But really on why I left Kurdistan for New York.

This town will always be too small for all the dreams held inside my head.

I’m sorry but I cannot stay.

And I’m sorry, but that is why I cannot stay. At least not right now, not in my twenties.

by Koheun Lee

It’s actually been almost two months now since I left Ranya and Kurdistan for New York. I had entertained the idea of staying in Kurdistan and working either in Erbil or Suli, since the job market for expats (or in general) seems pretty strong. I met an Austrian couple in Istanbul who own an international HR company who told me they have difficulty finding qualified, educated candidates for jobs in Kurdistan and often have to resort to recruiting from Turkey and Iran. Seeing as I spent the past year working with and training teachers and other professionals, I can attest to that. But while my time in Kurdistan was an amazing experience, with a definite learning curve, I also felt that it was time for me to explore the world even more, get back to the “real world”.

Now, people have been telling me that I should give myself time to adjust to this “real world”, of 9 to 5 office jobs and big city dreams. And I say to them, it doesn’t get realer than northern Iraq. But I do see their point. Living in Ranya had its challenges, most of which I’m glad to say I don’t have to face anymore because they were tough, but nevertheless it was like living in a bubble. I didn’t pay rent, didn’t pay for groceries or utilities or any other sort of bills for that matter. If something went wrong with the house (no electricity, giant rat invasion, broken plumbing, etc.), there was always someone else to take care of it because what am I supposed to do – try and mime a broken pipe to the Kurdish plumber who doesn’t speak any English? Actually, I suppose that could’ve worked.. anyway. My social calendar was also not mine to plan, just a simple yes or no to whether I want to go somewhere or have dinner at someone’s home. Visa and work permit applications were taken care of (though in hindsight I probably would’ve rather done it myself given how much trouble it took), as were things like health insurance and trips to the doctor.

Sound like a cushy life to you? It wasn’t, really. While I did, and still do, appreciate the lengths the local staff went to to accommodate for me and the other foreign staff, I would much rather have done all these things myself. I’m grown enough to do all this for myself, and have been for the past six years. It’s frustrating having to depend on other people to do the things that given a choice, I probably wouldn’t really want to. But I don’t appreciate not being able to make that choice. Of course, logistics and a gaping communication barrier didn’t allow for it, and I was reduced to being a child again, entirely dependent on others. Granted, a dependent who was living and working in Kurdistan, northern Iraq, doing really interesting work and daily interacting with people I would never have had a chance to meet otherwise. But I have bigger plans for myself at the moment (still formulating what exactly these plans are, but they’re there). I’m too young to stay in this small town.

So, enter the real world. New York City.

Where things are as real as they get. But if I can survive and thrive for a year in Iraq, I can do New York.

Image via Lawsonry

Street harassment is defined by the organization Stop Street Harassment as:

Unwelcome words and actions by unknown persons in public which are motivated by gender and invade a person’s physical and emotional space in a disrespectful, creepy, startling, scary, or insulting way.

What street harassment is not:

• Harmless flirting
• Appreciative looks, comments, compliments
• Slightly uncomfortable, overlong staring that is ultimately harmless
• Deserved by women because they were wearing provocative clothing

Instead, street harassment is:

• A violation of my right as a person to safe public space
• A super-insiduous form of sexism
• Treatment of women as sexual objects
• The continued subordination of women and LGBTQ folk
• Intimidation on the part of the male perpetrator, and an attempt to reinforce male hegemony and patriarchy

I don’t think all men are sleazebags just waiting to yell a rude comment as I pass by, and I know a lot of great men who are active allies and work against street harassment. However, in response to another male friend’s comment that all he wants to do is make new friends but he finds it difficult to approach women because of male distrust, I’d like to share this article: Schrödinger’s Rapist, or a Guy’s Guide to Approaching Strange Women Without Being Maced. Please read it, as it is much more eloquently stated than anything I would write, and it also perfectly explains why women are so distrustful of strange men.

As for street harassment here in Kurdistan, it’s almost always from a distance – either stares or hollering as men drive by in their cars. When I’m walking in the bazaar, I rarely ever get verbal abuse, and never any physical contact (unlike places like London where men can get grabby – really, that’s supposed to make me all fluttery and melt inside?). But being followed by men in their cars as they holler various things, mostly in Kurdish but also spewing every English word they know, most of which consists of “hey baby, hello, what’s your name, where are you going”, is not pleasant either. JUST LEAVE ME THE EFF ALONE AND GO YOUR OWN WAY. I often wish I could say this, but while I do feel physically safer here than in Boston or London because I know the chances of anything happening are slim to none, it’s still a place where I don’t really speak the language, and wouldn’t know what to do if anything did happen. Or if I said anything in response. If someone was harassing me in Boston, I’d call the police and call for help from passer-bys. Here, don’t know the number for the police, and even if I did, what am I going to say? So instead, I silently fume. Every time I’m out and about by myself. EVERY TIME.

