F*$k!!!

So, I am well aware that even the title of this post will offend some of you. I hope you keep reading as there's a reason for it.....

A couple of weeks ago, my non-boss boss as he's affectionately know to friends and family (i.e. not officially my boss, but in reality manages me day to day); asked me to go with him to one of the new areas my team are working in. He hadn't been through for a while and just wanted to have a look around, gauge progress etc.

So one Friday morning, off we set. This area is called Qayyarah and is a fairly recently re-captured area. It takes between 2 and 2 and a half hours to get there depending on traffic and check point queues. You have to have prior access permissions in place and security is tight, for a mixture of reasons. There are oil wells burning in the area from the retreat of ISIS, and so the air is full of smog, all the sheep are black. The destruction in the town and surrounding areas is phenomenal. The old stadium which ISIS had used as a public execution ground has been demolished and is just rubble that has become a children's play area. Our warehouse had 'property of ISIS' spray painted on the outside wall (needless to say, we covered that up pretty quickly). Everywhere you look is a reminder of what has happened in this place. And then the camps. There are now 7 camps in the immediate area to house people who have fled ISIS. My organisation manages 1 that currently houses over 20,000 people. It's still under construction and when finished will house 60,000 people. The other camps combined hold about another 20,000 people. These camps stretch as far as the eye can see. Tents are placed incredibly close together to fit everyone in. Each tent is the size we might call 6 man. It's a single room with a concrete floor. The ceiling is curved and at it's highest point I can just about stand upright. Each set of 20 tents share two latrines, two showers, and a set of taps for drinking water. Water is delivered daily to large storage tanks as at the moment there is no central water provision or pipeline. On an average week we deliver over 2 million litres of water to try and ensure that every resident has access to 20 litres per day for all their needs. On arrival each family receives a kit of non-food items (thin mattresses, blankets, kitchen kit, hygiene items etc) and a small food parcel. Different agencies work in the camp providing very basic services. There is a temporary, emergency school being set up, a mobile clinic, some business regeneration (there's already a fairly thriving small economy in the camp), psycho-social services, child-friendly spaces, food distributions.

One of the mobile clinics serving the camp

We visited the camp first to see how things had progressed in the last couple of weeks. We saw the expansion currently being built, answered multiple queries about assistance available, spent time with our new team providing advice and guidance. Then we went in to the town to look at possible houses to rent so that our staff can start to spend the night in the area to cut down on travel time and position us for more work in the wider area. We discussed the security of the area, the upgrades we'd need to do if we decided to rent one of these properties in order to make it safe enough to leave expat staff in overnight, we talked about whether to take this step in this particular town, and what other options we could consider to keep our staff as secure as possible.

Empty Tent, Qayyarah Camp

 

Destroyed house, Qayyarah

Throughout the whole day, my non-boss boss would periodically exclaim 'f*$k!!!!!'. This is a man who has worked all over the world doing this. He has seen a lot in his time. And yet, he was still reacting. Everywhere we looked people were living lives they shouldn't be, trying to pick up the pieces from situations they never should have endured. This kind of evil leaves it's mark for a long time. It's tangible even after it's gone. He wasn't cursing offensively at someone, it was his way to express everything that there are no words for.

I thought about it for days after. How we should never lose that reaction. How ever it comes out of us, we should never be faced with suffering and be unresponsive. It's much easier, much more comfortable to pretend these things are not happening around us. It's hard to face them head on. But however you respond, whether that's with your time, your money, your faith; it's vital that there is a response. That we don't simply close our eyes. 'All that is needed for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.'

In debt to the fruit and veg man

Fruit and Veg Shopping Iraq-style (not the man that features in this post)

Buying fresh fruit and veg in this country is best done on the side of the road. There are pop-up stalls everywhere offering the most in-season produce from Iraq, Iran, Turkey and Syria. They vary in quality and choice, but are always good value. There's one particular stall a couple of roads away from me which is conveniently on my route to and from the office. The owner has recently expanded his choice even further, including some more exotic things such as pineapple, avocado (amazing!) and coloured peppers (rather than just the local green ones). I have got in to the habit of just buying a very small amount every couple of days rather than stocking up in one go. It's a lot fresher that way. And when the owner has something new to try, he'll offer me a taster. A couple of weeks ago it was purple 'sweet' carrots (stained my fingers), last week it was a local sweet lemon even delivered with a 'sweet like you' comment!

Last week I was buying a few bits and when I came to pay I didn't have the right money. The guy immediately said 'don't worry, pay tomorrow'. And in that moment I knew I'd made it. I was in debt to the fruit and veg man, just like any ordinary resident. I won't deny that I was pretty chuffed about it.

There are so many wonderful things about living in Kurdistan, but I think the sense of community comes pretty much top of my list. This feeling that life is better shared, whether that's meals, money, simple conversation. When the fruit and veg man lets you delay payment it fosters that sense of trust and togetherness. When you shop at a pop up stall rather than getting in a car and going to a flashy supermarket it helps to build local relationships. When you can hear the kids playing on the bit of grass in the middle of your block while you cook your dinner you feel part of something. When your staff offer to bring you chicken soup when you have a cold you feel their genuine care. All of these seemingly small things add up to something big. It is these small habits and ways of life that create genuine community. So right now, I'd rather be in debt to the fruit and veg man, than buying pre-packed pretty produce in the faceless supermarket.

