The Notebook Witch

By Saz Hammond
The Notebook Witch is a pamphlet containing poems, stories, recipes, memories, and how to
make them. It is centred around growing up with my Middle Eastern identity, and the sense
of community that the women in my family have. These hobbies brought comfort and
closeness to them and have been passed down to my generation. The pamphlet touches on
three main subject areas, with the concept being Magick and household objects, as I believe
that these women bring magic to a home. The Hob Witch- The exploration of Kitchen
Magick, a craft that the women in my family adapted to as a subtle way of practicing after
mainstream Magick was banned under strict regime. The Mirror Witch focuses on physical
appearance and beauty as part of our identity. The Fireplace Witch tells the story of Newroz
and the significance of lighting the fire, as well as the exploration of the history of the Middle
East. I chose the format of a personal zine for a more intimate experience. A zine is a small
collection of self-published original work.
 My Name

I have been through many versions of my name

By many people
Sarah, Zara, but rarely do they get it right
I was too shy to correct them,
they would think I was uptight
There was a white girl in my class
With the same name
She insisted I had “stolen” it from her
Despite its middle eastern origins
It means princess in Hebrew
But people have no interest in their roots
So, I adopted the nickname Saz
Even more Kurdish
Even more badass
They called me Saz the spaz,
Spitting my name out like a bitter curse
On the tip of your tongue
Are you Muslim? Are you Jew?
I haven’t heard your name before,
Are you new?
I am no typical noun
I am just unlike you.
You see I’m unique
If my name you speak
Speak it right or hence repeat.
 The Hob Witch

From a young age, I was told that my family on both sides were psychics and spiritual healers
from the Middle East. My great grandmother would have dozens of people come to her for
predictions and she had divine skills in reading tea leaves. My mother inherited the ability to
see spirits and the ability to see future omens through dreams. I on the other hand, am
figuring out where I stand with my “gifts”. After a 1979 political revolution in the deeply
religious region of Kurdistan, many of my relatives stowed away their practice in fear of sin,
and in turn devoted their life to the worship of God under Saddam’s rule. However, even
Quranic magick has slowly crept its way as an underground craft.
My first intrigue into Magick began when I was 11, but due to ridicule from my classmates, I
kept my interests private for years until I was almost 19. I remember one time a teacher told
me I was “scaring” students- I merely on request read some palms and natal charts. There has
very much been a shift in attitude since then, and witchcraft has become a trend in many
ways, which is something that I welcome because I want my culture to revisit mysticism.
As a child, one of the first things I did when I declared myself a witch was making a wand. I
remember ‘asking’ the tree for permission to take a 30cm branch from it; I would sense the
tree quietly lending its limb to me. I glued multi-coloured gemstones in alignment with the
chakras- Amethyst, Lapis, Turquoise, Malachite, Citrine, Carnelian, and Red Jasper. I left it
in the moonlight to charge that night. My mum came in my room the next morning and
claimed that I brought ‘shadow people’ into the house. That scared me for a few years.
At age 18, I bought my first tarot deck. I went into Watkins in Covent Garden with my
flatmates and decided on which one I wanted to get. I looked and felt all of them until I found
one that felt right for me. Knowing my need for simplicity, I chose an easy but beautiful
beginner’s deck. I went home and began to teach myself to lay the spread, call on my spirit
guides, and intuitively draw the cards for my questions. After a year, I became good enough
to be able to do readings for my friends, who always seemed so delighted and curious about
what I was doing.
Due to the disassociation to the old ways of witchcraft, the women in my family found more
crafty and discreet ways to heal and use their powers. They used natural medicines, potions,
jewellery, and prayers to relieve issues. As kitchen witches, they have been reclaiming the
sexist narrative of Middle Eastern women being bound to the home.
As a young woman, I focus my spirituality on bettering my mental health. I often practice
meditation, yoga, reiki, massage, and other holistic beneficial practices in order to aid my
physical and emotional wellbeing. Magick can be very cathartic and if used positively, it can
reduce stress.
When I was younger and I would get a tummy ache, I remember granny’s ‘yucky tea’ I’d call
it. On my sick days off from school, my mum would ring in with broken English to tell the
receptionist that I had diarrhoea, and I would be angry at my mum all day for embarrassing
me. I’d spend the day crouched on the living room sofa in mountains of blankets, watching
Tom and Jerry while sipping the moreish tart drink. It was the household’s go-to natural
remedy for stomach pain, although during my time at university I now use it as a hangover
cure (my mum doesn’t know of course!) and throughout the years I’ve nursed drunk friends
and flatmates at the kitchen table, and they soon start to feel a little less sorry for themselves.

