Kurdistan June 2023 (EN)

The Turkey-Iraqi-Kurdistan border at Habur is a divine surprise. I was told everything: No passage of the motorcycle. Visa not possible. I had an Iraqi contact at customs. The exit from Turkey is done without incident. In Kurdistan, because we do not return to Iraq but to Kurdistan, the online visa is ready in 15 minutes. Ditto for the three counters for the motorcycle. Reasonable and official taxes. It's good, fast, efficient. All are friendly. The motorcycle, object of curiosity, helps, here, as everywhere since the beginning. I pass without: Insurance. Customs clearance certificate. Adequate driving license. Let's go on.

Iraqi Kurdistan. This is not Iraq. It is not part of global Kurdistan. It is a quasi-state within a state: security forces, language, ministries, license plates, flag, and of course, identity. When I ask, it's always "I'm Kurdish", never Iraqi, as with the Turks, on the other side of the border.

The roads are wide, well maintained, big cars, almost Dubai, it smells of oil. Checkpoints again and again. Light at the start on my journey to Mosul. At 30 kms from the finish, things are getting serious. This is the Kurdistan Iraq border. I have a visa of the first, not the second. We would have to ask Baghdad, come on. Kind but firm. I retrace my steps, to stay in Kurdistan that I will not leave: Duhok.

350,000 inhabitants, in a wide valley, crushed by the heat as they say for lack of inspiration. It has a little Dubai side: many buildings under construction, 20/30 floors, dirty money I am told. Go figure, oil, trafficking, jealousy? Malls too, modern, car parks, green spaces. The center is traditional: shops, bazaar, mosque.

Not far from the hotel, I landed for a drink at the Media Saray: large restaurant, terrace, wedding hall: it's modern, impeccable. The 107 employees are very caring. Luxury cars, very luxury. I go back in the evening, hookah, renewed until late in the evening. Families, couples, businessmen. Around midnight, a man sits at my table to chat: it's Hasan, the owner, creator of the place just five years ago. He also has shops and imports from China in particular. He has a zoo project here, no comment. I advise him to also think about an Italian restaurant in Erbil: chef, products: I saw success a few months ago in Kinshasa. He is rather warm, we feel he is demanding, attentive to customers and to the smallest detail. His parents live in a tiny village 30 km to the north; he visits them every Friday, for a traditional lunch, it's Thursday evening. So the next day, in a sidecar, we climbed the mountains, skirting a turquoise lake, the Tigris lounging before joining the Euphrates, much further south. The family home is home to parents Hamed and Zomred, his sister who arrives from Sweden every summer with her three young children. It's big, two huge rooms to sit or lie down and talk, with a garden where they cultivate, below the mountains. Winter is covered in snow, hard to imagine... We have lunch: vegetables, meat in sauce, salad, traditional pancakes, cold dill milk drinks, homemade yogurt. The father, lying on his mattress near his two rifles, had a small shop in the village. The son made himself.

In the evening, a lot of people go out this Friday, like a Saturday for us, ice cream, a local passion, Italian machine styles. The cars stop, the father gets out and comes back, cones in hand.
They give me mine.
Of course...

In Turkey:
Saturday and Sunday.
In Iraq and other Arab countries:
Friday and Saturday.
In Iran:
Thursday and Friday.

Iraqi Kurdistan: The Kurds: In conclusion, Before going into detail and meeting more locals: Quasi-state, functioning almost as such. Rich in oil. Challenges Baghdad, which struggles with its problems: Iran, mosaic of Muslims, American game, uncertain Sudanese leader. The 7 million Kurds live on 85,000 km2, with Erbil as the capital. Over 90% of them are Sunni Muslims. Recent history is a succession of uprisings: 1961, 1974, 1975, 1983. A fierce struggle between the two dominant autonomous parties, PDK and UPK, each with its private militias. A bloody standoff with Saddam Hussein. During the Iran-Iraq war in 1988, the leader of the Ba'ath Party launched Operation Anfal: 182,000 Kurds massacred, and the village of Halabja bombed chemically. In 1991, the Iraqi debacle in Kuwait. From 1994 to 1997, a civil war. In 2003, US intervention, weapons of mass destruction, Bush, Rice, Rumsfeld, Cheney, Powell, and Blair, who follows like a pathetic puppy. Chirac and Villepin warned, in vain. The Americans allied with the Kurds, equipping them, recognizing them as more effective than the regular Iraqi army. The Kurds fought the Islamic State and defeated it. In 2017, a referendum for self-determination, with 93% voting in favor. The Kurds want: An independent state Including the oil-rich Kirkuk.

