Frag Out! Magazine
Issue link: https://fragout.uberflip.com/i/840553
I never ever wanted to touch any of them. A short film pub- lished somewhere in the depths of the Internet on some- body's Facebook page has changed it all. I saw a bunch of young girls that have just been freed from the hands of Daesh. Every single one of them spoke of bestial rapes, families murdered by the terrorists, kids they have lost, friends, cousins and sisters that still remained in captivity. My safe, stable world was shaken to the core. One of them looked almost exactly like my sister. I had to do something. I have found Eagle's Watch – a charity that helps terror- ists' victims there, on the spot, in the Niniveh Plain, Iraqi Kurdistan. I have written to the Chair – Bartek Rutkowski. I spoke to him for a few times and even made a little in- terview. That was a time when he said few words that have completely turned my world around. He has simply said "Agata, man, join us". And so I did. I joined them. On the spot as well. I have spent two weeks in Iraqi Kurdistan. Looking the part was the hardest My first challenge was getting my gear ready. On all the pictures I have seen, charity workers looked so profes- sional, wearing the best stuff you can imagine, quite of- ten carried electronics worth my monthly payroll. In my wardrobe… Well, right in the corner were some well-worn combat boots I wore when I tried to be a part of paramili- tary organization and there was a small chance I would be able to find a pair of cargo pants I used when I took part in a war correspondent course… Funny, but that was the hardest part, not tickets, vaccines or a visa. Luckily Polish distributor of LOWA Task Force was able to rise to the oc- casion and gifted our small, two persons team with two pair of LOWA Z-6 boots. The rest of the stuff was collected, sometimes in very strange coincidences, in about a week. We were equipped like we were going on some sort of half – military tour. The only thing left was jumping on board of the bus that was meant to take us to Lviv, where we were catching a plane to Istanbul where yet another plane awaited us to take us to Erbil, the capital of Iraqi Kurdistan. Oh well, Erbil… Erbil turned out to be nothing more and nothing less than a capital that it is. Big shopping centres, elegant stores and even a fairly regular means of trans- portation. In our cargo pants and baseball caps we looked a bit like visitors from another universe. Fortunately, we have been stationed with soldiers from a local Christian unit so our time was passed on sharing our experiences, talking about their needs and plans for the future, for the time "after Daesh" rather than on fashion shows. What a shame we could only spend two days with them. They have gone way too quickly. At least we were able to make friends with Christian soldiers and visit a local office that issues permits for international charities operating on the Kurdistan soil. The Real Kurdistan Another part of our trip has awaited us. We set on the journey to reach something that not that long ago has been a frontline. Some thirty minutes (and two check- points) after leaving Erbil we have found ourselves in a "real" Kurdistan. There were no glass and metal skyscrapers and boutique hotels anymore. Instead, we were going past some half-finished buildings, bridges with steel rods protruding from unfinished constructions and flocks of little kids that tried to sell everything they have laid their hands upon. At the checkpoints, Peshmerga soldiers have clamped their fists on ancient Kalashnikovs and carefully checked our passports from cover to cover. Over and over again I was able to distinguish a name of the village we were going to out of the barrage of the words I could not understand – Teleskuf. It is the first town that people were allowed to come back to after the onslaught towards Mosul has begun. Not that long ago it was right behind the frontline. Apart from the mandatory check- point, the entryway was protected by a half-col- lapsed, almost burned down building. We did not have to wait for long to discover that there were plenty of those. Our guide has ordered a meeting with the local elders. Just about everyone was there, a village chief, local militia leader, party head and representatives of the local community. We were given tea, they have put ashtrays right in front of us and started talking about us. They talk- ed for a long time and zealously too, their gestures rich and extensive. The voices were falling down and climbing up but they were not hostile, not un- welcoming. Finally, after customary welcoming and words of gratitude our interpreter started telling us what the village needed. It would sound horrible, but we knew it without him – THEY NEEDED EVERYTHING. The struggle is far from over yet They did not have enough water because two water carts assigned to the village did not make it there every day and even if they did residents couldn't drink the water because it was way too dirty. Electricity was available only for few hours a day, there was no heating, no hospital, no schools. The schools themselves were the first stop of ours. Once upon a time there were six of them in Teleskuf. Now, in every single one the vicious wind blows in through holes in the walls, floor is covered with a carpet made of pages torn www.fragoutmag.com