Nouma Basra

You will need-

1 or 2 Nouma Basra (dried whole lemons) which you can get at a herbs and spices market.
Black teabag
Tea pot/stove kettle
Water
How to make-
Place the Nouma Basra and teabag in the teapot/stove kettle and fill with water. Place on the
stove to boil. Stir occasionally to distribute the flavours together.
Pour into your favourite mug and allow to cool slightly before drinking. You may also add
honey to sweeten, but it is optional.

Mint tea
Another ingredient that helped with tummy aches is chewing on naturally grown mint.
However, my mum and her sisters used to chew mint leaves for fresh breath.
Particularly when a cute boy was near, they would keep a handful of fresh mint in their
pockets and chew it to neutralise smelly breath. Ready to chat and charm!
Nowadays, when my parents walk in the garden in summertime, my dad will try to woo my
mum. He’d pick off a couple of mint leaves from our growing bush, and he’d chew them
before approaching and flattering my mum. She’d call him “”kabra zar-bogen" which means
“Mr Stinky-breath”!

Ingredients
Water
One or two black teabags
A handful of fresh mint
Sugar to taste

Preparation
Boil as much water in the pot to serve as many people you require. Once water comes to a
boil after 7 minutes, place one (or two if making a large batch) teabags in. Classically, it is
enjoyed faint to allow the flavour of the mint to come through. Add the mint and mix
through, boiling for one more minute. Pour the tea into mugs or glasses, each with as much
sugar as the person likes sweetened. Enjoy.

Karanfil
Karanfil means clove seeds. A handful would be tied up in a small cloth bag and hung in the
closet. This was not only to keep clothes smelling fresh, but also because of a Middle Eastern
superstition.
There would be a belief that unless you kept Karanfil in your wardrobe, bad spirits would
come at night and try on your clothes!
Although now commonly used for its freshening properties, the story still lives on as an old
wives’ tale. This would be the only exception of Karanfil that I would tolerate, I become
frustrated when I bite into it while eating my auntie's cooking and would aggressively pick
out any that I found hidden in homemade Biryanis.

Cooking time

Mum is in the kitchen

Sipping tea
Talking about the afterlife
Her slippers scratch the floorboards
She gets scratched by the running cat
Who hisses back at her,
Mum is in the kitchen
She is now talking about dad
Un-magnanimous man!!
She exclaims, shaking her head.
I go to hug my little mum
Who at 4 foot 10,
Stands greater than any woman in the world
Her head is tucked under my chin
Mashallah she says
I have grown tall
The flame grew high on the stove
The pan bubbles over
Sizzling sauce everywhere
Like a tiny explosion
Waishhhhhh!
My mum winces,
Grabbing the lid with her fingers
I run the tap under her burnt hand
We share our lack of common sense
And our poor taste in rich men
My mum is the wealthiest woman in the world
She is not adorned in jewels
She doesn’t own a palace
She hasn’t got her youth
But she is magnanimous in her heart
Who despite her tiny frame,
Is bigger than the biggest crane
Swooping down to pick me up
And tuck me into bed.
My mum is in the kitchen
It’s her 1am cereal time
Everybody in the house knows not the disturb
Nasrin’s cornflakes on the counter session
I tiptoe down the stairs
Mum pours me a bowl of cocopops
They quietly pop in the bowl of milk
As we eat together, not talking
Just together.
 The Fireplace Witch

