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Kirkuk, the world's saddest city
29.6.2011
Inside the Other Iraq: Exclusive
Columns by Mariwan Salihi
- ekurd.net
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June
29, 2011
Today, I was reminded of a scene I went through in
late 2005. I was in the car with my father, driving
from Erbil to Kirkuk. I was very excited, as it was
going to become my first trip to the city of my
birth; when we left Kirkuk back in 1991, due to the
Gulf War and the failed uprising against the
previous regime in that year, I was just a baby.
I did have 'some' vague memories of the city and
life then, and the old photo's of the 1980s and
early 1990s really helped me in creating a romantic
image of the city. Kirkuk, back in the old days, was
a wealthy, clean, multi-cultural and multi-ethnic
urban center. As Iraq's fourth largest city (after
Baghdad, Basra and Mosul), It was dubbed 'the city
of brotherhood,' because of the peaceful coexistence
of Kurds, Arabs, Turkmen, Assyrians and Armenians in
one area. Even when it came to religion, no one
seemed to care if you were a Sunni or Shiite Muslim,
a Christian or even a Jew (although, most left after
the creation of Israel in 1948); Kirkuk was a 'mini
Iraq,' a mosaic of all of Iraq's main ethnic and
religious groups.
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Mariwan Salihi |
After 30 minutes or so from
leaving Erbil, we arrived in the 'real Iraq' – the
border between self-ruled Kurdistan Region and the
rest of Iraq. The checkpoints were serious, although
the Iraqi soldiers were very friendly and polite:
they were from Kirkuk, after all!
I could see the barren landscape around Kirkuk, the
flames from the rich oil fields, and signboards
leading to Tikrit, Baghdad, Sulaimaniyah, or back to
Erbil. Being extremely curios, my eyes were
observing each inch of the area…but I was
overwhelmed and shocked. Suddenly, I lost control of
my emotions, and started to cry like a baby, like
the baby that left Kirkuk during the war. I couldn't
do anything, really anything, to stop crying. My
father was surprised, as he never saw that much tear
falling from my eyes. And I was begging myself from
inside to stop crying, but I couldn't help it, while
my father was trying to comfort me. My emotions
wanted to be freed, so I just give them that luxury
for that moment.
I was hurt, in fact I still am. The beautiful, and
upscale, Kirkuk that I once knew, didn't appear in
front of my tearing eyes. It was more or less a
'grey city' taken back to the Middle Ages. Well, it
didn't actually seem to be a city anymore, it was an
ugly village, I thought. There was so much
destruction,www.ekurd.netthat
I wished I never asked to be brought there. Garbage
was everywhere, the infrastructure was in a bad
condition…there were few trees, and I could count
the people on the streets on one hand. The houses
were in such a dire need of help: they were
screaming, I thought, to be bulldozed and not
renovated! During that visit, Kirkuk seemed to be
the saddest city in the world. So sad, that some
people will tell you that they haven't smiled for at
least two decades.
Who could I blame? Saddam? The Americans? The Turks,
and their continuous interference in this city's
affairs? The Kurdish government? The United Nations?
Maybe North Korea or Cuba…but that didn't make much
sense! My mind stopped thinking for a while.
Could this be the Kirkuk which my mom used to
describe as Iraq's cleanest city? Yes, back days it
used to get awards from the government for that, but
not anymore! Could this be the city of one of the
world's largest oil-fields? Could this be the
ancient city, so famous for its beautiful thousands
of years old citadel, and the birthplace of Prophet
Daniel? Was Kirkuk, I wondered, still Iraq's fourth
largest city (one million-plus inhabitants in its
'good days')? Of course not, Erbil has taken that
title by now!
Due to the city's situation, most of its original
inhabitants were forcibly, or voluntarily, displaced
to Kurdistan, Europe, US or elsewhere around the
world. The city's current population is somehow not
the original – many Kurdish villagers and Arab
settlers from southern Iraq have become 'Kirkukis
today.
I refused to accept this reality, in fact, I asked
my father why he brought me there. "This is not
Kirkuk! Why did you bring me to this ugly place,"
the young Mariwan protested. But it was me who was
disillusioned. All the signboards on the road were
leading us to this city – to Kirkuk. At least, I
thought, there's a 'Welcome to Kirkuk' sign. But
perhaps, of all its visitors, I was the least who
felt welcome there.
Ever since that trip, I have avoided to visit Kirkuk
again. Yes, I have passed through it on the way from
Erbil to Sulaimaniyah. But that's it. Even the
outskirts of the city still haunt me while going to
Sulaimaniyah: my grandmother and my two martyred
uncles are buried in the main cemetery of Rahim Awa
– visible from the main Kirkuk to Sulaimaniyah
highway. The only thing I do then is remembering my
childhood, and the good old times this martyred city
has seen. I then make a quick wish, while the car is
speeding at 180 km an hour: May God never take away
those beautiful memories from me. And then, I dream,
that a day will come that I can take my own
yet-to-be-born children, and perhaps grandchildren,
to see a changed Kirkuk. One of prosperity,
brotherhood, harmony and everlasting peace.
Mariwan
F. Salihi, is a Netherlands
national, a freelance journalist covering Iraqi
and other Middle Eastern issues, and
regular columnist for eKurd.net. You may reach the author via email at: mariwan.journalist@gmail.com
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