A Day in the Life of a Kurd

There's a book called “Happiest Baby On the Block”, and it should feature Yunis Gulani on the cover. I have never met a happier baby than 2-year-old Yunis. His laughter is contagious- every time he laughs, I laugh, and vice versa, and so we never stop laughing. He has adorable teardrop-shaped eyes and beautiful, wispy, white-blond hair and a tiny set of buck teeth just like the stuffed bunny he carries around wherever he goes. New Day, Meadow and I spent the day with Lone and Yunis at their house in Masif. We picnicked in their garden where she had recently planted apple and other fruit trees, our blanket spread with a tray of baklava, seeds and nuts, watermelon (shuti), and white wine bottled in Giverny, France. They tried to teach me how to eat pumpkin seeds, but I gave up and just ate the entire salty seed- shell and all- just the way I like. New Day and Meadow, both in their twenties like me, talked about their refuge camp days when they were kids. Guam was beautiful, says New Day. Meadow on the other hand got stuck in one of the poor, overcrowded, hungry camps somewhere in Eastern Turkey because it was “just after the war”.

Later, New Day and I took Yunis for a walk around his neighborhood, taking turns to carry the toddler because he didn't have his shoes on. The panoramic views of the green mountains were beautiful, flowering everywhere with those ubiquitous chartreuse blossoms. I lingered a little behind the other two as they ambled down a curving country dirt path lined on either side with wildflowers. Sometimes they stopped so Yunis could pick flowers for his mother. New Day looked so comfortable with the baby at her hip that I couldn't help thinking that she'd make a good mother someday. And she was turning out to be a good friend. We had one thing in common at least- both of us were tired of the usual weekend activity of drinking. We were so much happier here, visiting Lone, seeing the mountains, and exploring the surrounding villages. I'm glad she is here, and Lone as well.

I ran to catch up with my companions and to take my turn with the baby. The path led into a village with shanty homes and all kinds of farm animals. We chatted with the villagers who were surprisingly bold and not so surprisingly, very hospitable. We declined their invitation to come in and have tea because we wanted to head back soon, but stayed to check out their animals. One of the women snuck up behind a lamb (puz, or mr) and grabbed it, and it baaa-ed pitifully as she brought it over to Yunis so he could pet it. They also had white ducks and chickens running around, and two donkeys (kerr). Whoever said a donkey says “hee-haw” needs to spend a day on a farm with a real donkey. They are not pleasant-sounding creatures. They sound worse than a dying motor. Like a dying motor with a dying pig inside it- but louder.

We headed back after meeting the animals. Yunis had had a full day, and so had I! I collapsed on the couch and suddenly felt like taking a nap. But then, when I came back from the bathroom, all four of them- New Day, Meadow, Lone, and baby Yunis- were dancing the Kurdish dance to Kurdish music, so my nap was put on hold. We danced in the living room until we could dance no more, and then Lone- wonderful hostess that she is- fed us some sort of Kurdish soup made from boiling meat for 4 hours and adding tomato sauce and vegetables to it. Afterward, I felt so content and sleepy. I had just lived a day in the life of a Kurd- picnicking, eating seeds and nuts, and dancing the circle dance- what more could you want? We said our goodbyes, Yunis and I exchanged Eskimo kisses, and soon I was in the car, staring out the window into the dark, and seeing picnic after picnic after picnic along the highway.