The Hiding Place of Peace in Iraq

I haven’t had a chance to write in more than a week. I was trying to find my way out of a dystopian Baghdad. A friend of mine finally informed me that one of his business partners, a liquor distributor who lives in Kurdistan and frequently travels to Baghdad to visit his customers, was willing to take me with him to Erbil, a city in the semi-autonomous Kurdish region of Iraq. His name is Saman.

When Saman and I set out the next day, Baghdad, once called Madinat As Salam – the City of Peace, was shrouded in a blanket of dust and torn by the violent throes of deep-seated rifts; U.S. and Iraqi forces increased their operations tempo against Sadr City, a Jaysh Al Mehdi stronghold. The escalation of force led to the displacement of thousands of residents and the destruction of hundreds of private and public properties. Mortar rounds and missiles fell indiscriminately on Shi’a and Sunni neighborhoods just as frequently as on the International Zone.

The drive was a little over four hours. Saman refused to stop anywhere between Baghdad and Kirkuk. And I was not the one to convince him otherwise. It was only after we passed Kirkuk that he relaxed, easing up on the pedal; he opened the window and held the steering wheel with one hand as if we were just on a Sunday morning drive through the countryside. His demeanor was not the only noticeable change; the Iraqi landscape and people here are perceptibly different than those in the south. The rolling hills are greener, the air less dusty, the people more upbeat. Travelers crowded around roadside shacks selling sandwiches and soft drinks; Kurdish kids played with water much like American children would frolic around an open fire hydrant in the streets of New York City on a hot summer day.

People in Baghdad and those I saw along the route to Kirkuk seemed gloomier. Hardly anybody smiled. Circumspect people gripped by fear and so much desolation shuffled about at a sluggish pace. The xeric fields looked lifeless and the air laden with dust that refused to settle. The sinister mark of death was impregnable.

We passed vehicles that were packed like clown cars with Baghdadis seeking the reprieve the Kurdish region provided. Along the route, numerous police and military checkpoints on the northbound and southbound lanes checked vehicles and their passengers. The cities and villages – Al Khalis, Adhaim, Chay Khanah, Kirkuk - we passed resembled a humongous cluttered and chaotic construction site workers had long deserted. Most homes had bare cinderblock walls and unframed windows and doors. Their rusty brown metallic doors were bent and looked austere.          

Once in Erbil, a city the Kurds call Hauler, I went to the Assayish office in Saydan Street, Ankawa and provided my passport to the Residency Office. I was granted an extendable fifteen days visa. Over 50,000 displaced Iraqis have flocked to Erbil. Astoundingly, in a country mired in a bloody war, the city offers the luxury of a normal life; one in which parents feel confident enough to let children play in parks with minimal supervision, students in uniform regularly attend school, shops, cafés and restaurants bubble with life as residents stroll along city streets leisurely chatting. The only blaring sounds were those of cars going through the traffic.

The security measures and residency restriction imposed on the new Erbil residents are strict. A single applicant is granted a one month residency while a family receives three months. A local Kurd has to accompany the applicant and vouch for him/her. The residency is renewable once expired. The applicants have to carry their residency cards on them at all times. The card does not authorize the bearer to travel outside of Erbil. In order to do so, a separate permit and the endorsement of a local Kurd is required. Such measures remind the Iraqis of the police state Saddam once imposed on them. They wonder why an Iraqi citizen should be subjected to such restrictions in his own country. The answer from the Assayish is rather simple: security.

Saman and I stopped at a restaurant. I ordered a sandwich and a Hite. The whole meal was less than two dollars (fourteen dirhams.) I’m living large.

Two hours northwest of Erbil, Mosul. Another battleground where Iraqi forces have just launched operation Lion’s Roar.

Ahmed T. B. Copyright © 2008

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