Then, the next issue to combat was bars and dance halls, since those are also apparently derived from the devil. All bars and restaurants were forced to shut down at 11 o’clock. This again, was short lived as the people revolted and there were even more strikes. This time, the people who worked at the dance bars and restaurants burned a few cars for good measure. That drove the message home. So the new law was revoked by the home minister when he finally realized that he was affecting an entire population of the economy, not to mention the only with-out strings cash cow there is in Nepal- tourism.

One would think that there would be some sort of checks and balances with this fellow. I don’t know, maybe a vote from the parliament whose sole purpose for being is to represent their constituents, but nope. No vote. No discussion. No debate. Just one strange man, with even stranger ideas, and apparently a whole heck of a lot of power.

One would think he would tire of people taking to the streets and burning cars, but, the wise old sage of a home minister struck again. This time, he thought he had a really excellent plan! Why not turn the idyllic resort town of Pokhara, (which situated on the base of the amazing Annapurna range of the Himalaya’s, and the starting point for many treks) into a red light free sex zone! Yes! That will solve the nations problems and make everyone happy!

Nope. Not quite. The people got mad again, and rightfully so. This is a very chase society, where even kissing scenes are edited from movies played at the Cinemas. Women wearing shorts and short sleeve shirts are terribly taboo, so how could this fellow possibly, in his wildest dreams think that this was an ok proposal?

This week, he came up with two new plans that will be sure to incite riots of monumental proportions. First one, AWAY WITH THE STREET VENORS! Those villainous scabs, attempting to make a living selling their wares, clothing and food stuffs on street corners need to be done away with! Who will feed their families now that their meager earnings will be diminished? PASSSHHH?!?!? Who cares?!?!!? The streets need to be cleansed of their presence, never mind the trash, the street kids sniffing glue, the homeless begging on the sidewalks with their malnourished babies clinging to them in clouds of exhaust from the cars passing by. The street vendors are, apparently, the real problem.

Next, he is doing away with alcohol sales, except at designated sites. Want to make someone in South Asia angry? Take away their alcohol. This is not because this area is filled with alcoholics, although there certainly are, but this is because there is an entire culture based around alcohol. It is used in everything from business lunches to religious holidays. People make and consume something called “chang” and “raksi”, which is a home brew, and offer it with pride to any guest who enters their home. And home minister brilliant is also proposing to criminalize “raksi” and “chang”.  This is going to make little grandmas hardened criminals in one blow! I get the feeling more than cars are going to burn when this law takes effect on the 16^th of November. I will get off my soap box now, open a beer while I still can, and wish all of you a Happy Halloween!

We may watch with fascination, or even irreverent interest when other nations partake in their election process, but we usually realize as Americans;  no matter who is elected in another country, they may have a slight impact on our trade, or foreign affairs policy, but they do not have a direct impact on our day to day life. People who live around the world cannot say the same. They wait with baited breath, and high expectations as to who will be the next American president because it will impact the very nature of their being and the security of their region. That is a lot of power for one country. But it is something to be admired, respected and maybe even feared. If, at the very least, it should be realized that although we forget from time to time that a place called Sri Lanka, Singapore or even Nepal, not for one moment does anyone in these places forget that there is a United States.

Most everyone I know here has invited me to an “election party”, whether they are Democrat or Republican, or even those who have no idea what “Democrat” or “Republican” is, like many Nepali people. (Never try explaining the electoral college to anyone, in anyplace here in Nepal, ever. Trust me.)The first reason for a party is the obvious; it is a reason to have a party. But the second is that people are hoping that their candidate will bring about the change they want to see in the world.

Living here, I have met people from all over the world; I have spoken with and dined with people from Israel, Iran and Germany all at the same table. And the first question they have all asked me is who I am voting for and what is my view on foreign affairs.  Whoa. I am but a simple person, with ideas and hopes for all of my fellow mankind. My beliefs may be more idealistic than others, but no less, my ideals are that of freedom, no matter our national origin.  But no less, I think it is an important aspect for all Americans to realize that the vote we may or may not cast due to long lines and inconvenience truly impacts not only America, but those throughout the world. As a side note, I want to commend the American Embassy in Nepal for their help and clarification on the absentee voting process.

Voting is something we take for granted; because we are free…But so many of the world, including where I CURRENTLY AM is not free, it is but a gift from our intelligent, foreseeing, and gifted forefathers, that no matter who we may cast a vote for on November 4^th, we can agree our forefathers had the best of intentions and the well being of future Americans at mind when they drafted the Constitution.

