When I first moved to Erbil 15 years ago, it was becoming a small city. Most people who could afford it were buying or building new, modern homes. There was a neighborhood called English Village where Western/American style homes were the trend and where everyone assumed I lived. I did not. My house was in a regular newly-built neighborhood within walking distance of the school where I taught. My neighbors were Kurds who had lived there for generations, Arabs who moved up from the south for security, or Kurds who moved back to Kurdistan after living internationally for some years. Later I got Brazilian, Syrian, and Columbian neighbors. But in the beginning I was the oddity. A guest in many ways; a little like Belle in other ways – the nice girl who is also just a little weird.
The city felt very Kurdish or Middle Eastern to me. There were corner markets and bakeries. Propane or vegetables could be purchased from a man shouting about his wears while driving his truck slowly down your street. I was invited over to my neighbors’ houses or brought bags of meat or candy, and once an entire frozen chicken. I’m pretty sure that was the chicken I tried to bake whole but ran out of propane about 25 minutes in. I begged a different neighbor to finish it in her oven, which ended up being a toaster oven. We got it done and gifted her half the chicken as a thanks. I had not yet learned to purchase propane and the husband helped us get more the next day.
We eventually got wifi, figured out how to pump water to our roof tank on the right schedule, learned the correct amperage to run on generator power, and the right day to put out our trash bins (every day is the right day when you never know when the garbage truck is coming). We figured it out and I am so grateful for great roommates that first year that made the experiences fun adventures rather than frustrating problems. It was definitely a semi-modern, dusty, unpredictable world.
I went back recently after a significant absence and was struck by how much the city has grown and changed even in the few years I have been gone. They built the first true skyscraper the year I moved away. The mall whose foundations I had watched being dug is now considered old and not a cool place to go anymore. My friends live in apartments with 24-hour electricity, wifi, food delivery, and a local version of Uber. There are street signs with actual street names. Google maps actually works. The view from their apartment is all sky scrapers.
And yet there is still so much that hasn’t changed. Neighbors and taxi drivers are still friendly and helpful. Parks are packed late in the day when people can spend time together in the cool evening under shady trees. There is an undercurrent of worry about what the greater global powers are doing and how it will affect their country. Tea is still drunk as dark and sweet as you can stand it. And it is offered to you everywhere – even the touristy corners of the Citadel. I still felt like people were pleased that I was there and more so when I broke out my rusty country Kurdish. It is still a place where God is at work and where the darkness is being dispelled by light.
A lot has changed; a lot has stayed the same. I am happy that both statements are true.
