Welcome to Kurdistan: land of myth and magic

Toronto from above, taken from an airplane window. (Gardi, 2019).

*Author’s note: These events took place July 2nd, 2011, on the last trip I made to Kurdistan. *

Hints of sparkling lights could be seen from the airplane window as we circled the city before landing. I was in awe of the twinkling lights in the distance. I turned to my sister who was equally as surprised as me. “It doesn’t look like a village anymore!” I exclaimed. It was after midnight; our plane was finally about to land after a long journey from Toronto.

“Do you think we’ll be able to make it in time to eat ser û pê[1]?” the man behind us asked his friend seated next to him. “If there are no delays, we should make it in time by 4,” his friend reassured him; calculating the 3-hour drive to their hometown to eat the traditional food that their tongues had been deprived of and salivating for since last leaving this foreign land.

The excitement felt by these two men echoed throughout the aircraft. The plane had not yet hit the asphalt; however, the eager and impatient passengers unbuckled their seatbelts and began taking their luggage out of the overhead compartments. When the plane’s tires finally hit solid ground, the passengers on board erupted into a round of applause.

As we left the aircraft, the smell of petroleum gently caressed my nostrils, a subtle reminder that we were in an oil-rich land.

We grabbed our luggage from the baggage claim and walked towards the long line of people waiting to enter the region.

Hanging from the ceiling was a giant flag: red, white, and green with a 21-ray sun shining in the middle. It served as a reminder that this land was not the same as the country down south.

A rush of adrenaline hit me as the immigration officer stamped our passports, smiling coyly, “Welcome home,” he said.

Home. The land of my ancestors, a land that felt so real, yet so mythical all at once. A land that can’t be found on any modern political map, straddled by 4 countries: Iraq, Iran, Syria, and Turkey. A land that’s stirred my imagination since childhood: Kurdistan.

And here I was, my feet leaving Erbil International Airport to a bus that transported us to the Arrivals area, where all of our relatives were waiting enthusiastically for our arrival.

“I see them!” my mom exclaimed as she waved from the bus window.

My siblings and I were standing at the gateway to this new world that would be our home for the next two months.

The bus finally came to a stop and the doors opened.

We were suddenly greeted by a large group of Kurdish women wearing colourful dresses that shimmered against the night sky. They threw handfuls of chocolates, candies, and confetti in the air while letting out high-pitched vocals of ululation in celebration of the arrival of loved ones from overseas.

Suitcases were grabbed at random from the bus. We were caught in the intensity of the moment, hugged and kissed by random strangers as we tried to navigate our way through the chaos to find a familiar face.

“Do you remember us?” asked an old woman hugging my brother tightly as tears dotted her face.

No, she wasn’t a relative, just a woman that was happy to see young Kurds from the diaspora come back home.

From that moment on, I knew the rest of the summer would be one of amazement and wonder.

Overcome with deep emotion by the warmth and friendliness within the first couple of hours, I thought to myself: Welcome to Kurdistan.

[1] Ser û pê - literally translated as “head and feet” - is a traditional Kurdish dish of a whole sheep cooked in a soupy broth.