Dearest Loyal Reader,
Have you ever thought about where are Hawler’s secrets kept?
In it, lovers hold hands. They look into each other’s eyes and make promises for the future, while others come to break their promise and part their journey.
Hawler’s secrets are in a place where brides and grooms come to celebrate their wedding day. Here, they take pictures that will be on the walls of their future grandchildren’s houses….
Hawler’s best kept secrets lay in the place where manjals of dolma and biryani come inside its premises. Where men carry those heavy pots and as they pass by, you can smell the food inside. The food that women have spent hours cooking in excitement earlier that morning, or perhaps the night before.
It is the place where you wish to steal a spoon full of that mouthwatering dolma the family sitting a few meters away from you have brought. You can tell its juicy, and has probably got a little sour taste to it. Just how you like it.
Here, writers come with their note books and pens to be inspired while sitting among the flying birds, trees and sound of laughter. Here, a poet’s words write themselves.
Here, students pretend to study. Others flirt. Some really and truly study, because they have escaped their depressing home atmosphere.
Here, children’s laughter is like an orchestrated symphony. The view of the little ones having the time of their life on colorful playgrounds brings back reminisces of Jezhn time when I was younger (a lot younger).
Here, when the time comes believers pray (and it is not rare to see people facing different directions), while others continue their jokes, games, dancing and laughter.
It does not matter what religion you practice, what language you speak or where you are from. In this place everyone is human. Everyone is welcome.
Here kites fly high, badminton is everyone’s source of enjoyment and girls throw the high heels for sneakers and a run around. Seriously! Sports is actually popular here. People sweat our their day’s hardship, stress and sadness.
In the place where Hawler’s greatest secrets are kept, parking isn’t an issue. Poverty does not exist, neither does social hierarchy. Here everyone is the same. Rich or poor, you eat the same food, sit on the same ground, walk on the same path. Here, no one sees the car you drive, the bike you ride, the mansion (or tent) you live in, nor does anyone see your fancy jewelry or for that matter your designer dress.
Secrets of all sorts. Secrets of lovers, secrets of a father’s pain, of a rejected young man, of a broken hearted girl; Secrets of discrimination, poverty, father’s concern for his children, secrets of a mother’s emotional tiredness is all kept here.
In winter, it can be smelled from the fresh wet soil. In autumn, it is written on the falling leaves; in spring it is reflected in the flower buds, and in summer it is spoken in its sunset and sunrise.
Hawler’s secrets lay in a place that is named after someone great. Someone so great hearted that he could feel all these feelings and keep all these secrets while being a remedy to each of these individuals.
Hawler’s secrets are within Martyr Sami Abdul Rahman Park. They are embedded in the roots of its trees and written on its autumn leaves.
A place where you enter and exist with a smile.
Indeed, my favourite place in Hawler.
Lots of love from
My Nest in Kurdistan,