I was particularly disenchanted with what Shaima, one of my students, told me. Shaima was extremely bright and eager to learn English to become a journalist/translator. Despite that she was an extremely intelligent and capable human being, she couldn’t go out to buy a birthday gift for her husband. She and her husband had just moved to town and didn’t know anyone. Since she was a woman, it was not suitable for her to venture out on her own, even to run a simple errand, and she didn’t want to have to go with her husband because it would have ruined the surprise. Lame culture, ruining fun birthdays!
The regional rules, however unwritten, were proving to be the metaphorical restrictive ankle straps for the Iraqi women, invisibly tethering them to the confines of their homes.
Travel to other cultures is supposed to expand our minds and tolerance. Living in other cultures doesn’t have quite the same effect. Sometimes, becoming culturally aware means learning unpleasant things about said culture. It’s not all folk dancing and beautiful, handmade textiles.
Chapter Twenty-six
Common Sense, Totally Broken
We were halfway through the course when my students asked if I would be teaching them again next term. I explained, apologetically, that I would be going back up to Erbil to teach there. (Part of me was wistful at leaving my new Suli friends, the students, and Awat. The other part of me was all, “Hooray! Progressive Dinners! My microwave!”)
I was extremely flattered when my students all seemed upset by this news. Avin said to me, “I told my family all about you, how you are such a good teacher, and so beautiful, and I want to be just like you.” The ugly teenager inside my brain cried, “Beautiful? Really? You think I’m beautiful?” The moderately less vain grown-up inside my head smacked the ugly teenager and yelled, “There is a more important message here!”
Avin was twenty-one years old and close to graduating university with a degree in psychology. Her English was very good, and she spoke with an awesome level of confidence in class. In the first week, we had been discussing the local culture and how it was not acceptable for women to be out and about after the sun set. Men could run around freely and have dinner with their friends or just hang out on the street. Unless they were accompanied by a male family member, women could not. They were assumed to be whores.
I asked the class what they thought of that unwritten rule. Not surprisingly, the women didn’t like it, and Avin went so far as to cross her arms and shake her head violently and say, “I HATE it! I HATE THAT RULE!” She was as emphatic with her hatred for the cultural restriction as Awat was with his hatred of Iraq’s soccer team. The men in class were mostly in their early twenties and said they didn’t like the rule, but they also really didn’t seem particularly concerned with it. Like “Well, whatever, I really just wish I were playing video games right now.”
There were plenty of people in Iraq who would claim that the women were perfectly happy and content to stay at home. “They prefer it!” And I was sure there were some women who had no desire to go out in public, regardless of the time of day. But there were also plenty of girls and women like Avin.
For the first time it dawned on me that some of the female students might view me as a role model. Wow. I was like a grown-up, less-annoying version of Hannah Montana.
Must remember to use newfound power only for good and not for selling records and mediocre, bubblegum-poppy feature films.
Awat brought the subject up of my leaving when we were having our after-class chat. He said, “I will miss you … if only—you know ‘if only’—it mean ‘wish’? There is song by West Life…” And then he began reciting the lyrics to some song by some British band called West Life:
If only you could see the tears
In the world you left behind
If only you could heal my heart
Just one more time
Even when I close my eyes
There’s an image of your face
And once again I come to realize
You’re a loss I can’t replace
Oh my God. I was completely agape, and said, “Wow, that’s, um, romantic.” Even though I was secretly entertaining a crush on him, I had to remain outwardly professional. He was still my student.
I wasn’t even sure if he realized what he was saying or how it sounded to me. I quickly changed the subject and avoided eye contact. I noticed that he was wearing a new watch, a nice leather-banded, large-faced watch, and I complimented him on it. I asked if I could try it on, and once it was on my wrist he said, “You keep it!” I exclaimed, “Noooooooo, no no no.” He asked, “Why?! I want you have it. I like it for you.” I pointed out that I already had a watch, and I really liked his watch on him.
What was happening?
While I was trying to ignore my growing feelings for one of my students, I discovered that Nina was fully embracing her feelings for one of hers. In one of the car rides from school she had nonchalantly asked, “So, if one of my students wanted to invite me to their house, would it be okay for me to go?” Teachers were often invited to get-togethers at the park with their students, or for group coffee meetings, or even one-on-one meetings between same-sex student and teacher.
I asked, “Is the student a female?”
Nina said, “No…”
I offered, “If it’s in a group situation, it’s fine, but if it’s just one of your male students, inviting just you to his house, I would say no.” I would absolutely not have gone anywhere with Awat alone. I couldn’t be trusted with myself.
The next night, Ellen, who was Nina’s roommate, said Nina had been dropped off at the house in a red BMW by a Kurdish man. We deduced she had not listened to our advice when the red BMW continued to appear at the compound. I couldn’t really begrudge her wanting to have some sort of social life. She hadn’t bonded with anyone from the university, and she was probably pretty lonely. But life is likely to be lonely when you say a lot of weird stuff and frequently offend people.
