We were privileged to encounter a Kurdish man in his 20’s. He stayed with us for a few months while an asylum seeker. He’d been put on a flight to the UK by his uncles for his own protection. During the asylum claim, there was a time when he became homeless, at which point we were asked by a friend to put him up in our home.
It was a time of learning for all of us, him as much for our family of four. We learnt about the remote town at the Iraq-Iran border where the only work to hand was being a shepherd or a trader carrying goods over the mountain. It was the latter occupation of working as a ‘kolbar’ was that landed him in trouble with the authorities.
| Beauty mixes with horror Armed police raid house to house neat rows with large enclosures Eighty homes are turned upside down Posturing and threatening, harassing and hassling They question Hassan They check cupboards and surfaces but no papers are found What shepherd or kolbar leaves papers around? Maybe they’ll return and check again. What if they go to the pen or the feeding trough? Telephone numbers or names on a page Anything written can be evidence of crimes never committed A shopping list is evidence A family’s supply list is evidence They only have to find something written Hassan himself can barely read They will be no better His uncles decide after the raid that the time has come for him to flee A friend close to his heart is no more He’s fallen victim to target practice For Kurdish kolbars are just that shooting practice for the government troops who needed to practice killing skills It took more practice than dropping bombs from a plane to gas whole villages This slaughter is sterile sudden and painless, at least for Barzan But not for Hassan, for Aram and all the other shepherds Happy memories are wiped out in an instant but the pain is there to stay for a lifetime |
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