Newroz is a celebration every year by Middle Eastern communities on March the twentieth.
The myth that marks the beginning of the new year dates to 1000AD. Zuhak, was an evil
Assyrian king who conquered Iran and had serpents growing from his shoulders. Zuhak’s rule
lasted for one thousand years; his evil reign caused spring to no longer come to Kurdistan.
During this time, two young men were sacrificed daily, and their brains were offered to
Zuhak’s serpents in order to alleviate his pain- caused by hunger. However, the man who
oversaw sacrificing the two men everyday would instead kill one man a day and mix his
brains with those of a sheep in order to save the other man. As discontent grew against
Zuhak’s rule, the noblemen Fereydun planned a revolt. The revolt was led by Kaveh, a
grieving father and blacksmith who had lost six sons to Zuhak. The young men who had
been saved from the fate of being sacrificed were trained by Kaveh into an army that marched
to Zuhak’s castle where the brave Kaveh killed the king with a hammer. Kaveh is said to
have set fire to the hillsides to celebrate the victory and summon his supporters; spring
returned to Kurdistan the next day.
March twentieth traditionally marked as the day which Kaveh defeated Zuhak and hence the
celebration of Newroz was born. This legend exists to show that Kurds are a different, strong
people, and the lighting of the fires has since become a symbol of freedom. It is a tradition to
jump across a bonfire at Newroz. It represents light, goodness, and purification, and
symbolises defiance against darkness. In Kurdish legend, the holiday celebrates the
deliverance of Kurds from a tyrant and establishing a state of independence for Kurds.
I remember my parents burning a barbeque coal fire in the back garden to represent the
Newroz fire. The smell of the smoke in our rainy England patio hade our little lungs cough,
my brother and I jumping over it in excitement while chanting our prayers for the new year.
As a child, I only wished for more sweets and later bedtimes. I moved to London at age 18,
and I celebrated my first Newroz with those outside of my family; I went to a large Newroz
event in Mile End. Piles of Dolma, black tea, and Baklava were laid on tables. Men and
women were adorned in traditional outfits, and we all danced to traditional music. I wore my
mum’s Kurdish dress, which she wore as a young woman too. It was beautiful, flowy, and
sparkling blue. My barely five-foot mum never had the bottom of her dresses hemmed, but
instead kept them long in hopes that she’d have a daughter taller than herself. I thought was
so thoughtful as the dress now fit me perfectly. I learnt ‘Shaya’, which is to hold hands in a
large circle and two-step along to the music. ‘Halparke’ is a dance in which men and women
line up and jump next to each other to upbeat music. This experience without the comfort of
my family was strange. I felt a sense of awkwardness but excitement shuffling to the beat at
Draper’s bar, trying my hardest to come out of my shell.

Dolma
Dolma was one of my favourite dishes growing up. Some call the dish Yaprax depending on
dialect, but it is essentially a very popular Middle Eastern dish. So popular, that variations of
the dish have spread across the Mediterranean. Dolma in Kurdistan would be vine leaves and
vegetables stuffed with tomato rice and mince.
I have vivid memories of my mother preparing Dolma; the vine leaves blossomed most in
summer, and the ideal month for picking would be August. We had a huge grape tree in our
garden that luckily sprouted grapes and vine leaves very generously. Everyone was sure to be
full. We would often take the pot of Dolma to eat at the beach or a picnic, or it would be
served at a celebration such as Newroz.

Ingredients

Three handfuls of chopped lamb

Half a kilogram of minced lamb
Water
Salt
Three peppers
Three aubergines
Three courgettes
Five tomatoes
Five onions
Half tablespoon cumin
Half tablespoon saffron
Half tablespoon curry mix
Half tablespoon lemon juice
Tube of tomato puree
Two tablespoons of sunflower oil
Thirty- Forty vine leaves

Preparation

Dolma takes an hour to an hour and a half in total including prep time.
Boil three handfuls of chopped lamb in three cups of water with three pinches of salt for
fifteen minutes.
Boil ¼ of a kilo lamb mince in two and a half cups of water with three pinches of salt
Empty the insides of peppers, aubergines, courgettes, tomatoes, and onions. If using onions,
place half-sliced onions in warm/hot water for ten minutes to soften and separate the layers
ready for filling.
Cut off the top and ends of the rest of the vegetables.
Rinse half a kilo of rice and drain.
Fry the cooked mince in oil for five minutes and add half tablespoon each: of cumin, saffron,
curry mix, salt, and lemon juice. Add a tube of tomato puree. Mix well.
Add the spiced mince to the rice.
Prepare a large pot with two tablespoons of sunflower oil in the bottom.
Stuff the onions with the rice mince mix until full. Place the stuffed onions in the pot first to
allow them to cook thoroughly.
Add the cooked lamb on top of the onions.
Stuff the rest of the vegetables until full and place on top of the lamb.
Rinse the vine leaves and add a tablespoon in the centre of each leaf. Wrap well from the
bottom of the leaves to the sides and then the top. Place on top of the vegetables until full to
the brim of the pot.
Place a plate on top of the dolma to keep the weight down.
Pour boiled water into the pot until filled. Place the pot lid on top and allow to cook on high-
medium heat for ten minutes. Then lower the heat to low-medium for thirty minutes.
After forty minutes, the dolma should be cooked and most of the water should be absorbed.
Take off the plate and flip the pot onto a large dish.

Soldier (2003)

What is it that they call strength?