So remember this fellow Americans, we are damn lucky, not only for the nation that we were born in, but for the ability to realize that we can vote, and our vote makes an does impact.

Dasain is the first holiday that shuts everything down tighter than a submarine for a week. It just finished, thank god, and I can seek out pizza once again. Dasain is kind of hard to explain, as no one seems to really know the origins. This could be for a few reasons. One, Hinduism is a very old religion and people tend to forget after awhile, or they just don’t want to explain it to the foreigner who has been here long enough and should already know. From the best I can tell, Dasain is kind of like Christmas, except that a jolly fat guy doesn’t go down peoples chimneys and give out presents; rather the people here kill things. Lots and lots of things. Many animals die during this season. But people still give and receive presents.

Chickens, goats, ducklings and buffaloes all die for a blood thirsty god. But this is not the only strange occurrence to my non-killing- for-god-Western perspective; they also worship various things during this time. Like there is cow tikka day, where they dress all the wild cows and bulls in garlands of flowers and put the red tikka dot on their foreheads. Ok, this I can reason out- cows, after all are a very sacred animal in the Hindu religion. Then there is dog tikka day, where all the local wild dogs (without rabies and other ailments) get their tikkas and flower garlands around their necks. This was the one day when I did not receive strange looks for feeding my favorite neighborhood dogs, who I have named Lucy, Charlie, Michael and Sammy. Funny enough, Charlie also surprised me this week by getting pregnant. Guess Charlie needs a new name now.

But the oddest of all worship days is a day for the god Durga, and apparently Durga is a fan of machines, because Durga Day is the day that people worship their cars and motorcycles. No joke, they kill goats and spatter the goat blood on the cars here to appease the god Durga. I have seen some strange things in my life, I have been to some pretty random places, whether they be in Asia or on Colfax in Denver, but never in my life have I seen grown men bow on their knees and kiss the hood of their car. AND THEY AREN’T EVEN JOKING WHEN THEY DO IT!

Now, one may think that we place too much weight in the local mechanic back home, but on this one, I will not give in, give me a wrench and jumper cables any day over some goat blood. It just seems more reasonable.

Again, I don’t want to sound like a disbelieving, jaded foreigner who thinks that “my way” is far better than “your way”, but in the case of mechanics, I guess I leave it to science to figure out, rather than the Gods. I figure the Gods are just too busy to worry about my car or motorcycle.

Speaking of motorcycles, I have decided to sell mine. I bought a Chinese Loncil 125cc. Ugly little thing, but I reasoned that it could get me from point A to point B cheaply enough, and had little enough power so I would not seriously damage myself or others. Yeah, well, I was wrong.

It is an evil monster of a contraption. And I am quite certain it has broken my finger. I am not exactly positive, but I think so. It has a funny bend to it, (my finger that is) after I smacked into a rickshaw, my pinky finger tends to go opposite of what I consider the natural way, all of its own, and I hate to admit that it is of my own doing, but I think it might be.

Truth be told, I don’t think I had much business on that damn Chinese motorcycle. So, after some consideration, I am going to sell it to an unsuspecting tourist. Not at a huge profit, but at a big enough profit to make myself feel a bit better. I am sticking to my luck walking, or in the back of taxis if need be… it is better than the law of busses an

See, the busses have a scary law. Well, it applies to all  vehicles, but busses seem to reek the harshest consequence. If a moving vehicle strikes a pedestrian or another moving vehicle and causes irreparable damage, the driver of the vehicle (in most cases a bus, since all traffic moves slowly here and cars and motorcycles don’t do much damage), must pay for all medical damages and all lifetime expenses for the one they hurt…unless, that is, the bus driver kills the other driver, then there is a one time compensation payment made to the family.

Now, reason this out, not as a logical human being, but as one struck by poverty, making only about $340 USD per year, trying to survive and make enough money to support ones family. Say this bus driver strikes another and knows that this big bus has caused a lot of damage. Is the bus driver going to stop? Or is the bus driver going to back up and go forward enough times to make sure that the person hit by the bus struck is dead? Well, the logical answer is not to behave that way, and make sure the pedestrian or motorcycle driver is ok, but the law of unintended consequences speaks differently. In other words, if a bus hits you here, rule of thumb is to die fast, otherwise, your death will be painful and slower than you wish as the bus will be sure to drive over you more than once to make sure there is only a one time compensation rather than a lifetime of support.

