand that the transition from the U.S. to Kurdistan has once again begun! This time the jet lag is taking a toll on me. I am up all night and have the hardest time waking up in the morning. I would like to start this blog from the second I met my driver in Hawler to my settlement in the pak city, the residential housing that belongs to AUIS.
So here is the dialogue that occurred between my driver and I. For the purpose of this blog, I decided to refer to him as Kaka Driver.
Kaka Driver: You are a Kurd, Miss. Helene!?
Me: Yes I am kaka but I don’t speak fluent Sorani.
Kaka Driver: I figured. Where in Kurdistan are you from?
Me: I am mixed, my mom is Hawrami and dad is from Zaxo.
Kaka Driver: How come you speak Hawleri?
Me: I understand its strange. I have formed a Kurdish language of my own considering my father spoke Badinani with us and Mother spoke Sorani. However, my primary school was in Arabic and then we left for America when I was little. Thus, my Kurdish has been morphed with an American accent, like all of the diaspora’s children.
Kaka Driver: Um I understand. So how did your parents meet?
Me: Wella it’s a long story but nothing can explain “qismat u nasib.”
Kaka Driver: Are you married?
Me: (I internally start thinking of how many times I have been asked this question over the past 1.8 years of my stay in Kurdistan.) No Kaka I am not married. I am single.
As Kaka Driver saw me yawning like non-stop, he felt bad, toned down with his personal questions and offered that I take a nap on the back seat of the SUV. I thanked him but preferred that I continue the journey and observe the beautiful mountains of Kurdistan.
As we continued the ride, I observed the beautiful mountains, with Adnan Karim’s voice in the background. I closed my eyes and wondered how I was able to be away from Kurdistan for 2 months? Will I ever be able to return to America for good?
In my two month stay in America, I had the chance to reconnect with a few friends from my college days. Mom felt that I was missing Kurdistan during my stay with her. I was tormented by jet lag and everyday I’d wake up well before dawn, do my usual 10 kilometer run and then join mom for a fresh breakfast and then set by the window of the living room, wait for the first rays of sun to shine and see myself tremble with loneliness. I was not a stranger to this city. How can I be? I grew up here. I knew the streets; I had cousins, close friends, etc. But after two years in Kurdistan, I was so used to my days being immersed with personal intimacy.
In Kurdistan, at any given hour in the day, at least four different people can tell where I am, what sort of mood I am in, and what my plans are for the evening. In America, I could die of food poisoning from takeout, and no one would find me for a day. So don’t be surprised that this Kak Driver, who just spent a few hours with me driving me from Hawler to Suli, offered me his number and asked that I call him whenever I need anything.
Mom has sensed my loneliness, and to cheer me up, she set up an iftar for me to invite my friends from college. Like so many Americans, my friend’s perception of Kurdistan and the whole Middle East was screwed up. You can drive and go out at night alone there? They asked. Wait, hold up, that means you don’t need a man to be with you 24/7? I did not blame them for not knowing much about my culture and country, but I also didn’t have the patience for these types of conversations anymore. I was too frustrated to slow down and explain in a step-by-step fashion. They wouldn’t understand how to be a Kurd / Middle Eastern in this era meant you were obsessed and condemned. I realized that after 2 years of being in Kurdistan, my energy for explaining my culture has decayed. Before moving away from Boston, my desire to explain everything was boundless.
My heart has yet to heal from seeing mom’s tears in the airport as she saw me departing. My eyes are not quite clear from the tears as I saw my siblings let go of me for departure to Kurdistan. As Kaka Driver and I continued our drive in the mountains approaching Sulaimania, I just wished that I could enjoy the natural beauty of Kurdistan with my loved ones, with my nieces and nephews hearing them call me by nickname “mati Heleen.”
I realized that I am a part of two completely different societies: the West and the Middle East. I also realized that I will always be treated like the American in Kurdistan and the Kurd in America. Every time I get ready to leave one society, I fail to give it a proper goodbye. I therefore think that I should resign myself to never saying goodbye because every time I find myself exit in one world, I feel the tug of the other. The yearning, which I must embrace, is a simple reminder that I am a whole but composed of two different cultures.
We entered the Tasluja checkpoint and here I get a call from the AUIS asking where I am, I looked at Kaka Driver who was so focused on getting me over to the campus. I wondered if he will ever be able to comprehend all that I have shared with you in my blog. I must admit that for a second I envied him. What for? I’ll leave that for you to figure out.
I cried from the first word to the last and I sit here with tears running down my face as I write this. That touched a part of my heart I always push away. Thank you Helene gyan ♥
ReplyDeleteGreat depiction of how we the diaspora kurds feel about both cultures that we have lived in ! It is also amazing that just like two pieces of magnet you can make them stick to each other if you fine the right pole but they will bounce off each other as soon as you put the wrong sides ! I suppose we do have a schizophrenic mixture of both cultures but in Kurdistan schizophrenia is quite normal so we are fine :-)
ReplyDeleteThank you Helene for this nice blog
shakawan