I leave Duhok for Erbil, the capital of Kurdistan. Instead of taking the direct road, 150 km, I take a big detour through the north, passing villages and mountains, doubling the distance. It's a succession of magnificent landscapes, dry in this month of June, rocky, steep, mountains, valleys, rivers. It could be a National Park anywhere else. Sometimes there's a citadel on the heights: a checkpoint held by the Peshmerga. Some checkpoints, quite serene when far from the border with Arab Iraq. It's very hot on the road, probably at least 40 degrees Celsius. Whenever I can, I drench myself in water, drying off in a few minutes, but it feels so good. The motorcycle handles the heat well, what a blessing. I stop near a river, surrounded by cafes and restaurants overlooking the refreshing water. A couple from Duhok is having lunch with their two young children. I am invited, of course. He works in security, earning 750 euros; she teaches, earning 250 euros. She speaks a little English, he does not.

I drink liters of water and tea. I remain cautious but vigilant.

Coming out of a village, young children, mostly girls, sell apricots and plums on small plastic plates. I don't need any; I just bought blackberries with a slightly sweeter taste than ours, delicious when mixed with yogurt in the evening, after they have leaked considerably in my backpack and on my beige pants. So, the children. The second half of the afternoon, the light becomes softer and enveloping. Their eyes are magnetic. Neither begging nor complaining. Dignified, beautiful, moving, and touching. I speak to them in French, it doesn't matter. They are dressed properly and not in poverty. I imagine they are just on the roadside, near the houses, to earn a few dinars. I give them some. A little for me. A lot for them. A few euros. Three groups of two or three. I don't take the fruits and they look at me incredulously. I continue my journey. For the rest of the way, and for several days, I cannot forget those intense eyes and continue to regret not giving them even more. Time and money.

I arrive in Erbil at dusk. Exhausted.

Erbil has everything a big city has: An international airport. Parliament. Government. Courts. Residential and office districts under construction. Parks. Probably a million inhabitants. High-end hotels, including the Rotana, where French secret services have lunch in the air-conditioned bar next to the pool.

In Duhok, I saw a whole family having dinner at Hasan's place. They invite me to visit them in Erbil. They live in a residential neighborhood a bit away from the city center, not far from the airport.

I meet one of the family's men: he receives me in their diwakhan, like a large open hall with sofas and tables along one side. There are already several small groups conversing while drinking tea or coffee. In fact, it's the reception area for the main members of the family: the Wale Anwar Bag'e Betwata. They are one of the families, one of the clans that matter in Kurdistan. Highly respected for their integrity, rigor, wealth, and antiquity, they are often called upon to make decisions, Sula, that replace those of the court. They played an important role during the conflict with Baghdad and later with Daesh. They are very close to the Barzanis, who have been leading Kurdistan for several generations; they receive them here. There are only men, always armed, in addition to the bodyguards at the entrance. I get to know brothers, uncles, nephews, and cousins who discreetly leave after a moment of conversation. Every time a new guest arrives, everyone stands up to greet them. We discuss the country's affairs, the fierce battles with Daesh, and the future of Kurdistan.
After a few hours, I take my leave.

Sulaymaniyah, the former capital of Kurdistan, the cultural hub of the country, is in the southeast, about an hour from Iran. Like in most Kurdish cities, women are not veiled and dress in Western attire. The Amna Suraka Museum in the center is a powerful testimony to: The attack by Saddam Hussein's regime in 1988 on Kurdish territories, known as Anfal, and the chemical bombings on the city of Halabja. A total of 182,000 people are honored in this labyrinthine corridor made up of 182,000 pieces of mirror. The fight starting in 2003 to defeat Daesh, the vile butchers operating under the guise of strict Islam. The US provided significant support to the Kurds in this war, which resulted in several thousand deaths. The images are unbearable in terms of barbarism and bestiality.

