The first day of the year began slowly. Getting up we looked out the window to see a multi-chrome picture of greying skies without the least bit of evidence of our helium engorged friend.
It was clearly one of those days. As I was trying to figure out our new, fangled coffee maker my eyes started to swim and my body instantly told me that it did not like my bi-pedal stance. Quickly back to the bedroom I sank into bed with my wife’s words hanging over me, “maybe you just need to stay in bed today.”
For the past 3 days we had been traveling around Kurdistan back and forth from the capital city a couple of times, down the Kirkuk road to visit some earthquake refugees, and over to another Kurdish college town to visit some dear friends with children the same ages as our own. It was a fun-filled time, but nevertheless, exhausting.
New Year’s Eve passed somewhat prematurely at the Ray home as we crawled into bed well before the midnight hour. And now, it was New Year’s Day with the sinus pressure in my head making even thinking a chore.
Dawn prayed for me, then passed me some blueberry muffins and a hot cup of coffee. Ahhh, marriage, isn’t it wonderful!
Before I knew it I was up again, but keeping the pjs on in case my world decided to suddenly take another quick spin. No pressing work to do on New Year’s Day anyway, I thought to myself.
Kurdistan in the winter can be quite the dreary place up here in the mountains.
The rain has been constant the last few days making our world a very muddy, wet place indeed; lack of proper drainage canals or even proper roads make it all the worse.
While in the summer we regularly complain of not having enough water, in the winter, water damage is the norm: water seeping right through our walls, peeling back the paint, dribbling through the window frames and turning our house into a slick, damp, cold habitation. When you’ve got cement walls, well, you just have to live with it.
The morning temperature reading stays in the upper 40s most days – that’s inside the house mind you. Outside it usually hovers in the 30s, and this is Iraq you say??? Yes, this is Iraq at 2,300 feet above sea level with mountains as high as 8,500 feet at our door step. With extremes like this perhaps you can forgive the people for being well, a little extreme.
Summer time temperatures reach nearly 125 F, yet right now you’d never guess it as we huddle together in one room around a kerosene heater. We’ve all but forgotten that we have a second and third floor in our house – that’s the “see your breath” parts of the house that we try to avoid.
Central Heating? Ah, no.
This is probably not the picture of Iraq you have seen on television, and it certainly doesn’t hold for the whole of the country. Traveling just 2 hours south of us and down to about 400 feet above sea level, the capital city of Iraqi-Kurdistan, Erbil, rarely sees the kind of rain we get here, as life goes on almost in a near season-less cycle. It’s amazing what a few mountains can do to the regional climate.
We love our trips to Erbil now and then, to get out of the damp mountains and feel some warmer, dry air on our faces. But, we’d just left Erbil the day before, and today, I needed to face not only the wet weather, but a new year to boot.
The day wore on and still my pajamas clung to me, more like pasted to me. I’d been wearing the same socks for nearly 48 hours with long johns beneath. It had been more than a couple days since I showered. Taking a shower is kind of an extreme sport here when the tile floor feels cold enough to give you frost bite.
But by the afternoon, a warm, hot shower finally beckoned to me, so I placed one of our kerosene heaters into the bathroom to warm it up a bit, but alas, no hot water. Dawn had used up the hot water to do laundry, guess this new year’s day is turning more grim than I thought. Maybe I should have stayed in bed.
As the afternoon turned into evening, our power supply always makes a switch from the government electricity that we get from about 1-5pm, to a community/neighborhood generator that gives us another 5-6 hours of power (albeit reduced wattage), before the government power kicks back in through the night. The mornings (9-1pm) we usually do not have power and folks around here have just learned to live with that; for, it’s actually much better than it has been in years past.
We’re not sure exactly why yet, but whenever our power switches from government power to community power our fuse box flips requiring some oversight: the box is on the street by our house.
Below is a photo of our electrician with my neighbor holding the ladder, who came to our house no less than 10 times in the past 2 months to help us with our electricity. Here he is untangling the wires of our generator power cable and just below him you can see a little yellow cover (a Valvoline oil container cut in two) that contains our fuse box.
“Climbing” up the pole where the box is mounted means one thing to me – I better get some clothes on. So, as the sun begins to set (around 4:30 here in the mountains on the far eastern side of the time zone), I’m finally putting on some jeans and a sweater to go flip our switch back on. After flipping switch at least 7 times it finally sticks, and the lights in the house turn back on. Ahh, electricity.
As you can probably see, Kurdistan has a way of reminding one to be thankful for all the little things one normally forgets.
As the New Year dawns, I pray we’ll find our hearts more thankful than ever for all that God places into our path whether extreme cold or extreme hot, exciting mountain peaks or boring plodding plains, PJ days or days flooded with activity, gentle winds of friendship or the harsh realities of our sinful world. The New Year is God’s year, and I hope His pleasure beams over us more than it ever has before.
