Chapter 5Dohuk, KurdistanWe ate in the hotel. Neither of us relished the idea of
wandering unknown streets late at night. There was a mix of languages around
us: Arabic, Kurdish, German and English.
“So tell me, now we’re here, how do we go about
locating our prophet?” queried Leah, after we’d ordered. Before I could
answer, the waiter returned with two glasses filled with what appeared to be
iced tea.
“What is it?” she asked, in Arabic.
“Lemonade,” he replied.
It was delicious, so we ordered a large bottle.
“We can’t just ask the locals if they know this
radical preacher, can we?” she continued.
“I think our best bet would be to find an Assyrian or
Armenian priest, someone with Christian beliefs.”
“Where would we find any of these?”
“We could try the church of Saint Nursai