Yikes! So, I will report on Tihar next- as there are sure to be many things to shock and amaze. Jai Nepal.

I then did what any logical human being would do and called my well connected lawyer, Ram, who was as dumbfounded by the charges and accusations as I was.

It seems the restaurant owner that I had previously bribed was saying I owed her more money. Apparently, her new business was lacking funds, so why not extort the foreigner? She was saying I owed her an additional $2000 US dollars. How she came to this arbitrary number, I have no idea. Thank god, I had all written agreements, contracts and fingerprints in my possession. True factual evidence that I was in the right…right? Well, not so much, as this is Nepal, and truly the end of the rainbow for strangeness, as I have stated in previous blogs.

Needless to say, I was seriously nervous. Why would Santi, demon restaurant owner, say that I owed HER more money when I had to bribe HER in the first place, and then have the guts, the gall- if you will- to take it to the police!??!!

Now, like most foreigners, I am quite happy to NEVER encounter the police, with the exception of those I can regard as friends. I mean, I am in another country, on a totally new playing ground with no idea what to expect. Sure, I had legal documents, signed and registered with the courts, approved by a notary, but here, who knows what could happen…For all I know, I could be thrown in jail for previously bribing the woman who was attempting at present to extort me!

Ram assured me that all would be ok. I took my roommate, Nancy, for moral support. So the motley crew of us arrived at the police station to find Santi giving a detailed sob story of how she needed more money, but I only gave her a little money and now she was in trouble. Well, initially I thought “no brainer, the cops will see right through this act and tell her to get out…”

Then I remembered where I was.

In what I can only describe as a mini-court procedure, the police actually took this quite seriously, as apparently they take all accusations quite seriously. My mind was flashing back to a year previous, when I walked into a police station to point out in a line up who stole my cell phone…Their form of interrogation was quite unlike anything I had ever seen. Let’s just say it involved bamboo poles, a lot of screaming and a bit of blood. I just hoped those bamboo sticks were in the closet and would not make an appearance…

Of course, they didn’t. The police were actually quite nice to me, and quite helpful.  For one, Sub-Inspector KC, was listening intently, and when the argument got quite heated, he apologized profusely for me having to go through this.

I think the big cyst on my forehead was a dead giveaway as to my level of stress, plus the fact I had a lawyer and a friend there with me, one, I wasn’t playing around and two, I wasn’t taking chances…

The police agreed that they would look over the evidence and give us their decision on Sunday, as Sunday is a working day here. I left with Nancy, wondering how in the world could this go any way but in my favor? The house owner, or landlord as we would call him in the US of the premises, would not get involved. In fact, I spent a lot of time thinking about him, his hands off approach and his ”I don’t care who is in my building, just pay me…”attitude.

Nancy and I went over every possible scenario, I went over all the papers that had been drafted and over all beat myself up wondering if there was anything I had missed. I guess I must have forgotten the no more extortion clause in the contract, but who would have thought to add that? I figured the statement that the “transaction is final” covered it. That is what I get for thinking like a logical person here.

Sunday morning, I awoke to quiet streets. Oddly quiet streets. I was to go to the police station at 2pm, so I didn’t think much of the quiet at 7, when I woke up. Around 9:30, I got a call from Sub-Inspector KC, saying that a general strike had been called due to the Finance Ministers new budget for the next fiscal year, not only was the meeting postponed until Monday, but it was not safe to go outside in a car, period. Two of them had already been burned.

A little side note, there are strikes called for various reasons in Nepal, and they shut everything down. It is pretty much like a festival day, but instead of mobs singing songs and walking in a nice procession, there are mobs walking around destroying all public and government property in sight. The police walk around in full riot gear, not doing much, but attempting to control the masses, so things don’t get too ugly. It is one thing to vandalize a park, another to harm a person. I personally like the police here, they have always seemed to do a pretty good job despite their small resources. One must be dedicated to order if they only make about $80 a month.

