Life in Iraqi Kurdistan as a Western Woman
Pre-referendum insights in the Kurdish Region of Iraq and my take on Anthony Bourdain’s episode of No Reservations, Kurdistan
“When I told people I was going to Kurdistan, I got blank looks, a curious expression, ‘Where exactly is that?’ the expression seemed to say.”
— Bourdain’s opener to No Reservations, Kurdistan.
Sitting on my mother’s couch last October, I saw what is now my current job listed on a teaching forum. I had the same reaction:
“Wait… what is Kurdistan?”
Fast forward to today. Eight days before an independence referendum that locals hope will yield the birth of a baby nation — a unified Kurdistan, completely separate from Iraq.
I’m attempting to think next to a bowl of partially eaten figs and the sound of exuberant chaos outside of my bedroom window in Duhok. Phony police sirens and car horns are blaring on celebratory loop. I glance down at my phone and frown in adoration, imagining how cute and useless my air horn app would be if it participated in the celebrations outside.
The streets reveal what has become a regular spectacle these days: fireworks, a traffic jam caused by teenage boys dancing in the middle of the road, people hanging out of cars, and nationalist colors on the cars themselves (just saw a sedan literally covered from rim-to-rim in a Kurdish flag paint job).
The smell of the independence is in the air… that and kebab meat.
It’s hard to believe that, nearly a year ago, I didn’t know this place existed.
Back to that point in time, on my mom’s couch. Having felt rather disturbed by my ignorance of this alleged place, I created a rudimentary crash course on Kurdistan for geo-political idiots (me), researching for hours before I applied. This was made possible thanks to lightning speed, uncensored internet access — a luxury I had missed while living in China prior to this point on the couch.
The YouTube spree, wikitravel articles, Vice documentaries, news pieces, Quora forums, a phone call with a friend of a friend who lived there and messages to almost every single semi-active couchsurfer who lives in Kurdistan (one of whom I share an apartment with now), helped me glean enough information about this region to feel like maybe it was an okay place to be.
Had I known about Bourdain’s No Reservations episode, I could have probably saved some hours. While watching, I experienced so many “YES,” moments, like during his conversation with American soldiers about how mellow it is to live here day-to-day. And definite “NAILED IT” moments, like when he iterates what’s actually the most threatening thing about living in Kurdistan: tedium and autocratic bureaucracy near the Turkish border.
Hilariously ironic was the near seven-minute intro spent on the military combat training that Bourdain and his crew underwent to visit the place I call home. The place where money changers set their cash on the street because no one steals it. Bourdain comments in the end that he felt a bit silly to have had all that training, four Peshmerga body guards, and bullet proof chest armor after seeing how safe Kurdistan was.
Bourdain captured the warmth, hope and hospitable charm of this place, yes. Absolutely yes. And rather amazingly, he managed to honestly depict Kurdish cuisine in a positive light without grandiosely fluffing it up to be something it isn’t. Quite a feat for a food-based series in an area where cuisine doesn’t exactly shine like a chef’s knife.
There is one part for me that was overlooked, however, as it always is: what it’s like to be a woman in this society.
Bourdain alluded to it just once while at a teahouse, joking, “No coffee, no booze and no women allowed.”
While he makes it sound a bit like an endearing boys club, this club gets really old when you lack the preferred parts for participation and are faced with that every single day. Riding in a taxi, furniture shopping, eating at a restaurant, walking to the market, buying vegetables, stopping for tea — all of these mundane activities start to feel a little strange, and often uncomfortable, when there are essentially zero women around you. At all times.
For all of the raw, honest moments and pleasant realities revealed, Bourdain effectively overlooked 50% of the population in making this episode. He and his crew of, well, men, represent the other half. The half that isn’t obligated to ask permission before leaving the house and can walk alone after sundown without being judged, followed or stared at with every step.
For me, his failure to identify this even slightly is a bit of a tragic loss, as it’s something I feel gravely— even with my own privilege as a Western woman. I invite male friends to my house all the time, I can swim in a resort pool with a bathing suit on, and I don’t feel ashamed when I walk somewhere alone. But with these liberties, I still feel the oppressive weight of uncomfortable stares as I pass the baker, the tire salesman, the taxi drivers and the kebab shop. Apart from frequent cases of harassment, I’ve been totally safe here. Men stare partly out of curiosity, and largely out of sexual frustration. Thankfully, that’s typically where it ends — for me. The weight of this issue for local women is obviously much more significant, however.
It doesn’t appear that Bourdain’s crew visited the more conservative side of the KRI where I live. The fact that they were advised to wear body armor when heading from Erbil to the Turkish border could have had something to do with it. After all, a stop in my city would have obviously been too much of a liability (again, this is simply hilarious to me at this point).
But I wonder if he had paid a visit to Duhok, or Ronya, or if maybe the fixers in this piece could have found a way for him to speak more freely to women, if his story would have changed at all. Sadly, I don’t think so. Because I don’t think women would have complained, and certainly not to a man — one rather befuddling trend in the gender chasm. Furthermore, all attention goes to the “unified” Kurdistan, even when half of the population is completely misrepresented.
Remember that time on my mom’s couch I keep mentioning? Well, everything I read or watched was created by a man, and nearly everyone I spoke to was also a man. Foolishly, I ignored their inability to analyze, by no fault of their own, what the female experience is like here. On the flipside, that’s also why I’m thankful to have it for myself.
Kurdistan has elected female officials. Some women wear tight jeans, drive cars, and even fight in the military. They have a voice. But somehow, I never hear it… The elephant in the room here stands among the individuals themselves. It often feels like no one, not even other women, want to speak up or discuss this reality in a critical manner. It’s just, “the way it is.”
Well then, fuck the way it is.
And thank you Anthony Bourdain for doing almost everything else right. One day your daughter will visit Kurdistan and have a very different experience than you.
Of that we can be sure.
In the meantime, I will continue to admire the girl from my friend’s blog who dared to ride a bike to school, my 19-year-old student who sneaks out of her house to go hiking, and the women who founded Duhok’s film festival. So often, people are disempowered to the point of resignation. But then there are those who aren’t.
A flame needs just one spark and a breath of fresh air.
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