The big question, now that peace has returned, is that of independence. The power in Baghdad refuses it. It is the Shiite Sudani who leads, in the name of Iranian interests, they say. Like in Lebanon, positions are distributed on a sectarian basis: Kurds and Sunnis in addition to the Shiites. Sudani's son owns the largest telephone company, YQ. So independence is hindered by the ancient and divisive dissensions between the two main rival parties. The question of reclaiming Kirkuk and its money is also a major obstacle. So it will likely take a long time. But recently, everything is changing in the Middle East. For instance, the USA is negotiating with Iran in Oman. At stake are military nuclear issues and the cessation of enrichment beyond 60%, Iranian militias in Syria and Lebanon, Tehran's oil exports, and the release of billions of dollars frozen in American accounts, particularly in Korea. Eventually, there is also the lifting of sanctions activated by Trump in 2018 by denouncing the JCPOA. The war in Ukraine adds a dimension, including the delivery of drones to Moscow by Tehran. Iran and Saudi Arabia have a spectacular rapprochement under the auspices of China, one of the most apparent effects of which is the recent reopening of a Saudi embassy in Tehran. The Saudis are aligning with Israel since Riyadh is significantly changing the status quo, even in its refusal to adapt its oil exports to American desires. The Chinese are offering their services to the Palestinians for an unlikely peace with Israel that would involve a reconciliation between the bitter enemies Hamas and Fatah. The Chinese are involved in all the games, as they need stability in the region. They are now the main importers of oil from Iran and Saudi Arabia. Bahrain, the United Arab Emirates, and Morocco have established relations with Israel, as improbable as the latter's rapprochement with Egypt in 1977.

I have made myself at home at Jan Café. It's good, coffee, pastries, breakfast, well-decorated, frequented by actors and intellectuals, who rub shoulders with anonymous mobile phone users. On my last day, I see a man in his sixties with a well-trimmed white beard, shirt, tie, and suit, very elegant. We introduce ourselves. It's Dilshad Questani, who has been living in Chaumont for about twenty years, with frequent returns here. He was an early and fierce opponent of Saddam Hussein and the follies of his regime; he shouldn't have survived. He was a political refugee in France, a true one. He is a painter, has exhibited in about twenty countries around the world, and admires and extols Turner. He is also a film actor and is shooting in the studio this afternoon. By the twists of fate, the world is small, we have common acquaintances in Cairo: Pierre Brassard, also an actor, who runs the Loft Gallery, an art, antique, and crafts space in the Zamalek district. He has very refined tastes, and the objects he sells are often magnificent. He was a journalist for Canada in Egypt for about twenty years. We send him a photo of the two of us... Farouk Hosni, the former Minister of Culture and Archaeology under Mubarak, who was supposed to lead UNESCO after his tenure in office. We owe him, among other things, the magnificent and mythical Library of Alexandria designed by the Norwegian architect Snohetta. We will meet again, of course.

I have changed my plans. I gave up on Iran, as the visa and entry for the motorcycle were too uncertain. I have many regrets because I really wanted to see my professional friends at ISQI in Tehran, with whom I often exchange. And Iran, which I love so much. It will come in one way or another. I turn back, crossing the Turkish border at Habur after 11 intense and wonderful days in Kurdistan. Then, heading north along the eastern Turkish borders to enter Georgia, where many memories and landmarks await me now.

I traverse magnificent landscapes, valleys, and mountains, especially in Rawanduz. In Dukan, I stop for lunch on a terrace above the river. It's Saturday, so it feels like Sunday to us. There are many jet skis heading towards the lake. I have lunch with a young couple from Erbil, recently married. They work in human resources, he at the university and she in a Kurdish oil company. They explain the marriage customs here: Meeting, dating, introduction to the families, with the woman's family being the most decisive. If everything goes well, there will be religious and civil weddings. Some time later, there will be a ceremony and celebration. Only after that can they live together.

I spend a quick night in Duhok, at the same Lara Hotel, and have dinner at Hasan's restaurant before he leaves for Erbil in the evening.

The next day, Sunday, I cross the border at Habur, just like on the way in. Except that there are many more vehicles. And it's very hot. I look for shade and drink a lot of water that is offered to me. There are quite a few Turks walking back to their country. I go through about ten checkpoints without any corruption. Corruption and the accompanying hassles are often inversely proportional to the level of development of a country. The second entry into Congo this winter, 36 hours and several hundred dollars, was very difficult. Except for the long queue on the Kurdish side, everything goes well. There's a Dutch license plate: Kurds returning from vacation in their home country, a four-day journey. The motorcycle attracts attention and curiosity. After two and a half hours and several liters of water later, I am back in Turkey.

I stop, exhausted, in Cizre, 40 kilometers from the border, to recover my strength in a very pleasant hotel along the Tigris.

Onwards for the journey north.