We had one week of vacation coming up. Eid al-Fitr was the finale to Ramadan, when the month of fasting would be finished and the Muslim families could all celebrate with dinners and parties. We would not have class that week. After that we only had one week left and then the semester would be over. Awat said, “I think I will cry when this class ends. I don’t want to say good-bye.” I didn’t want to say good-bye to him either.
Conversely, all of the teachers were really looking forward to saying good-bye to Nina. Everyone who had been hired on the three-month temporary contracts (Nina, Bobby, Ellen, and Kelly) had interviewed with Warren, and Bobby, Ellen, and Kelly were offered the official one-year contract. Nina was not, although she was unaware of this. It was somewhat awkward to work with her, as Bobby, Ellen, and Kelly couldn’t discuss their renewed contracts, per Warren. He claimed he was worried that if Nina knew her contract wasn’t being renewed, she would leave during the vacation and not come back. This would leave Warren with a class of students for which we would have to find a substitute. Nina was constantly bringing up the topic and would say things like, “I sure wish they would let us know if our contracts were being renewed.”
So, in addition to feeling uncomfortable around her due to vast personality differences, we had the added pressure of having to be dishonest. Once Nina was gone, the general atmosphere would be positive and easy again, and we wouldn’t have to think of how to carry on awkward conversations about her hotness or her wild theories. I was sure there were people, somewhere, who were Nina-kind-of-people, and I wanted her to find them. But they weren’t here.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The Straw That Broke the Donkey’s Back
I went to Stockholm, Sweden, for the Eid break and was certain the trip would give me a little perspective. I simply could not be romantically interested in one of my students. It was ridiculous. He was a Kurdish Muslim who was fifteen years younger than me and slept in the same bedroom as his mother. I’d just been in a little surreal bubble for too long and needed to get out o
f town, get out of the country, get out of my head a little.
Stockholm seemed like the ideal place to go, not only because I was one-quarter Swedish and wanted to get back to my roots, but also because there was a new airline, Viking Air, that flew nonstop to Stockholm from both Suli and Erbil. That flight could also be extended to continue on to London’s Gatwick airport. That was going to be a possible option for when I next flew back home to the United States.
The luggage allowance of thirty kilos alone was enough of an incentive for me to fly with them. Stupid Austrian Airlines and their measly twenty kilos. I’d show them. My new favorite airline, Viking Air, would give me ample luggage allowance and perspective.
In hindsight, I maybe should have gone with someone on the trip, though, so I didn’t end up alone with my own thoughts. Even though I was supposed to be clearing my head, I was still thinking about Awat. Without the distraction of someone else’s chatter, I checked into my hotel room and thought, “Oh, I wish he were here with me; he would love this. It has PlayStation.” Seriously. I had a vivid dream about him during the trip, where there was passionate kissing and a movie theater. The movie theater wasn’t significant; it was just all I could remember other than the kissing.
When I arrived back in Suli, I found this in my work email inbox:
From: Awat
To: gretchen
Subject: hi teacher how are you, i wish nice trip for you, enjoy your time and g0ing
What? (Later he explained he had trouble sending this message, and when I showed him the above he said, “No, I sent another,” which I hadn’t received.)
The universe was giving me a sign. The sign was that we needed to work on Awat’s writing skills, but I ignored that. The real sign was that he had emailed me on the same day that I had the dream about him. That was something, wasn’t it? Anyone? Horoscope? Bueller?
So, I returned from Stockholm, without the perspective I was looking for, but with two beautiful new sweaters, a ruffled Lanvin top from a fantastic high-end consignment shop, $100 worth of fashion magazines, and no overweight luggage charges.
My first bright, sunny day back at school, I was walking to class and saw Awat strolling toward the classroom cabin. Oh God, he was really gorgeous. Tall, dark, and handsome, just like in all the romance novels. Jen had even admitted there was just something different about him. She said, “He almost seems like royalty or something.” He was wearing a blue button-down shirt that I hadn’t seen before, with chest hair teasingly peeking out of the top, and aviator sunglasses, and…ohhhhh, this was not good.
He grinned widely when he saw me, and we joined up and walked the rest of the way to the classroom together. Without looking at me, his head bowed, he said softly, “I missed you.”
Dammit, where was that perspective? What was wrong with me? I responded in appropriate teacherlike fashion with, “Oh, that is so sweet, thank you!” and said nothing about how I was thinking about him while I was away and wished that he could have come with me, and that I had had a kissing dream about him, and other completely inappropriate thoughts I had had over the break.
After class he told me he had to go up to Erbil the following Monday. I said, “I will be in Erbil then! You should stop by the villas and say hi!” He seemed excited about this and agreed, “Yes! I will visit you! And I will bring my fat friend!” I understood that since it was a long trip, he would want to bring a friend along for the ride. I assumed they would take a taxi, since Awat said his “fat friend” was also not allowed to drive. Class would be completely finished by then.
We would be outside of the university environment for the first time.
