life and death

Graves and signs in Mostar, Bosnia & Hercegovina

london, if you're lucky...

 Welcome to Istanbul. Thıs was ıt. I had fınally arrıved. Nothıng says welcome home lıke cart loads of fresh pomegranıtes by the roadsıde, towerıng mınarets, posters of Aası the soap star (I am stıll ıncurrably ın love wıth her) and an entıre floor of a hostel just for me for a spectacular 10 dollars a nıght. Istanbul was every bit as magical as I remembered it.

I popped ınto the fırst and fınest cafe I spotted on the long walk from the bus depot to Sultanahmet. As I began to drift away into cups of Turkısh coffee and baklava, I heard the unmıstakable sounds of a Persıan conversatıon floatıng past the table to my left. What I heard left me badly shaken for the rest of what has turned ınto another ınsomnıac nıght wanderıng through a foreıgn cıty.

You can delıver the rest of the payment on the other sıde. Tell them not to waıt around, ıf he speaks the language already, there ıs no reason to delay thıngs. We can arrange the passports, probably Spanısh or Italıan, documents and everythıng, but let me tell you no funny busıness, brıngıng other people along and so on. You follow ınstructıons and we can get you to Parıs, Berlın, even London ıf you're lucky..

And so I sat there for a half hour more as Masud explaıned the mechanıcs of people smugglıng to hıs newest customer. I was overcome by sadness as I shot a furtıve glance across my table. Mr Hosseını dıdnt look lıke a scruffy crımınal or wıld eyed refugee. He was about to put hıs lıfe ın the hands of a stranger and weave hıs way by land and sea to a far away cıty to buıld a lıfe for himself and his family. I felt so ashamed, as though I had failed this man somehow, as if I had failed to make our country a home where people could live, not turn themselves into contraband in the hopes of a better future.

Welcome to Istanbul, I thought, looking into my coffee grinds. I got up and walked on.

Roads

The gentle, rolling sounds of Habib Popal and pockmarked roads and hills of a country slowly emerging from a bitter history of incessant war. His whistling took us to a different time. 

Hope

A Kabul licence plate and an Obama/Biden campaign sticker along the infamous Salang Pass, Afghanistan. In this country, there is a story wrapped in the folds of every stone.

Lesson Learned: Don't Whistle in Damascus

Today I was waiting for an Iranian girl who one of my friends informed me was to arrive in Damascus shortly and needed help finding a hotel in town. It was her first time in Damascus and she spoke no Arabic. Eager as ever to help a fellow traveler (regardless of nationality!), I told her to meet me at the Bab Touma steps at 9:30pm.  I waited on the steps for about half an hour with my German housemate to no avail. The traveler, whose name we did not even know, had yet to arrive. Suddenly, a rather splendid thought popped into my Persian head. I would whistle our national song, Ey Iran, in the hopes that, hearing the familiar sound, she would be able to identify us. So I whistled for about one minute before I realized what an immensely stupid idea this was. But before I could unwhistle what I had whistled, a Syrian security guard grabbed me by the sleeve and dragged me to the nearest police station over my terrified protestations, saying all the while the Arabic equivalent of "We are going to beat the shit out of you.".  Up stairs we went, my German friend  following as loyal as ever.  Before long, we were standing in front a group of officers, me fumbling through a desperate explanation. The man in charge smiled, slightly embarrassed, said he was sorry, and bid us leave the station.  The entire episode could not have taken more than thirty seconds.  

My friend never arrived, though she called later on telling me that she had found a place with another helpful Iranian near the Zaynabiyya shrine. I sat on the steps of Bab Touma for a good half hour after that, dizzy with adrenaline, my hands shaking and my forehead dotted with beads of cold sweat. For a moment I was overcome by a desire to leave this country immediately and forever. Then I thought about all those delicious pomegranates...