Tuesday, June 9th, Classes are in Session

Today was overcast and cool, great for a change. We are teaching kids in the morning at the Shadiady Park. It was built in 1999 on the military site where the Iraqi regime imprisoned and disappeared Kurdish residents of Sulimani. The people of the city have reclaimed it for themselves. There are rides, concession stands, fountains, trees, and pavilions. As we drive in for the first morning of class one of the teachers makes a comment wondering about haunted spirits being here; this is where people have died.

The kids are delightful, beautiful faces, names that are lovely and when I attempt to pronounce them they break into laughter. Savya, Sharo, Hersh, Ashe, Aram, Roza, Kreshma, these are the easy ones to pronounce. I have no formal teacher training, I just share with them, we talk about colors, shapes, naming objects, practice greetings, and do simple math. 

In the evening we sit of the upstairs roof enjoying the sunset and cool breeze. The mountains that surround the city are hazy today, barely visible. Night hawks fly past, sending out their characteristic calls. I am reminded of being in Claremont, New Hampshire, on a hot summer night, coming out of the movie theatre, hearing the night hawks. It is a small world. I am so far from home and yet at home. People have the same natures and needs. Hearing discussions and disagreements in Sorani during the day, this isn't so different than other places where I have been.

Sirwan, our boss and the founder of the school, along with his wife, was born and raised here. One night he asked me how I was and I said I was a bit homesick. He asked me wearily "Martha, why you come to Sulimani?" My only reply could be that I am asking myself the same question.