We spiral into life,
Girls become wives and boys become men
And girls cannot lead
And men do not cry
They are the figures of male suicide
Women must be mother figures
Deliver and give her
The perfect figure
And feed her world with lies.
And today is a war,
Where boys will be boys,
Pick up your gun, play with your toys
And children run in tin homes
From the big drones.
And by 31
He'll forget his mother tongue
And he'll never fall in love
Never pick up girls in parking lots
Never feel the pain of a mundane job
No, he takes his aim
Nothing's as it seems
The sky is a grenade
The mind is a disease
No homeland is terrain.
From one life to another
He, She, They,
We all live under the same sun
And we feel the same rain,
We bear the aches and the pains,
My will it bends and breaks
Nothing was easy, it came to me late
When I needed to know in my bones
If I earned my own grave?
When it snows, it snows
But right now, it’s a hurricane
The world expects too much of your body,
your brain and heart, a mechanism
Of manic depression
Intervenes,
Prevents our dreams
Unravel heart to spleen
And when we return
If we return
Will we know song from bird?
Will we feel but not hurt?
It’s like only yesterday we were young
From broken homes, who knew what would come
Or what we’ll become
My motherland,
She sleeps with another man
This is fear,
This is what became of an unnerved nervous system,
Persistent adrenaline through your veins.
Pupils dilate, palms pulsate
Mouth dry, self-medicated, formulated pain.
Self-destructive, un-beloved fear come my way.
There's always a finish line, that's why our hearts race.
Every day we fear the bad news,
The papers plastered with a missing face,
Of a loved one gone astray.

The Mirror Witch

As a young woman, my mother was very beautiful. I remember looking through photo
albums and seeing her smiling with long flowing hair, gleaming skin, and pretty eyes. It was
clear that she liked to take care of herself, and all the boys were after her.
As I’ve grown older and more interested in beauty, I’ve often found myself asking for my
mum’s advice as I felt that my attempts with modern cosmetics could not replicate the same
beautiful effects of classic Middle Eastern products. I received many compliments and the
occasional ‘you look like your mum’ comment from following her techniques.

Henna
The classic dark locks that the ladies in my family have maintained has been achieved with
henna. There wasn’t much bottle dyes in 1990 Iraq, and Henna was much preferred in general
due to its thickening and protecting properties. This is especially due to the hot climate as
Henna was known to protect hair from sun damage. Henna was long lasting and stained the
hair a colour rather than chemically coating it. Ladies used it to achieve vibrant auburns,
browns, deep reds, and black. I remember the green paste that mum made every year as she
crouched down and scooped the strong-smelling mixture from the pan onto her hair.

Ingredients
A packet of powder henna, a colour of your choice. You can purchase them at most markets
and some supermarkets, Holland and Barret's offer a good line. You can also buy Henna
powder online.
If you want a black colour, buy Wusmaa powder online. You can also buy the dark henna
from Lush.
Water
Pan
Hob
Spoon
Gloves
Clingfilm
Protective cap

Preparation
Put the powder in a pan on a low heat. Add water bit by bit until it becomes a paste mixture.
You can add black tea to deepen the colour.
At this point you can add a powder called “Wusmaa” if you want the henna to be a very rich
black shade. Wusmaa can be bought at many Middle Eastern, North African, or South-
Western Asian markets.
Boil until the Henna mixture bubbles and then turn off the pan. Allow to cool down, then
apply to hair from roots to ends, spreading the mixture around to coat evenly. Make sure to
use the gloves to avoid staining!
Cover head with cling film and a protective cap.
Leave overnight and wash off in the morning.
Dry and style as usual. Your hair should be soft, shiny, and an intense desired colour.

Make-up
Beauty standards in the Middle East are much different than they are now. In the 90’s, under
the influence of music and film stars, it was a craze for girls to have pale skin and dark lined
eyes. As drugstore makeup was expensive and not frequently sold, girls often used DIY
makeup or classic long-lasting ingredients.
Kohl was used to darken the eyes. It would often be bought as a packet of black powder
containing a lining stick to use as a “pen” to dip in the Kohl and line the eyes. To accentuate
the eyes, men and women lined the waterline, then drew an “Egyptian eye” or as called now,
a cat or fox eye. Kohl produced a very deep and opaque black.
For beautifying the face, “Speyawe Kelaw” was used. This translates directly (from Sorani
Kurdish to English) as “whitening powder” a face powder mixed with water and applied to
the face to make the skin appear pale. Girls who had porcelain skin were called ‘china dolls’
and with their eyes lined with Kohl it created a striking contrast. They were for many decades
idealised until the 2000’s onwards when it became more desirable to have ‘Asmar’
(tanned/sun-kissed) skin.