It’s also frustrating when I get the impression from other people that I’m being dramatic and over exaggerating. “Oh, they’re only staring at you because you’re a foreigner and you look different.” I think I can distinguish when someone is staring out of curiosity, and when it’s something more discomfiting. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” “Really?? I don’t experience that at all!” THAT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE A MAN. It’s true, I don’t get as many hollers and honks when I’m walking with a man, so I suppose it’s harder to comprehend. But really, is it?

On good days, it’s just slightly annoying and I can brush it off. On bad days, it ruins my day. But it’s not something that’s exclusive to Kurdistan, not by any means. A comparison of the (scant) research conducted on street harassment around the world shows the U.S. to lead in terms of percentage of women who have experienced street harassment.

Graph via Stop Street Harassment

Great, America, just great. And we say we’re a ‘civilized’ nation with equal rights for all, and loooove to preach it around the world. At least the police may or may not be of help there. In any case, looking forward to being back in a place where, if when harassed, I can either choose to ignore it, say something, or call the police. In the meantime, being zen in the face of hollering and staring seems to be the way to go. And really, you can stop staring now.

So, let me introduce to you some of my favorite students. Some are my favorites because they are just so little and clever, some because they have the most squeezable cheeks you’ll ever find, some because they’re always happy, and others just because.

This is Avan. She’s in 3rd grade, and loves to read. She has this beautiful book of children’s stories in English that she carts to school every day, and sometimes gets in trouble for reading during class instead of doing an assignment. This one’s going places.

These two angels are Dea and Hoven, the sweetest little girls you’ll ever meet. “Teacher, I love you” is their way of saying hello and goodbye. Dea wants to be a doctor when she grows up, and whenever her younger siblings, cousins, or neighborhood friends get hurt, she plays nurse and puts a bandaid on their boo-boo. Beyond adorable.

Rasty here has the best cheeks, so squishy and pinchable. He’s not very fond of doing work, unlike what this photo of intense concentration shows. His father is a producer for Kurdistan TV, and occasionally comes by school to film. Rasty says he wants to be a cameraman like his dad.

Oooh, this one’s got so much sass! Mahamad Soran has the raspiest chainsmoker-esque voice an 8-year old can possibly have, which combined with his cheekiness, makes for hilarious classes. He also likes to rap and have dance battles with his buddy Arya.

Here’s Rasty again, with Saro! Saro is such a sweet child, always happy and upbeat, and looking for ways to help. Sometimes cheeky, but really tries to make an effort to be good in class. “Teacher, I am quiet today?” is a daily question at the end of each class. He’s not often quiet, but usually good. Always happy and excited for English, which is enough.

This little one is Saya, a right princess. She spent a few years in England, and consequently has the accent and intonation of a posh little English girl. “Teeeeacher, can I pleease sit with Rahela today?” Always trying to negotiate with me, this one. The most precocious little girl you’ll ever meet. Has also inspired some new hairstyles on my part.

Zhiwar has the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen – these beautiful green pools you could just get lost in. Not in a creepy way. He’s the oldest son of the family, and with his father currently studying in England, has taken on the role of the man of the family at the tender age of 8.

Paewand also has adorable pinchable cheeks, and a super high-pitched voice with which he’s often squealing as he runs down the corridor. He’s always so chuffed whenever he gets a question right, and especially during the spelling games we play in class. Possibly my favorite in Grade 4.

Ah, but then there’s also Lina, with her beautiful curls, chubby cheeks, and adorable baby voice. I’m starting to see a pattern here. The chubs kids with the cheeks are by far the cutest.

Vana here isn’t actually one of my students, but she always comes up to me to give me a huge hug and kiss on the cheek. Don’t let her sparkly eyes, smile, and beautiful curly hair fool you – this one’s quite the terror of the schoolyard. She’s the boss of her class, fights with the boys, and generally seems to push the other kids around. We’re working on that.

Milan is my poster child for the Kurdish version of the Sartorialist. She’s always so fashionably dressed, either in coordinating pink and red pieces, or in beautiful, breezy sundresses. Milan is also one of most conscientious students, and really makes an effort during class, always writing down new English words along with the Kurdish equivalent. She’s not one of the strongest in her class, by far, but A+ for effort. And another + for style.

Ummm.. Spongebob backpack. ‘Nuff said. Blund automatically qualifies for teacher’s pet.

And Akar – that goofy smile, how can you resist??

