CHAPTER 8 INTO KURDISTAN, A LAND WITHIN LANDS

 CHAPTER 8

INTO KURDISTAN, A LAND WITHIN LANDS

 

     Kurdistan, a country? No, Kurdistan is a land within lands or countries. A country for Kurds is what most Kurdish people desire and are willing to fight for, and often do. Kurds are primarily Muslim, Shiite, and Sunni, but also practice Christianity, Yarsanism, Judaism, and Zoroastrianism. What helps the Kurds to be more amenable to other faiths compared to most ethnic groups of Muslims is the fact that they prioritize their ethnic identity over their religious identity. I wish to leave no doubt that the Kurdish people are fierce, resilient, trustworthy, and brave. Our Lord surely placed Israeli and American DNA in Kurdish veins.

     I'll give you a brief and simple snapshot of Kurdistan and the Kurds. What is referred to as the Kurdistan district comprises a large area spread over several countries. That area takes a bite of southeastern Turkey, northwestern Iran, northeastern Iraq, portions of northeastern and northwestern Syria, and small detached concentrations in Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan. 

     Kurdish people speak a West Iranian language closely related to Persian and Pashto. Originally, the population was concentrated in the Taurus Mountains and were primarily a nomadic people who herded mainly goats and sheep. After WWI, artificially drawn national boundaries forced the Kurds from their traditional nomadic lifestyles into villages and farming while some took on nontraditional employment. Their history is of a close-knit ethnic group that seems to defy conventional Muslim norms. Years ago, in my initial meeting with the Kurds in Iraq, I was enlightened by an old Kurdish elder who informed me that Kurdish loyalty wasn't given through religion, but through friendship. He made it clear that they did not take friendship lightly.

 
     As the loose-spaced convoy traveled to meet our Kurdish friends in northwestern Iran. Most of us not driving slept. Thanks to the Lieutenant Colonel of the Artesh Battalion, we had the use of a medium fuel tanker. That resource meant no fuel stops. Every stop brought the risk of encounters with curious Iranian officials. 

     Colonel Petrov, Samuel, and Hosseini traveled with an Iranian Christian, Amir, driving. Mr. B wanted this design to blunt any interaction with authorities. Those men carried all the needed documentation of authority for this top-secret Iranian-Russian mission.

 
     Our convoy was overtaken on a lonely stretch of road by a solitary policeman patrolling the area. He motioned for the lead van to pull over. He looked amazed when a long line of 43 vans, cars, and trucks also pulled over behind that lead vehicle.

     He was hesitant to fully remove himself from his police vehicle fearing trouble when he took in the large convoy pulling in behind the lead truck. Visibly shaken, the officer took a bit to gather the courage to walk back to the lead truck and ask for papers. Upon inspecting the papers by flashlight, the wide-eyed officer began sweating and stuttering as he shakily handed the papers back to the driver. A top secret convoy with documents personally signed by the head of VAJA. All Iranians had heard horror stories of VAJA, the Iranian Intelligence Agency, and their vicious interrogations.

 
     The driver performed a motion with his right hand across his throat as if cutting it to add emphasis to the paperwork. 

     Bowing and apologizing profusely as he stumbled backward to his vehicle, the officer sped away into the night at a high rate of speed.

     Close to our destination in northwest Iran, once again a solitary police vehicle pulled us over in the slowly fading night. We had traveled over 400 miles toward our destination of Urmia, Iran from the Parchin nuclear facility. We needed to be extra careful, now. 

     This policeman was seen on the radio as he passed us and proceeded to pull the lead truck over. This was not good news. Had our escapade in Parchin alerted officials? Had the first police stop been communicated to higher authorities? Everybody was on edge and felt for their weapons. As the officer exited his vehicle, he had his sidearm drawn. He slowly walked around the lead truck examining it closely.

     Next to me, I felt Mabior slowly reach down into his boot extracting his stiletto. I flipped the safety off my Baretta. The Christian driving our truck glanced at me and Mabior then pulled his large knife from his boot sliding it under his right leg.

 
     In the distance behind us, we could see many lights approaching in the rearview mirror. Mr. B, from a vehicle in the rear of the convoy, radioed on our walkie-talkies, "Stay calm and let's see how this plays out. If it turns south, feel free to react."

 
     We watched the officer yell at the driver while pointing his sidearm at him, "Driver, step out of the vehicle keeping hands visible! I want you to have your paperwork in your right hand."
     Amir did as ordered.

     In succession, Samuel and Colonel Petrov were ordered out with their paperwork in their right hand. All three were directed to face the truck with hands extended upward and touching the truck's sides. 

     As the policeman was examining the paperwork, the vehicles slowly made their way alongside our convoy. Only the first vehicle had police markings. As that police car came even with the detaining officer, it stopped. That officer with paperwork in hand walked to the driver's door and had a brief conversation while the driver was looking over the papers.

 
     I could tell the occupants of our truck were very tense which included myself. We watched and waited as the policeman stood silently waiting for some sort of reply from the driver who we assumed was a policeman.

     After what seemed like forever, we saw the policeman who was chatting with the police car occupant slowly develop a big grin across his face. At that point, he turned and walked toward The three men with arms stretched against the lead truck, shouting, "Welcome to Kurdistan, my friends. You are free to turn around. We had to be sure of your identities."

     At that same moment, the vehicles that had pulled alongside began emptying their occupants. We followed suit. Hugs and pressure relief were on full display. 

     The women in our convoy were sought out by the Kurdish women to offer any and all special aid needed, some being pregnant. Right in the middle of the highway tables were set up with a feast fit for royalty. All of us were tired and hungry.

 
     After the banquet, the Kurds took over the driving while encouraging us to sleep. And we did.
     West of Urmia, Iran, our now double-in-size convoy stopped in a small flat-land area surrounded by hills. We could make out little as it was still dark and moonless. It felt good to stretch our legs.

 
     It couldn't have been more than ten minutes after arriving that we began to hear the sound of a C130 in the distance. It came roaring in at tree top level and quickly landed while stirring up thick clouds of dirt. It turned and never shut down its engines. 

     The trucks loaded with nuke evidence backed to the rear one by one. Everyone swarmed behind the trucks and into the bay of the noisy C130. Loading began immediately with little talking. Everyone was dedicated to the mission.

     Maybe 30 minutes passed before all ten trucks were unloaded and the plane powerfully launched across the distant treetops and out of sight. All was quiet again, and the only evidence of what had occurred was the dirt lingering in the night air.

     As if some invisible commander was giving orders, everyone silently loaded up in the vehicles and headed for the Iraqi border. It was another dangerous journey, but we were in the Kurdistan District. That fact gave us a great deal of comfort. 

     God doesn't do away with all the evil in the world. He just carries the faithful safely through it using some of the most unlikely people.  

A few of our Kurdish friends.