Hope

Doing what I do, living in a 'war zone' (speech marks as my day to day life is fairly stable, at a distance from front lines), constantly seeing the effects of violence can make hope seem a bit thin on the ground. Sometimes I need to actively search for it. Sometimes I have to pray that I will find some diamond in the dust as it were to keep me going. And just as every rotation is more tiring than the last, I think every rotation I need to seek hope more and more to keep me going. I even had a tattoo on my ankle last year to remind me that I have a hope that is an anchor for my soul, sure and steadfast. It's a good reminder as my emotions are not sure and steadfast on their own.

Part of my job is strategic - where will we be needed next and what do we need to do to be ready. At the moment for me, that boils down to one word - Mosul. The re-capture of Mosul city and it's surrounds is on-going and it's time to start thinking about how we can respond within the city itself. Which led me this week to carry out a security assessment of a town on the outskirts of Mosul as a possible option for a new base.

We travelled out towards this town, getting held at various check points along the way - negotiating access permissions and convincing officials we were not journalists looking for a story. An hour and a half later we arrived at what can only be described as a ghost town, it looked like a scene from a film about the end of the world. Buildings were rubble, roads potted with craters from airstrikes, shops completely looted and destroyed. There was no one except military personnel on the streets, and we could hear the distant sounds from the front line. We slowly drove through the streets and found a single man opening up his shop with a small generator to provide some power. We stopped to talk to him, to find out his story, the story of the town, trying to glean information for our decision making. He was re-opening his photocopying shop at the request of the Mayor who was trying to begin working from the town again. This town was originally ethnically Christian, but then over the last few years had become a little more mixed in it's population. As soon as they heard ISIS were approaching 2 and a half years ago, the population fled as they all knew they would be targets due to their various ethnicity's. He said the only people who stayed were those who were too old to leave. He said no one knows what happened to them. This is such a familiar story here, and in reality we do know what happened to these elderly residents, we just don't know how it happened. ISIS have not only taken their lives, but they have also denied their families and friends the ability to grieve them properly. It's these kind of conversations that can leave you feeling drained and hopeless.

But then I started to ask about the big church in the town which we had driven past. It was damaged, but still standing, and in what was a predominantly Christian town, this would have been a very important building. He told me that although no one has moved back to this town yet, and that many people have managed to gain refuge overseas; those of them that are still in Kurdistan gathered together in this church building on Christmas Day to hold a service. Even though for 2 and a half years this community has been displaced, even though their homes have been damaged so badly they can't yet return home; they were able to celebrate one of the most important days in their calendar together in their church - the symbol of their faith and their community. They were able to celebrate the birth of Jesus, who Himself was born in to displacement, in the very place they had to flee because of their faith. And there it was, hope filled my heart again.

Back to work

It's strange to think that at the beginning of the week I was still on leave, relaxing at Hotel Rigby. I always find it odd how I just switch between my two lives like that. People often ask if it's difficult. The first few days of leave sometimes are - I will often battle really bad dreams and lack of sleep. But it also feels normal as its holiday for me. From experience, I know that the tough part is moving back, whenever that will be. Coming back to Iraq is always hard in terms of leaving people behind, but not in terms of readjusting. I always just pick up where I left off and I do feel relatively at home here. But  every time, I do have a few days of wondering how much longer I want to live and work like this. Every rotation is more tiring than the last as the cumulative effects of stress build up. There is definitely a shelf life to this kind of work for me. But I also know from experience that my emotions are not always to be trusted, and something is likely to happen that will remind me of why I love my work.

I started back at work on Tuesday after 3 hours sleep. Our working week is Sunday to Thursday and so I only had an official 3 day week which was nice. The office is still pretty quiet as lots of people are on leave. I came back to 720 emails and 850 Skype messages so that kept me busy! But generally thing seem to have been surprisingly quiet during my leave. Which meant I could take the time to catch up with staff and get my head around things before we get super busy again.

I had to wait for Friday for my first 'this is why I love my job' moment. I was invited to lunch at a staff membersf house. One of my staff is from Iran, and has been living in Kurdistan for 6 years. Another of my staff is from Pakistan, and some time ago they had discussed a special dish that exists in both their home cultures and that they both miss. The Iranian lady had hunted for the ingredients and rang me on Thursday very excitedly to invite me to join them for a special meal the following day.

So it was that on Friday lunch time I went to her house to eat with them. I was not the only guest - they had invited some Iranian friends, our Pakistani and Lebanese colleagues, Syrian friends and American. People popped in and out. Someone was asked to play Iranian music. We heard their stories of fleeing their home in the night years ago to avoid being arrested by the intelligence services and how they started their new life from scratch in Iraq. The generosity of people here continues to surprise and challenge me. Their desire to share what they have, both materially but also in terms of relationship is inspiring. This was the first time they had found the ingredients for this dish in 6 years, and their first thought was to share this occasion, and not just with fellow Iranians. They chose to give us a glimpse in to their homeland and I was blessed. How much I still have to learn. I think of the English sausages sitting in my freezer and the Cadburys in my fridge, and how I have planned to share them with fellow Brits 'who will really appreciate them'. Hospitality and generosity are definitely gifts that are more prevalent in certain cultures, but I also think they are habits that can be learned. I hope that 2+ years in the Middle East so far has helped me to learn to be more open handed with others, but I still have a long way to go.