Adorable, no? Can you see how it’s hard not to have favorites? I love all my babies students, but these kids are particularly cool. Fingers crossed that they remain cool kids as they grow older.

A few weeks ago I went back to Ruste, the most beautiful place in all of Kurdistan. Last time I went, in November, we caught the last vestiges of fall, which made for quite the picturesque scene: fading fall foliage amidst snow-capped mountains. This time around, at the beginning of March, we arrived to a rather bleak scene of dead trees and winter grey. But when I woke up in the morning, everything was blanketed in clean white snow, which kept falling for the rest of the day.

What’s the first thing to do when it’s snowing??

SNOWBALL FIGHT!!!

Which of course continued throughout the day.

That weekend up in the mountains of Ruste was probably one of the best weekends I’ve ever had: a trip to a beautiful place with all the right people, staying with some of the most hospitable and generous people I know, eating delicious food, taking walks in a setting that could have come straight out of a film, and just taking it easy. I hear Ruste is just as beautiful in the summer (when is it ever not beautiful?), so I’m definitely looking forward to spending another weekend up in the mountains in a few weeks.

March 5 was the anniversary of the 1991 uprisings in Iraq that led to the establishment of the Kurdish Autonomous Republic, or just Kurdistan (Iraqi Kurdistan). The revolution, or raparin in Kurdish, began in Ranya on March 5, 1991, when defectors of the Kurdish militia used by Saddam Hussein against the peshmerga rose up against the regime and took control of the city with the help of peshmerga and Kurdish political parties. There were also predominantly Shi’a uprisings in southern Iraq around the same time, but the Kurdish revolution was preceded by political protests and demonstrations outlining clear political goals that were a result of the decades-long struggle for independence from Saddam’s tyranny. The uprisings were encouraged by the U.S., with President George H. W. Bush appealing to the people and military of Iraq to oust Saddam and replace his regime with one that would enable Iraq to “rejoin the family of peace-loving nations”. Ironic, isn’t it, for this call to join peace-loving nations to have come from America? But when the uprisings began the United States chose non-intervention and abandoned the Kurdish and Shi’a rebels (though no-fly zones were enforced as a token gesture for the protection of civilians). Not one of America’s finest moments, to put it mildly. So, at the cost of tens of thousands of lives – mostly civilian – and the displacement of nearly two million Iraqis, 1.5 million of them Kurdish, an autonomous Kurdish region was established within Iraq. Not quite an independent country, but enough so that you really feel as if you are in Kurdistan, rather than Iraq or even Iraqi Kurdistan.

In commemoration of the revolution, flags were strung up all around town, everyone dressed up in their best Kurdish finery, and there was an infectious festive mood all around. Classes were cancelled for the day, and instead we had an assembly where the principal spoke about the revolution, the Kurdish flag was raised over the schoolyard, and each class sung a revolutionary song for the school. All the kids were super excited to celebrate raparin, and ran around the school with Kurdish flags draped over their shoulders and flag colors painted on their faces.

I walked into school in a beautiful Kurdish dress that a Grade 3 teacher had lent me, and was immediately bombarded with comments and exclamations by the children. “Teacher, you are Kurdish!” and “Teacher, do you love Kurdistan? I love Kurdistan!” It was really quite beautiful to share in their enthusiasm and pride in their country and people. I’m normally not a huge fan of nationalism and misplaced patriotic pride, but in this case I think it’s more than well-deserved. I’m glad these children can grow up feeling proud of their country and their history.

all dressed in finery. it’s pretty much required to wear Kurdish dress on March 5

discussing geopolitical concerns. these kids said to me, “Teacher, Syria, very bad.”

rather forcefully painting the Kurdish flag on each other’s little faces

Mamusta Rezhiar, grade 3 teacher extraordinaire

Teacher Jake and his little angels.

Whole school assembly

Grade 5, the cheekiest bunch of kids you’ll find…ANYWHERE.

They only seem to hire young, beautiful, female teachers at this school.

Some fine Kurdish gentlemen, Howre and Rebin, the Grade 4 teachers.

As poets we like to think of ourselves as a few of those who like to think

But to think takes a lot of thinking thoughts that the audience should resonate with

And thus the thought structures and psychoanalytical patterns to be drawn

Have to have the backing of the thought-structures of the people around us

What am I saying?

That to think the way we think the audience must think that way

So that whatever we stand to project, or protect, to perceive and to protest

They must be the same things that society wants to project or protect, to perceive and to protest

Thus when we speak of things that annoy us and the State decides to silence us

It is not silencing the poets but silencing the audience that likes to think that it thinks.

What am I saying?

– Peter Kayagi

{feature image via }