سبعة وأربعون سنة في المهجر – رحلتي الى موطني منكَيشي: اليوم الأول

Forty-Seven Years in Diaspora – My Trip to My Hometown Mangeshi: Day One
By: Francis K. Khosho

After an absence of forty-seven years from the town in which I was born, it was time for me to go back to my beloved village, Mangeshi. After travel was arranged and plans were set, my mind began to race. Would I recognize my village? How much had changed? Had I forgotten where things were? It was also this notion of new faces and extended family. Generations had been born, families had expanded: nieces, nephews, cousins. Also, personal relationships with childhood friends and community members. How had their lives evolved? What were they like in their adulthood? How had their lives changed, or, stayed the same?

Of course, there was going to be change. It was something I had to mentally accept before I even embarked on this journey. I myself have changed, as have my family and friends. Everyone has experienced their life journeys, which has impacted who they are and what their beliefs and values are. I also had to anticipate elapsed memories, perhaps many friends had forgotten about me, or I had forgotten about them. So, in the months leading up to our trip, I began reaching out to many members of our Mangeshi community. We began calling one another and texting. I wanted to make sure they understood how much they still mattered to me and how much Mangeshi had been on my mind throughout the years.

On April 27, 2023, my wife Bernadette and I departed from Los Angeles at 2:35 am. We were delayed for four hours due to mechanical problems with the plane. Because of this, we missed our flight from Istanbul to Erbil and had to wait for the next flight. We did not arrive to Erbil until April 29, 2023 at 3:15 am. If you can imagine, even in the face of this long and delay-impacted start to our trip, my excitement and anxiousness to begin this journey in my homeland was through the roof. I vividly remember, as we started our descent into Erbil, looking through the window and seeing the clouds clear to thousands of tiny lights, laying in patterns outlining the city streets. I could not believe I was about to touch back down onto the precious land of my ancestors. We were greeted at the airport with hugs, kisses, flowers and so much love from my niece, Junaina Yousif, and her family. I could not believe we were actually here, any fatigue from our travel was non-existent. We were on our way to Mangeshi, after 47 years.

My niece’s son, Marco, smoothly navigated our route home. By the time we passed Zaweta, the clouds were almost gone. The rising sun cast a yellow and rosy hue across the morning sky of Zardashty, and I asked Marco to stop. I got out of the car, bent my head and put my hand on my chest. I then knelt to the ground and kissed the soil. This was the soil my forefathers had walked on, and I felt the need to extend my apologies for taking so long to come back and visit.

I looked around to breath it all in and capture it all in my mind. There was nothing but carpets of wild flowers extending across the horizon. I looked straight ahead and was able to finally see my hometown Mangeshi nestled between the glorious mountain (Tora) to the south and the rolling hills (Zori) to the north. The rays of the newly risen sun shone with golden fingers (Zareri) of light and lit up the village. It felt like a dream. The landscape was covered with wild flowers, lush green grass, and the sounds of birds everywhere.

Once we arrived, I went onto my niece’s porch which faced the Mangeshi mountain. The sights, the smells, the sounds of people and children playing around the neighborhood – everything seemed so familiar, same as the day I left. Tears welled up in my eyes. I was completely mesmerized and so many old memories came flooding back. The exhaustion from traveling was gone and I was literally rejuvenated. I wanted to experience and live in this exact moment, so off we went to the mountain. Along with me went my wife, Bernadette, my niece Junaina, and her beautiful younger daughter, Melanie. We climbed the mountain crossing the Mangeshi river (Nera) all the way to Qaletha D’Mar Toma (St. Thomas hermitage). This was something I had missed so much.

The Mangeshi mountain is full of caves, cliffs, beams, and many types of trees, herbs and wild flowers. Standing within the St. Thomas hermitage, high above the Village, I was enchanted by the beauty and sense of wonder a landmark like this possesses. This particular hermitage dates back to the early years of Christianity. It is at a great height in the mountain, accessible through the cracks that have dug into the rock over time. It was indeed a unique experience to be able to interact with something from such a remote time in history. The only sounds that could be heard from within the St. Thomas hermitage were the soft sounds of the mountain breeze between the ridges, winding in and out of giant rocks, trees and wild flowers. What remained was also the precious sound of silence itself, a sound so calming and peaceful that it drowned out all of my other thoughts. It was a serene moment that hypnotized and relaxed me all at once. As I stood there gazing into the village, I began to feel that problems were not so terrible after all. This moment had drawn all my worries, traveling and perhaps life in general, into itself, held them, and then slowly melted them away.

Now, to experience this again, all I have to do is close my eyes and let myself go back to this moment. I can hear the sounds and see the sights in my mind, almost as though they were real. It is, I suppose, a mishmash of my best real memory woven into a perfect imagined one.

Fellow members of this wonderful community, come here, if you have never been, or, if it has been some time. You will be mesmerized, as was I, and the peaceful moment will be captured in your memory for all time.

To be continued…

Francis K. Khosho, California