The Mild Wild North East

I just got back from a pleasant long weekend in Qamishli so I thought it might be good to strike while the iron was hot and put my thoughts down before they fade away – they also might serve to illustrate, for those of you who can’t understand it, some of the reasons why I love Syria.

For the previous few days I’d been giving English lessons to a Syrian Kurdish guy. After hanging out with him in Damascus for a week he then invited me to visit his home in the far north-eastern corner of Syria – the triangle of land wedged between Turkey and Iraq. Obviously any mention of proximity to the horrific mess that is Iraq leads to a little bit of nervousness but I thought I might never again get the opportunity to visit this area with a native. Therefore, at 10.00 pm on Thursday night I boarded a coach at Damascus' large and chaotic Harasta bus terminal bound for Tadmur (Palmyra), Deir Az-Zur and beyond and finally stepped out into the morning sunshine in Qamishli a good 9 (sleepless) hours later.

Qamishli is a somewhat scruffy border town of about 100,000 people – an interesting mix of Kurds and Arabs, and with a sizeable Christian population. However, our ultimate destination lay outside the town, in Helwar, a small village of mud huts situated within stunning countryside – a plateau of green fields stretching to the Tarsus mountains (just across the Turkish border) on the horizon.

There is one mosque in this village, which also serves as the boarding school for three students of Islamic law – and where I would be sleeping for the next two nights. The mosque remains open 24 hours a day – unusual in Syria where they only tend to be open during the five prayer-times – a place where the poor can come and rest and be fed by the wife and daughters of the sheikh who lives in the village. The students were a lovely bunch, very devoted to Islam and extremely respectful towards their sheikh but also full of fun and mischief when his eye was turned away. We got on very well, despite my limited grasp of the Arabic they spoke and non-existent knowledge of Kurdish.

I was also welcomed by all the men of the village, especially the shabab (young men), who invited me to take part in the daily football match played in the fields.

The women and girls were occasionally glimpsed from a distance but basically remained a shadowy presence – hidden behind closed doors, producing a long procession of delicious dishes for my culinary appreciation.

I did see women working in the fields and also walking around in the towns (in both cases often without headscarves) but no women were directly encountered – except for one young woman who was begging in one of the towns I visited.

It might be easy to jump to conclusions about how ‘primitive’ this area is. The majority of the houses in the countryside are made of mud and straw, livestock (goats, chickens and sheep) wander around freely, the roads are often little more than bumpy tracks, and internet connections will be many years in coming (though Qamishli itself is wired up). The people who live here would appear to be the descendants of Bedouin and other nomads, and many people still seem to eke out a living herding sheep and goats. Needless to say, the appearance of a pale young Englishman beside the sheikh caused a certain amount of curiosity and excitement.

However, these rustic markers actually mask a sophisticated society. The mud hut exteriors often disguise fairly modern and comfortable interiors. The more affluent hut dwellers also have modern apartments in Qamishli, and many have family or business links with Europe and beyond. Finally, and most importantly, the whole area is tightly bound together through tribal links, cemented through regular meetings where news is relayed, matters are discussed and disputes are resolved.

Over the course of my visit it gradually dawned on me what an important man the Sheikh is – far from being just the Imam of a picturesque but ultimately insignificant little village, he commands love and respect throughout a large area of north-eastern Syria, from Qamishli (where he also has homes and gives regular sermons) to the Iraqi border. One day he took me with him out towards Iraq to attend a series of these aforementioned tribal meetings – the kind of gatherings that I’m sure you have images of: a few dozen of the oldest and most respected men sitting around in a tent or meeting room, resting on cushions and obeying a strict and, to me at least, somewhat esoteric code of etiquette. The largest was a gathering of perhaps 80-100 men. On all occasions I was afforded a position of great honour – on the sheikh’s right-hand side at the head of the meetings, and was one of the first to be offered the inevitable tea and unsweetened coffee. Everywhere he went the sheikh was showered with praise and affection.

The other thing that is worth stressing is that although the people are diverse, there is actually a great deal of cohesiveness. The village I stayed in was only home to a handful of interlinked extended families, bound together through intermarriage with each family incorporating all the various elements – Arab and Kurd, Muslim and Christian. For example, one old Kurdish man told me his grandfather was a (presumably Arab) Christian, whilst another family was a mix of both Syrian Kurds and Arabs, and was also paying host to their Iraqi Arab cousins (three brothers and their families) who fled Baghdad one year ago. One of the Iraqi brothers talked to me for hours both evenings, impressing me with his proficient English and great affection for British culture.

I had a wonderful time – treated as a guest of honour in the sheikh’s various homes (he has two wives, one in the city and one in the village, who between them have borne him 10 daughters and 1 son – so he’s a busy man!!!), by the various tribal elders, and by the families of my friends. I left having not been allowed to spend a single lira, well-fed and weighed down by a handful of gifts (including a scarf, a prayer cap brought back from Mecca and a CD of the Qur’an in mp3 format!). All this from a set of people whom basically I had absolutely no links with just one week previously... and you still wonder why I love the people of Syria!?!?!