So, now it is Tuesday and my head is spinning with what to do. I went to the meeting yesterday, and it was in my favor, I think. They took the original $3000 dollars I had given Santi from her bank account (they can do that here! With out warrant or a document from the court) gave it back to me, and pretty much told Santi to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. They then told me I was to give the property back to Santi, and she could make a restaurant there again, since she couldn’t seem to afford the other property. They shamed her for trying to take advantage of me, and attempting to scare me by taking me to the police, and applauded me for not being afraid, but handling myself “like a man.” Strange praise, but, I guess here, it is good praise. They also warned me that they were worried if I stayed at that restaurant, and had any connection to Santi, she would attempt to do this in the future if she ever needed money again. Good logic as a reaction to bizarre logic on the part of Santi.

I now have a freezer and chairs and tables in my entrance way to my home, I have a deep fryer in my living room and a bbq grill in my terrace. All I have really lost is $280 including the new tile in the kitchen of the restaurant that Santi can claim as her own. And time, three and a half weeks of cleaning and painting, but ever the optimist, I guess I have learned a lot. I just wonder, how many lessons do I need to learn? EVIL SANTI.

I don’t know what to do. My boyfriend and best friend have said pick up the pieces, I have all the ground work done, (including my new license to operate a restaurant legally, and it is written in Nepali with a bunch of stamps and cool writing), find another space and move forward!!!

I feel like I just want to stay in bed and give up. Or better yet, give up and fly home. I haven’t even called my family for the past few days, because I know if I would hear any of their voices, I would just want to say “to hell with it” and come home.

But I don’t give up. Or I don’t like to give up. So, I guess I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I came here to start a restaurant, I have done everything the right way, and I have tourists who are waiting for me to open!!!  I have the recipes, I have the grill, I have the fryer, I have friends looking for an EMPTY SPACE, not one with another restaurant owner looking to make a quick buck off of a dumb foreigner, I have the determination and finally, the focus. To be honest, I was missing the correct amount of focus for awhile. All I need is the space.

I guess though, after reading through all of this, it makes sense. There is never a start up business that does not encounter some problems in its induction. It was all running too smoothly for me. I had to encounter some problems. In the US, though, it is usually about a building that does not meet code, or some other legal hang up as such. Here, I guess it is corruption that one meets. And maybe this space was just not meant to be. It was ugly, after all, but I kept telling myself it was just a starting point. And everyone must start somewhere. I was proud of my 7 tables.

Overall though, my biggest fear in life is failure and disappointing my parents. Odd for a 30 year old to say, I realize this. But it is true. I come from a long line of entrepreneurs, especially my dad, who have always done well in the face of adversity. When the cards are down, I just need to employ his lessons, his logic, and most of all his perseverance. I am my parents daughter, afterall.

I mean, I am not that old. But, in reality, age doesn’t seem to have anything to do with it, as I have seen 50 year olds’ here bustin’ a groove to trance music.  I knew what trance was back in the US and had friends would listen to it or occasionally go to clubs that specialized in “house” or “electronic”. Maybe I have seen too many episodes of Law and Order, but I always associated that kind of music with club kids who took too much E, danced with pacifiers in their mouths while waving plastic neon thingies in front of their face. It never really appealed to me.  Plus the dancing always mimicked, in my mind, mini fits of twisting and shaking simultaneously. Not that attractive.

Then I came to Nepal. As with many things here, it took what I thought of as reality and smacked my perceptions up side the head. Nothing is as I thought it was. There is such an international draw to the music, it is unreal. It is the one thing everyone from the Middle East can agree on. It enables conversations that would not ordinarily happen between a Russian woman and man here on business from China, as I saw the other night. It is a strange phenomenon that for the longest time I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around.

After being around it so often here, I finally have come to a few conclusions about trance. One, it isn’t that bad. It can be fine in small doses. Second, it is an international format of music, as there is usually little to no words in any language, so language is not a barrier. Third, everyone in the world dances in their specific culture, and ANYONE can dance to trance.  Jump a little, shake what you want to, or hell, even Ninja kick randomly like one fella from Australia, and there you go, you too can dance to trance. Last, it is great to listen to while exercising. It keeps you moving, no doubt.

Music has always been an instrumental part of my life, no pun intended. I used to say I would listen to any type of music, as I grew up in an eclectic home where I was as likely to hear Tom Waits as I was Zydeco. As a child, my parents took my brother and me to Jazz Fest in New Orleans with ritual like regularity. Much to my music loving parent’s dismay, I developed a taste for rap music in my early teens, but could never let go of the greats like the Doors, Buddy Guy and Van Morrison. I still remember the first time I heard Dave Matthews and Blues Travelers. And even today, nothing soothes me like listening to Otis Redding and Ray Charles.  

