This is the view from my balcony in the Kurdish city of Sulaimaniyah.
It's a good base for Save the Children's operations in northern Iraq as it's pretty safe - we drove to the supermarket a couple of days ago and not a single molotov cocktail was lobbed through the window, although I did see some pretty alarming graffiti that read "WE HATE MEN". Before you get in your car you have to check for IEDs (improvised explosive devices) underneath in such a way that no one notices you are doing it, so shoelaces get a lot of retying.
People have been being mean to the poor old Kurds for centuries, though the ones I've met have been lovely. Saddam treated Kurdistan like a wasp nest in the corner of his garden; now that the president of Iraq, Jalal Talabani, is Kurdish, they've come back into fashion, prosperity has returned and spaceship-like buildings are mushrooming in all directions in Suli.
SC imposes a 9pm curfew here, though to leave the compound at any time you need a note from the Pope, a specially-formed militia of navy seals forming a human pyramid around you and an Apache helicopter hovering above.
I'm battling with the lingo - Kurdish is tricky. I had a crash course with a chap I met on the plane who fled to England 12 years ago and just got his UK passport. As a Liverpool fan he headed straight up there when he got off the boat. Tired of theft, violent crime, civil strife and the hopelessness of the local people, he left Merseyside and ended up in Norwich. Anyway, he taught me the rudiments but progress is slow, particularly as I'm also trying to learn Arabic, which is also hard and is written backwards.
Below is the view from my desk. The apartment block on the right is full of staff at the American University, who are here to explain why the US occupation of Iraq was a great success. I hold the Bush administration responsible for the volatile security environment in Iraq and the fact that on a Friday night I am sat in front of my computer rather than in front of a belly-dancing snake charmer or whatever it is they do on Friday nights here.
It's a good base for Save the Children's operations in northern Iraq as it's pretty safe - we drove to the supermarket a couple of days ago and not a single molotov cocktail was lobbed through the window, although I did see some pretty alarming graffiti that read "WE HATE MEN". Before you get in your car you have to check for IEDs (improvised explosive devices) underneath in such a way that no one notices you are doing it, so shoelaces get a lot of retying.
People have been being mean to the poor old Kurds for centuries, though the ones I've met have been lovely. Saddam treated Kurdistan like a wasp nest in the corner of his garden; now that the president of Iraq, Jalal Talabani, is Kurdish, they've come back into fashion, prosperity has returned and spaceship-like buildings are mushrooming in all directions in Suli.
SC imposes a 9pm curfew here, though to leave the compound at any time you need a note from the Pope, a specially-formed militia of navy seals forming a human pyramid around you and an Apache helicopter hovering above.
I'm battling with the lingo - Kurdish is tricky. I had a crash course with a chap I met on the plane who fled to England 12 years ago and just got his UK passport. As a Liverpool fan he headed straight up there when he got off the boat. Tired of theft, violent crime, civil strife and the hopelessness of the local people, he left Merseyside and ended up in Norwich. Anyway, he taught me the rudiments but progress is slow, particularly as I'm also trying to learn Arabic, which is also hard and is written backwards.
Below is the view from my desk. The apartment block on the right is full of staff at the American University, who are here to explain why the US occupation of Iraq was a great success. I hold the Bush administration responsible for the volatile security environment in Iraq and the fact that on a Friday night I am sat in front of my computer rather than in front of a belly-dancing snake charmer or whatever it is they do on Friday nights here.
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