The Waiting Place...

The Waiting Place...

...Contemplations on those who left, by those left behind

Friday, December 31, 2004

Eva wrote me this week to say,

Just thought you might be interested in how my visit today went with the Psychiatrist Zainab recommended to me...

His name is, Shaidul Islam, and as his name implies he is a Muslim...He was also very nice and in the entryway I saw he was a Captain in US Navy...honorably discharged in 2003.

I filled out this rather long form about symptoms and then answered questions...In the end he put me on Welbutrin XL for the depression and recent anxiety attacks, and Eskalith to balance out my moods, I mentioned how I tend to go from happy to angry to sad all in a matter of seconds...

Then after a week, I am going to go see him again...we will see how these effect me and if I like them better...

Hopefully this can help me get some more stability to how I am feeling so I feel in control of things again...cause right now I feel like a person with a whole lot of responsibility and barely the sanity to handle it...

I have faith in this Doc though...so Godwilling that faith is not misplaced...

Love,

Eva XXXXXXXXXXXXXXOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

posted by Trish | 5:26 PM

Monday, December 27, 2004

Meran, ever the entrepreneur, emailed me today about investment opportunities in Iraq (most probably in the north, where he's from...) He said*, "Hay if you are thinking of buying some iraqi dinar let me know i will buy it for you becuase i think there is a chance of worth a lot more after elections or in couple years.

for example $1000 dollars will become $1,000,000 iraqi dinar and may be
later you could change it for at least $700,000 becouse there are a lot of corporations waiting to inter Iraq after elections. think about it."

* Forgive the spelling - English is his second language, but he does very well overall!

posted by Trish | 1:12 PM

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

I was manning the front desk at work today, and a man came to the window. He was an interpreter who was looking for a hearing that he thought was at our office. I checked the sheet he had been given and yes, it was our address and today's date, but no hearing was scheduled according to our records. We left a voice message to a phone number on his sheet explaining the problem, but before he left, I noticed his name tag said he was a Kurdish interpreter, first name of Kazim. I mentioned Meran Abdullah to him, and he said he knows Meran. What a small world, sometimes...*

* I later received an email from Meran saying yes, he remembers Kazim!

posted by Trish | 9:16 PM

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Eva and Meran become overcome with emotion as he is called to board the plane...

posted by Trish | 12:11 AM

Meran says goodbye to his boys; he returns to Iraq to continue his job as interpreter/translator...

posted by Trish | 12:10 AM

Meran is tackled by the boys on the new trampoline!

posted by Trish | 12:03 AM

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

Mu'min proudly displays his new work of art (December 2004)

posted by Trish | 11:02 PM

Thursday, December 02, 2004

Call me crazy, but the more I read and hear about pain/war/injustice around the world (or am I just becoming more sensitive to what's been going on all along...?), the more I am being pushed by my conscience to get directly involved. If you hear about me pulling up stakes, and becoming one of those funny old lady peace volunteer/activists you hear about, going overseas to help whereever & whoever, or walking the streets to publicize the evildoers and the evil they do, don't be surprised...

posted by Trish | 4:13 PM

These are some of my heroes...

posted by Trish | 3:52 PM

reviews

The Weblog Review says

"...focuses more on the human aspect of the Middle East conflict...marvelously refreshing" and "...a portrait of a genuinely loving marriage, and what happens when two people who love each other are torn apart by circumstances."

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Click here to see more images from Eva's visit to Iraqi Kurdistan, to visit Meran in late 2003

I spoke with my daughter and son-in-law tonight. Meran said he wasn't nervous. He sounded resolved, certain that what he was about to do was the right thing. Maybe a bit of his confidence was to help Eva and his sisters feel better about it and not worry for him, but I think he truly believes he should be doing this.

...it's been indicated to Meran that it's more likely that when he's deployed, he won't be going to Kuwait, but Northern Iraq since a northern front is now being established and they'll need Kurdish translators and interpreters onsite.

The poem below was written by a human rights activist that befriended Meran in the Turkish refugee camps. It is all true, based on recollections and memories shared with her by Meran. It was published in a book called "Kurdistan Times", a biannual publication of the Kurdish Human Rights Watch, Copyright 1997...

MY HOME IN KURDISTAN
By Margareta Hanson

My home, so
my father told me
was in a valley
in the mountains,
with a river
clear and cold,
its water running
from the snowfields.

In the garden
fruit trees grew.
We had cucumbers,
grapes and melons.
In the barn
there were, of course,
cows and sheep and
my father's horse.

In our home,
heated by
the baking oven
were handmade carpets
of all colors.
It was my home
until 1980 when
I was two years old.
Then came Saddam's soldiers.
Iraqi troops
bulldozed our house
and the barn,
destroyed the garden
and drove us out
from our valley
in the mountains.

Hunted, homeless,
frightened,
we had to flee.
My father's horse
carrying some
blankets, pots and pans
and my older brother
carrying me.

For years we walked
at night
lighted by the stars.
We were hungry,
cold and ill,
sleeping in a tent
as from place
to place we went.

Like that
we lived
until 1988
when I was
ten years old.
Then planes flew by
and chemical bombs
exploded in the sky.

I had run, was
hiding in the mountains.
When I returned I found
that my mother,
my father, and my brother
were laying dead.
Peshmergas helped me
bury them, and then I fled.

Four years went by.
I stayed with
thousands of other Kurds
in a Turkish camp.
We lived in tents.
For heat the sun,
for light at night
the shining stars.

Now I am in another world
of neon lights and cars.
Here in the United States
I go to school and work at night.
I call myself a man and say
"Forgotten is the pain,
I am on my way."

But when I sleep
I am a child at home
in the valley
in the mountains
with the river
cold and clear,
it's water running
from the snowfields.

In the garden
fruit trees grow.
We have cucmbers,
grapes and melons.
In the barn
there are, of course,
cows and sheep
and my father's horse.

In my dream
I clearly see them,
my father, my mother
and my older brother,
in our home
in the valley
in the mountains
in my country, Kurdistan.

I am asking you, my friend,
is there a Kurdistan,
a land that is mine,
that will welcome me?
Is there a land
of peace and democracy
where all people are free
and living in harmony?

Where hate and murder
does not exist
and every man and
woman is a friend?
If so, Kurdistan, I am
your long-lost son
who wants to go home
and never leave again!