So maybe I need to realize that my musical education is not over. The only thing that is certain in life is change, so I will continue to attempt to appreciate trance, but thank god I can go home to my IPOD filled with the tried and true music that has been the soundtrack of my life this far.

It is exactly 2 am, and I sit here writing in my bed, giving off a little start every time the power surges and the lights become so bright they look like they might pop. The sound of the rain should be calming, as it is constant- not pounding, but always there. But the rain is part of my little problem.

Why up at 2 am you ask? Well, when else would I get up taking turns with my boyfriend, running for the bathroom to expel the evil falafel that has over taken both of our digestive systems?  During my last run to the facilities, I encountered something I never have before here in Nepal, and just when I think I have seen every oddity, every strange encounter, every exotic dress, reality comes and smacks me in the head and reminds me I have just seen the tip of the ice berg for strangeness here.

As usual, I digress. I left the bathroom praying I wouldn’t have to go in there again till morning, when shock of all shocks, somehow in the time I had been in there my “lobby” as they call it here, or entrance way as we call it in the west, was over taken with frogs. Was. Ha, there is no past tense, they are still there.  Tons of frogs. Little frogs, big frogs, high jumping frogs and skinny frogs. The rat of course, was not to be outdone by the frogs and made an appearance. We have seen traces of his existence, left huge amounts of poison in every corner of the house, but never actually seen him. That is, until tonight. I will not describe monster mouse as a rat- for a rat he is not. He is more like a Persian cat with a really long tail. Not a small Persian cat, not a kitty, but a full grown monster of a Persian cat with a bad temperament caused by age and the certainty that I am trying to kill him.

So, we have drawn the lines, this nasty rat and I. We both can see in each other a worthy nemesis, and neither one of us is going to leave the other without a fight. I have decided to do something I would not ordinarily do, I have decided to get a cat. Not that I am cat adverse, I actually like them. It is just that I feel bad getting any animal if I am away from home so frequently, as I am. But I am sure the cat will be on my side in this matter and take care of the rats, frogs and snakes that seem to enter my home on their whims, rather than my invitation.

Fast forward a few days….

I am reading what I wrote only days before and thankfully, feel so far removed. Today is my happy birthday, and I am sitting in a beautiful, clean hotel room in the resort town of Pokhara with an amazing view of Machhupachaare- or Fish Tail Mountain; called such because it suddenly jumps up from the rest of the Himalayas, coming to a perfect triangular point.

I have always been a birthday lunatic. A seriously self absorbed, make everyone celebrate for me, birthday fanatic. I don’t request attention on my birthday, I demand it. I know this sounds like a rather unlikeable trait, but once I make everyone around me aware of my birthday- I also make them participate in the fun of it. What is a birthday rather than a celebration of not having to face the alternative? And if for just a little while we remember this, rather than think of all the life sucking normal daily activities, then I consider my birthday a success. I can’t help but get a little squishy and sentimental here, but looking back and now looking out my window, I cannot believe what a good life I have had. I have done some truly amazing things, met remarkable people, traveled to places that many just read about. So thank you, my parents for having me, and thank you, my Ricky for letting me.

Today is not any ordinary day for Nepal, either. Today, the government will finally be formed. See, we have a different perspective in the West about what is and what is not government like behavior. Here, all bets are off. When we have elections in the United States, for example, the candidates do not try to kill the other one, or kidnap their relatives. Our candidates just spend lots of money on plane tickets and TV ads.  When a candidate has been elected, we have predetermined dates when they take office. That would be far too simple approach for the government of Nepal. Since the elections usually don’t happen on time, (this last one was postponed three times), there is no way to determine when and how who has won will actually ascertain their position by, oh, I don’t know, actually making government based decisions.

Even though I know I personally have nothing to do with it, I still think it is cool that this is the day the government decided to “form” and hold their first real meeting to make some (hopefully) forward moving decisions for this little nation. On the check list of things to be done for the nation from a publication called the Nepali Times:

·         Keep the peace process on track

·         Reassure the people of Nepal that a State still exists

·         Provide consumers with basic needs (petrol, cooking gas, rice)

·         Ensure food for the neediest, Nepal is now on the UN’s hunger hot spot list

·         Crack down hard on those blocking highways on whatever pretext.

·         Ensure Maoists return seized property, stop YCL hooliganism (the YCL is the Young Communist League, the youth section of the Maoists, and currently their out of control three year old.)