Skin

Hair removal was not overly popular as it was socially accepted for Middle Eastern women to
be ‘hairy’ considering most have thick dark hair and so frequent hair removal would be time
consuming and expensive. As most women dressed modestly, body hair was not often
worried about. Women kept their eyebrows thick but well-groomed with threading. In
summer, when girls wore dresses, hair removal was done DIY.
Waxing was done with handmade wax. This needed only a whole lemon juice, half a cup of
water and half a cup of sugar boiled into a smooth paste. Use a wooden spoon to apply the
mixture on the skin and use strips of fabric from an old t-shirt to grip the wax with.
In summertime, open-toed sandals were popular. Girls kept their feet soft and exfoliated with
‘black stone’ (Pumice Stone). These stones were naturally occurring in the Middle East. Girls
would gently scrub dead skin off after a shower to leave fresh and clean feet.

Jewellery

Jewellery has always been and forever is a big part of beauty in my culture. The more you
were adorned with, the higher your status was perceived.
Chawazar, sometimes called Nazar, is the belief of the Evil Eye. It is a glass plate in the
shape and colour of a blue eye that many Middle Eastern families kept hung in the home,
usually above or next to a mirror. The saying is that when someone envies you, the glass eye
will break, essentially taking the hit instead of your soul shattering. Many Middle Eastern
women wear the Chawazar as beads or jewellery, which would serve as a protection amulet.
Turquoise, a blue gemstone, is also worn as protection. It would be threaded in with Zertek, a
yellow gemstone like Amber, and used for good luck.
My mum became a jewellery, antiques, and gemstones collector after retiring from her
teaching job. Her hobby became a business and she regularly would wake up early at 6am
every Saturday and Sunday to walk an hour to the weekly boot fair. Any time I would wake
up early enough I’d go with her and would watch in admiration at the tiny lady powering
through each stall, haggling and picking out the bargains. She taught me her expertise, all the
names of the stones and the hallmarks for the different metals. Her love of jewellery was dear
to her. My grandad was the Judge of Baghdad for 5 decades, and he’d always gift his 4
daughters colourful embellished necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings. They’d be passed
down to us, and we’d wear them every year for Newroz.

Beauty from childhood to adulthood

One of the first memories I had as a child that made me realise that I looked different from
others was when I was nine years old in year four. I was in class in an art lesson, and we’d
been told to paint ourselves. I was mid-painting when my teacher approached me and said
that I made the skin far too light and that she will ‘fix’ it. She poured a lot of black paint into
my pot, mixed it up, and slathered it over the face of my self-portrait, before handing me back
the paint brush to continue what she saw as correct. I remember feeling so distraught that I
was made to feel different to everyone else, and it made me self-conscious as I had not
noticed before that I was a separate ethnicity. The experience took away my innocence and
opened my eyes to prejudice. Growing up in the highly white population of Ashford made my
identity with beauty difficult, especially with being the only brown student in the class. As
I’ve grown into adulthood, I took up photography as my career. Being behind the camera and
capturing the beauty of models and my friends made me feel good by making them feel good
about how they look. I think everyone of every ethnicity is beautiful, and women don’t need
to put down other women.
I am what I am
I had just turned twenty
When I went to Turkey
For my plastic surgery
I was the only brown girl in the school
In a sea of white girls with button noses
Rosy cheeks, and silky mousy hair
I stuck out like a sore thumb
With a dark thick mane
Olive skinned and monobrowed
And a nose like a crow
I was called ugly
That I was undesirable
From that grew my insecurity
I lay bandaged and wounded
On an operating table
The anaesthetics wore off
A week to reveal my new nose
It was perfect, small, no bumps
No crooked tip or bulbous lumps
A ski slope of my dreams
I took away my identity
No longer recognisable as a brown woman
I wore the features of my enemies
An ethnocentric beauty
While all of them turned on me
And darkened their skin
And textured their hair
And thickened their brows
And stealing my heritage
That they used to hurt me
But it works in their favour
When they don’t have it naturally.
I’m still healing
I’m still learning to breathe
I don’t have the privilege to call your people ugly
Or to look down upon your culture
Or to use your look for my aesthetic.
I must be me
And you must be you.
We are different,
But no woman is less beautiful than the other.