A Saturday Morning at the Bazaar: Field Notes from Slemani
The Walk In
It’s already 82 degrees, with a high of 95 expected. I walk down the alleyway toward the bazaar. It’s quiet; it’s the weekend, though a city bus and a few cars still squeeze through. I’m wearing hiking shoes, which suit this terrain better.
The sanitation crew is out, and garbage bins line the street. The garbage trucks are narrow and small, almost like toy trucks. Were they built for these tight alleyways and streets? Otherwise, not much is happening yet. People are just starting their day.
This is my first Saturday observation, and it’s going to be another hot one.
By 9:05 AM I’m on Sabukaran Street, and the shops are opening: bakeries, a conduit store, a paint shop, a shoe store, a bodega, a tea shop, a butcher, a naan shop and naan maker, a bread shop, a hardware store, a sandal shop, a fruit stand, a perfume shop, and an ice cream shop. The shoe shiners are here, and so is the same cigarette vendor I always see.
I cross the main intersection with my arm extended so a rogue driver doesn’t hit me. A car speeds toward me, and I wave at him. There are a lot of police out. The manakeesh restaurant is noticeably busy, the pharmacy is open, and the shopping mall across from the mosque is just opening. It takes about ten minutes to walk from where I’m staying to the Grand Mosque.
On the Mall Steps
At 9:15 AM, vendors are setting up, people are drinking tea, and a small crowd lingers, waiting for the mall to open. Shortly after, it does.
I spot the man whose job seems to be shooing people off the mall stairs throughout the day. I also recognize a woman from my last morning observation, sitting alone on the steps. Later, the staff member shoos everyone off.
I find a spot on the ground beneath the mall’s awning. Here, it seems, I won’t be sent away, since I’m not blocking the entrance. It’s busy but not overwhelming at this early hour.
Between 9:10 and 10:00 AM, I count 51 unaccompanied women, and 14 women entering and exiting the mosque threshold.
Saturday is the second day of the weekend, and its pace is different: slower, more leisurely, more about shopping. On Sunday, the first day of the workweek, people move briskly and with purpose.
Taking Stock
Sitting on the ground, I review my observation schedule. I’m staggering times and days, with three observations for each day of the week. I have 15 left to complete before I leave in October.
Luckily, the housing staff helped me extend my visa by one month. The process at the Kurdistan Regional passport office took about two hours. It could have gone faster, but the internet kept crashing. The passport office website says HIV and hepatitis tests are required for a visa extension, but I didn’t have to take either. Could it be because I’m an older adult?
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A Coffee Shop on Mawlawi Street
After my time in front of the mosque, I head to Mawlawi Street to see whether the women who work in the shops there are in today. I pass the phone shop, the perfume shop, and the coffee bar. They aren’t.
At the coffee shop, though, a woman is behind the counter. I greet her in Sorani Kurdish and order an iced Americano and a muffin. She speaks English, so I ask a few questions. She tells me she has been working there for eight years, which surprises me; I wonder whether my question got lost in translation. She says she likes working there, that she owns the shop, and that running it isn’t hard. I congratulate her on such a wonderful place.
I settle onto a stool at a small table by the front door. Muzak with a Parisian flair plays over the speakers. Am I in Paris or Kurdistan? It’s surprisingly calming after the noisy steps across from the mosque.
I glance over and see the owner using her phone’s selfie camera to adjust her hair, face, and collar. I’ve done the same thing many times, putting on lipstick or checking for something in my eye.
When I go up to pay, she asks where I’m from. I tell her I’m a student from California, writing about women who work in or near the bazaar. It’s a warm, positive encounter.
After an hour, I leave the coffee shop and head back to my base camp. On the way, I buy new headphones, only to discover they have two right earpieces and no sound plays through them. I decide not to bother returning them. It reminds me of the time I ordered a box of iPhone chargers from Amazon and none of them worked.
Weekend Rhythms
It’s 11:00 AM. Since it’s Saturday, are men more visibly present with their families?
Looking around, I mostly see groups of men and boys. Fathers with families don’t jump out at first, though I do spot a few: an older man with a young boy, likely father and son; a father and mother with two little girls; a man with a very large family passing by. I do see families on weekdays too. Today there’s more leisure shopping, with people hanging out and sitting on the curb. Still, at this hour, it’s mostly men lingering, and not many families with father figures.
I realize I haven’t heard a call to prayer this morning. The next is around noon. I also notice the shops opened around 9:15 AM, later than on Sunday, when they were open before 9:00.
A family walks into the mall. Taxis pass the mosque at a steady pace. Police open the back of their truck and start handing out water and bread to several people.
I shift in my seat, shaking my right foot awake. Sitting on the ground this long has put it to sleep.
Then a small scene: a father hands his son some money and points him toward the water vendor on the street. The boy walks down the mall stairs and hands over the money. The vendor looks up at the father, as if for confirmation, then gives the boy two bottles of water. The boy climbs back up, hands one to his father, and keeps one for himself. Later, I see the same father and son heading into the mall with their extended family.
Toward Noon
By 11:49 AM, the heat has climbed. Traffic is bumper to bumper in front of the mosque, horns are honking, and voices rise in a crescendo. The energy builds where the mall, the bazaar, and the mosque meet.
And finally, at 11:55 AM, the call to prayer.
