[ bollettini ]

A few weeks ago I started taking Kurdish classes again. The attempt I made to learn the language at the beginning of last year dramatically failed and in the meantime I only managed to pick a few words here and there.

Frustration for not being able to understand the culture of this place fully, added to the difficulties of daily communications.

I thus decided to start asking around and eventually managed to find a teacher. He is a student of Linguistics, comes from a very conservative family and has never shaken my hand since we first met. We have had five classes until now and we are having a really good time.

One thing that we have in common is a deep passion for grammar. I therefore feel entitled to ask million of questions on how language, syntax and structure of the words work. My favourite Kurdish word has become “bo?” – which means “why?”

I feel like a mixture of a three year old girl who is discovering the world and a six year old who is learning to describe it by “carving” words, letter after letter, on a notebook – this is me when we do dictation!

My inhibitions, beginner mistakes and perfectionism make me think that it will be a while before I will actually manage to utter my first full sentence in public. The other day, B. asked me to translate a sentence from a book – I looked at the words, I knew them all, and thus with great pride I slowly started saying: “… his… brother… is… a… girl!” B. looked at me in disbelief and burst out laughing. I was too proud of having been able to recognise all the words to realise what I was saying. When I actually did realise, I got really embarrassed (that was not the most appropriate thing to say to a member of the Muslim Brotherhood…) and started laughing; it took a fair bit for us to stop laughing and get back to work. For your information, the correct translation was: “he is the girl’s brother”!

One of the most fascinating discoveries so far is that, through the language, I am learning a lot about Kurdish culture and mentality. Last week we were studying phrasal verbs and B. was explaining me how to construct the different tenses. It was a real moment of enlightenment – present and future are constructed in the same way, there is no difference. The explanation is very simple (yet dramatically profound): for Kurdish people present IS the future.

A day on the mountain always offers more than a story to tell.

Yesterday I went to visit the Bestoon Cave on the Bradost Mountain. The cave – that according to the legend is so long to be endless – was discovered in 1951 and it is one of the Modern Stone Age sites that are around Kurdistan. It was a nice feeling to know that I was in Neanderthal Man’s house… To keep company to the ancient stone stalagmites and stalactites there were younger ones made of ice: transience and permanence one next to the other: different in substance and yet so similar in shape…

It was very suggestive: mountains here are so old that they force you to rethink the sense of time.

After visiting the caves, we continued roaming up and down the mountains: the snow added an extra layer of tranquillity. Around lunch time, we stopped to have a bite on a quiet spot on the side of the road with a stunning view of three different chains of mountains at the far end of the valley in front of us. A few minutes after we set up our picnic, a car honks and slows down. Nothing surprising about it because people here are always very curious about foreigners. Their call, though, was not a gesture of kindness, it was rather one of warning. ”Careful, landmines!”, they tell us. Not five minutes have passed when another car does the same. We look around and we realise that we have parked the car by a landmine field – the red flags that signal it are slightly hidden by the trees. After a cold shiver, this situation becomes the main subject of several bad jokes, including the concern about where to pee after lunch considering that no one wants to be blown up… it is fascinating how dry humour becomes a powerful means to face fear. We get back in the car and continue our exploration. We listen to a pretty unusual selectionof songs, including a Hawaiian reggae tune that goes: you’ve got to live Hawaiian style… nothing could be more strident than this in relation to the environment that surrounds us. The song actually begins the very moment we drive past another landmine field – this one is very big and prepared to be cleared. Inside the fence that limits the area I see a black squirrel running around unconcerned. Just outside the fence there is a herd of wild horses. The soundtrack gives the scene a surreal twist, yet is seems to clearly reveal the sense ofdisplacement I am feeling. There are things that seem so distant and yet they have become part of my daily life.

This morning I went to look for some information to try and understand the situation a little better. All over Iraq there are still 25 million unexploded landmines. in Kurdistan, that has started since 2002 a serious and constant de-mining campaign, there are still 716 mined villages and 2241 landmine fields – these figures make my head spin. Italy, it seems, found a way to make herself useful: in the late 1980s, during the Iraq-Iran war, she was one of the main mine exporters in Iraq.

- you like kebabs at 6 in the morning even if you are not drunk

- you think it is a good idea to fix a laptop with a hairdryer

- you think that the answer to how are you is thank you

- you have a soft spot for sandstorms

- you think that flairs are the last fashion

- you can’t leave without a thick moustache

- you believe that picnics are the most amusing activity on earth

- you fancy women wearing sequined polyester clothes and heavy make up

- you like to drive like drunk blindfolded sheep on acid

- you use industrial strength air freshener as deodorant

- you think the only decent building material is concrete

- your word for food is bread and your word for drink is eat

- you think pointy shoes are the way to the future

- you think mountains are Kurd’s best friends

- you sign all professional correspondence with beast regards

Written for Andy in a morning exchange with Melinda and Sebastian.

Un anno passa, un anno vola, un anno cambia faccia…..

It has been a long time since my last bulletin. Time runs fast and I often find myself chasing it.

Love has come, has gone away and maybe one day will come back.

Occasional friends change. I have been disillusioned by people I trusted, but new encounters have surprised me.

There is always a chat and a glass of wine; and there are new ways of feeling the cycle of time and season.

The two students who walked up and down the university yard in a magnetic game of gazes are still doing it, their longing made sweeter by its impossibility, desire and the passing of time.

Two other students got officially engaged. They came to my office to break the news: they were smiling and carrying a tray of baklavas. They now walk around holding hands: openly and light-heartedly.

We had the elections of the new Student Union and there has been a major change: we now have two girls in the executive committee. Girls ran for the first time for offices that were not solely concerned with women’s affairs. It is an amazing step ahead that fills me with joy and pride.

Sandstorms are less frequent and less yellow. They come suddenly can cover everything with a sleepy layer of melancholy.

Saturday afternoon, Melinda and I walk around the Citadel looking for the Christmas presents. All of a sudden the smell of freshly baked biscuits distracts us and, following our noses, we end up getting lost. Strolling around, we walk past a chaikhana, an old tea house with lots of windows and mirror-works decorations on the columns. The owner notices that I am curiously looking around and invites us in. A chaikhana is not quite a woman’s place… it is where men gather to drink tea, talk politics and play domino. The invitation to enter takes us by surprise and we decide not to lose such an opportunity. We choose a table that is neither too exposed nor too visible and pretend to have a confident attitude. The owner in broken English asks us where we are from. Melinda is the first to answer and “America” doesn’t make too much of an impression on him. When it is my turn to answer the old man’s face of lights up and he exclaims: “Italians: Communists!” His reaction takes me completely off guard and I don’t know how to react. But I only need to look at the huge smile on his face to understand and confirm with a smile even bigger than his own! On our way out, he doesn’t let us pay. Standing at the door I turn around to say goodbye and, again, with an enthusiastic face a clenched fist tells me: “Italians: Communists!” and I, completely moved, answer: “Yes! Italians: Communists!”

How good is it that in this corner of the world there is someone who reminds me that in my country there is something more than just Berlusconi!