·         Reform the police to prevent more mutinies, warn them that they are being watched.

There are many more, but these are the main points that jump out at me and remind me so frequently that I am in the “Wild West”. Up until a few years ago I never thought societies like this really existed. There has been more of an anarchy here for the past two years than there has a functioning form of government. Sure, the whole place seems to fall apart at the seams at times, like when garbage is not picked up for weeks on end and is left roadside, blocking traffic and even cows from passing by, but the people here pick up the pieces when the government can or will not.

So, today is the celebration of the birth of a functioning government in my adopted nation and a celebration that I am here to witness it. Birthdays are so much better than the alternative.

There is a strange cocktail of emotions that I experience every time I leave. Nostalgia, sadness, excitement at seeing what has changed, anxiety, trepidation, missing my family and friends even before I have left them. I inevitably try to cram in as many experiences as possible to produce fond memories until the next time I see them…

And, of course, a certain amount of inner chaos, guilt, and questioning goes on in the days leading to my flight… “Why do I do this? Why do I leave? Am I doing the right thing? Will I ever settle down again?”

The answer is always compelling to me, because I am not certain “why” I just “know.”

I am fully aware what is in store for me. I am taking the route I enjoy the most and with the best in flight movies. I love leaving Newark, New Jersey and waking up in New Delhi, India. It feels like crossing worlds, not continents.

As soon as I step off the tarmac, pass through immigration and grab my luggage and make my way towards the crowds of people yelling, the smell always hits, this overwhelming masala of smells that can only be found in Delhi. It is a combination of rotting garbage, sweet smells of chat stalls, curries, exhaust, and the essence human beings all mixed into an aroma that is choking the first time you smell it. Then and only then does the brain register the heat.

The heat is impossible, or one would think, but millions of people are still able to live- and thrive- in it. It just takes the body a little while to realize “I can do this…” All it takes is a little more focus than usual on breathing, and realizing that it really is impossible to suffocate because of the dense nature of the air.

I know I am going back to a Kathmandu that is in the throws of political chaos, fuel, water and food shortages, and limited electricity, which is really nothing new. In fact, I love getting a front row seat to the beginning of a new (maybe) Republic.

So this is just the beginning of yet another adventure. I invite everyone reading this to come along, as I am certain it will be as uncertain, chaotic and entertaining as before.

So when we pulled onto the shoulder in the middle of nowhere, chose a bright-red-and-white chicken, watched a man cut its head off and stick it in a blood-draining funnel, and then wrap it up in a plastic bag which we then put in our trunk and ate with rice the next day, neither of us even flinched.

We’d been invited to this mountain town by our couchsurfer’s students, Zana and Nejad, for the weekend.

The rockstar alert was a little higher here in Rania. The fair faces of the Kurds stared and followed us through the bazaar full of kebab stands, barber shops, lurid god jewelry displays and basic goods like power strips, soap and spark plugs. Some Kurds pumped our hand with a grateful glee, some said “Hello!”, others couldn’t bother. One clothing store clerk with a friendly, eager and somewhat sad smile started a conversation in English and invited us to take a seat. His story gave us chills.

“From Kirkuk, but I lived to UK for two years, but then they make problem to me. I must leave. My father, he worked to Saddam. My brother he killed someone two years ago. I was just a little boy. But people make problem to me. Now I am in Erbil. But people make problem for me here, too. We will see. ”

Stories of Kurds escaping to the UK was common. One of our hosts, Nejad, had lived there for four years. He lived in a low-income London suburb with his brother, worked day and night in a Soho falafel shop, then sent the money home to his parents for rebuilding, medical costs, basic needs.

But other kids were luckier. Zana’s father lives in Norway and sends money home to provide for the family. Zana attends the University of Kurdistan and goes home to visit his mother, the patriotically-named Kurdistan and his sisters Soma and Sonya every weekend (which in here, is on Friday and Saturday). Kurdistan is a warm, busty woman with skin the color of muddy coffee and henna-highlighted hair. She hugs me tightly and instantly and lets me help in the kitchen, a rarity. The bathroom here, like all others we’ve seen so far in Rania is a wet squat without toilet paper.

Zana took us through family albums in the living room portraying a typical teenager’s life with friends, relative’s weddings, picnics and graduations. Except Zana has two grandmothers because his grandfather had two wives

Just another day in Northern Iraq.