Well, frankly I wish I was in Iraq . . .
Well, Iraqi Kurdistan, that is, as you know I am not much for war zones and bloody sectarian violence. But peaceful Kurdistan DID have an effect on me, and I find myself yearning for it after spending half an hour trying to unlock my child's bike from a rusty fence in the rain in Toronto. In the dark. But it was impossible, as the bike lock would not unclench no matter how hard I clenched my teeth and then there was a scene with the child screaming and swearing (at me, of course) and swearing fealty to his bike. I am sure I am not the first woman to think, I would like to return to Iraqi Kurdistan and . . . Learn Kurdish. Drink tea. Fight my way through the usual Middle Eastern wall of men to talk to a few women. (Which is what I went to Kurdistan FOR, actually, and believe me, that fortress wall was mighty thick.)
Stay tuned for my Globe and Mail article about Kurdistan, coming up in the next couple of weeks in the FOCUS section. I am working on a much longer essay about Kurdish women and FGM, but that won't see the light of day for a while.
Anyway, I promise not to run away to Kurdistan. At least not yet. I might go to Burma first. It's warmer this time of year, and my name is finally off the blacklist. Apparently, hotel costs in Rangoon have risen over 300%. So . .. can I AFFORD Burma? it was already expensive a decade ago. Freedom is not free (as they say in . .. Kurdistan! I'm mixing up my liberated areas.)
For those of you who have come late to this blog post, I initially had a further and very funny rant about said child's bike lock and father and the mystery of what one is actually thinking about when one decides to go ahead and have kids. But it was all too ranting and misbehaved, so I decided to remove it before my precocious child decided to read it or one of the school moms saw it.
Is it censorship? Yes. Yes, it is, here in the blogosphere . . .Ah, Kurdistan . . .