My head was spinning with the delirium of seeing Awat again; at the same time I was trying to process the horror that had happened in Suli while I was gone. The night I arrived back, I walked into the kitchen where Jen was having a late-night snack. I asked her how the week had gone here, and Jen said, “Well, not great. Nina was attacked.”
Me: WHAT?! Attacked? What do you mean attacked? Not raped?
Jen: Yeah, she was raped.
Oh God. The red BMW guy.
Me: What happened? Where was she?
Jen proceeded to explain that Nina had been out walking, after dark, by herself, outside of the compound, and two Kurdish men in a truck grabbed her. I exploded. “WHAT? Ellen told her, specifically, not to walk outside of the compound by herself! WHAT WAS SHE DOING?” I was outraged because she knew better, or she should have known better.
Ellen and I had gone running one afternoon, on the trail that wound around out behind the compound into an open expanse of land that led up toward the mountains. It was broad daylight, in the middle of the day, and it was just the two of us. Two Kurdish men on a small motorbike drove up the trail and started following us. They ended up driving back and forth, past us several times, and calling out “Choni!” while slowing the bike down.
The driver of the motorbike looked drunk. Initially we just ignored them, but when they continued to circle us, I finally lost my patience and barked “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” There was a time and a place for cultural sensitivity, but it certainly wasn’t when the “culture” was harassing you. I didn’t feel threatened, but I could tell Ellen did. The Kurds were both small, and at least one was drunk. I was pretty sure we could have taken them. I know fake kung fu.
They eventually drove off, but Ellen was very shaken up by that experience and said, “Nina comes running back here by herself a lot. I’ll have to tell her not to do that anymore.”
So my reaction to hearing that Nina had been attacked was a mixture of horror at the attack and helpless outrage at her general lack of common sense. I felt guilty for being angry, but at the same time where was her brain?
She had been walking by herself, after dark—not advised.
She had smiled and waved at two random Kurdish men in a truck—nooooo.
She had accepted a ride from the two random Kurdish men in the truck. NO NO NO—STRANGER DANGER!
Jen said that since it happened, Nina had been telling everyone about the attack, including all the new faculty and staff who had only arrived a week ago. She was also still trying to get her contract renewed to stay in Iraq. Warren had two university employees approach him, on unrelated, separate occasions, and suggest that he offer her a new contract. He was stunned and asked, “Did Nina ask you to talk to me about this?” and both said yes.
At the same time that she was attempting to secure another contract to stay in the country where she was brutally attacked, she was also worrying about the repercussions of the rape. She confided to Jen that she was worried that Iraq practiced sharia law. In extreme fundamentalist Islamic societies, if a woman is raped, she runs a high risk of being charged with “zina” (extramarital fornication), and she can be punished by public whipping or even stoning to death. This was luckily not a common practice in Kurdistan.
The university had offered to fly one of her relatives, or close friends from home, out to meet her in Dubai to escort her back to the United States. Dubai? Why didn’t they offer to fly them all the way here? For some reason Nina ended up asking Ellen if she would fly with her to Dubai. Although they were roommates, Nina barely knew Ellen. They had different schedules and were like ships passing in the night. Ellen thought that was odd and asked if anyone from home was coming to meet her and Nina said, “No,” and then admitted that her parents didn’t want to come, and her sister didn’t believe her story.
If her own sister didn’t believe her, I wondered if she had made up the story? Who would make something like that up? Warren was convinced she was lying and said Chancellor Tom and the provost were also skeptical.
She had just said so many things that were beyond bizarre that it was incredibly difficult to take her word for anything, although it felt very wrong to even have an inkling of disbelief about her story. I was always the first to stand up and yell and scream about injustices to women, and yet here I was, questioning what had happened. If it had been
anyone else.
There was no positive side to any of this; either Nina was making the story up, and two innocent men would likely be imprisoned, if not put to death; or she was telling the truth, and it really did happen, but she had an incredibly negligent, calloused family and no one to really turn to. It was a lose-lose situation.
She would only be in Suli a few more days, and I kept thinking, “I should say something. What should I say?” I couldn’t overcome my unease with her and felt like I was a horrible person because I wasn’t offering her any support. Shit, shit, shit, say something to her! Why can’t I be a better person?
Nina had wisely gone to Buddha Jen for support, and Jen was helping her get through the fallout. She had to suffer through what could only have been a completely humiliating doctor’s exam, with the questionable Dr. Aso. Dr. Aso was the university’s doctor, who had once responded to a female instructor’s horrible case of food poisoning by saying, “This is good for you. You will lose weight and be thin.” I had heard people say that Dr. Aso was just a veterinarian, rather than an MD, which made me wonder (A) why he was considered the university’s doctor, and (B) well, we really didn’t need a B, did we?
I truly believed that leaving Iraq would be the best thing for Nina.
Nina avoided those last few days of class and had someone fill in for her. She also, understandably, decided not to attend Student Appreciation Night, which was the end-of-semester send-off for the students who completed their course.
I Have Iraq in My Shoe Page 17