Hustlin'

This is the story of the Girl in the Red Sequined Burka and the Boy with no Shoes. At the gas station near our compound, every morning there is a mile long line for gas. I've written about it already. ALL of the customers are men, as women don't drive anything here. Not even donkey carts. So, it's only men there, except for this little girl, about 9 years old. I can't tell if she is the daughter of the station owner or a relative or what. But every morning, about 0530, there she is, in her Red Sequined Burka, or a similar bright color, doing her routine. She waters the plants in this guys little Garden of Eden, she takes babies from the customers cars and takes them to the bathroom, she feeds the dog. But her real job is supplying succour to the customers. Succour, in the form of coffee and tea. She floats around this dirty old gas station filled with screaming Arabs in her Red Sequined Burka, running tea and coffee and water to all the thirsty people. She walks gracefully and just positively floats. She never complains and she is one of the hardest working people I've seen here. She works there all day, or as long as the station is selling gas. She's a tough little girl. The Boy with no Shoes is also a tough little guy! He's a black market gas dealer and he, too, is about 9. He shows up every morning with his father and they fill up a few 5 gallon jugs with fuel. Then they go right outside the station, onto the main road, and sell gas to passers-by. It's a good deal for everyone: for him, cuz he makes a little profit; for the station owner, cuz he's still selling gas; and for the passers-by, cuz if they buy from him, then they don't have to wait in the long line. Needless to say, this little hustler runs out of product very quickly. But he doesn't have shoes. By 8am, the sun is shining and it ain't Southern California sun, yall. By midmorning, the pavement is about 125degrees. And this little man is out there, hawking and squawking, wheelin and dealin, barefoot as the day he was born. Tough people, here in Iraq. Scratch out an existence however they can. Every time I travel abroad, it makes me feel so fortunate to have been born in America. There are other countries that are great, interesting and fun. But America truly is the land of opportunity. And, of course, Texas is there in America. So why be anywhere else?

Laptop Warriors

So, we're in Iraq, right? Fighting a war, right? Well, guys in war never had it so good. We work hard and we play hard. When not working, we're chilling inside, in the AC (when the power is on). Everyone I know has a laptop. So when we're not working, we're inside, watching movies or listening to music. I call us the laptop warriors. We fight and watch movies about fighting. We watch other things, but we're not supposed to talk about that. So we won't. So hail to us, the laptop warriors, keeping it real and keeping abreast of the latest Bruce Willis action film. What a deal!

Just Because

I remember the first time I heard a muezzin. It was in Jerusalem, August 2000. I was staying at the hostel that Mark Twain stayed in when he traveled there in the mid 1800's. It got to be evening time and everyone started going up on the roof. I went up there and the sun was going down, to our backs, and we were looking to the east, with a real close view of the Dome of the Rock, on the Haram al Sharif or, if you like, on the Temple Mount, adjacent to the mosque of Omar. It was shining brilliantly gold in the setting sun and right then, all the muezzins in the city started their calls to prayer. First one, then the other, till there was a veritable symphony of prayer calling going on. I'm sure some of them were recordings but one could tell that most of them were live. It was beautiful. We stayed there for an hour, then one by one, we all retired. Later in my stay there, I was staying at a different hostel, just outside the Damascus Gate. Early one morning, all the muezzins started their daily ritual and this girl, from Australia, was woken up. She was getting all pissy, tossing and turning in her sleep, "for fucks sake!" she was saying. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and jumped out of bed to fix this ruckus. She threw open the balcony doors and proceeded to yell at the cab drivers down in the street to "please turn off your fucking music!!". I was up and started to laugh, well, giggle really, as there were other people sleeping in the room. I heard them tell her, "it's not music, it's the muezzin, calling the faithful to prayer". She uttered an expletive and slammed the doors shut. I suppose you can travel all around the world, see all kinds of things and still, not really get it. Doing as the Romans do when you are in Rome isn't always easy. But it's usually good for a laugh and who knows: you may actually learn something! The small point here is, although we are in the middle of what many people call a war, daily life continues, simply and perfectly. 5 times a day, the muezzins in this city call the faithful to prayer and many do answer the call. Life just goes on and on. Simple, beautiful and just because.

SCORE!!

So, you've heard about IED's and roadside bombs. And then there's the big ones, the ones that can punch right thru any armor we have. These are called EFP's. It means, Explosively Formed Penetrators. They're basically IED's with a twist: they have a concave bottom, which is aimed towards the target, and this concave design allows it to be more powerful. I don't know all the science involved, but it's a real nasty deal. Well, the Iraqi forces that are in this city have become more and more aggressive in the last year or so, doing raids and targeting, apparently, a lot of the right people. Well, the other night, they rolled back into the compound and proceeded to layout quite a score: 30 107mm rockets, 20 60mm mortars and 35 EFP's of various sizes. I had never seen one before, only its effects on our armor. But to see the little bastards, with my own two eyes, was quite a sight. And the Iraqi forces laid them out, all pretty like, so the media could come and take photos and footage of them. Amazing. Any news like that is good news, but I shudder to think about the probability that, like the drug war in America, it's probably just a fraction of what actually exists. But like I said, any news like that is good news. So, chalk one up for the good guys! A big score, indeed!

Bitter Irony, Part II

Well, it's not so much of a bitter irony, what I'm going to write about tonight. It's more like, a little victory for a little person. But it's related to the previous post. So, I'm pulling guard in our guard tower, like I always do. And after observing the bit about the gas lines at the gas station, I saw this little vehicle cruising down the road, real quiet like. It gets closer and I realize, the guy driving this little vehicle is ,well, a little person. He's either a dwarf or a midget, I couldn't tell. But his vehicle is an electric 3 wheeled deal that just cruises, silent as can be. His top speed is like 30 mph. But he's cruising, right by the gas station. And he's looking at the long line, with all the angry people, and, what's that on his face? Is it, could it be, a smirk? A smile? A scornful laugh at all the gas guzzlers? His diminutive stature notwithstanding, this man was positively laughing at all those people! It made my day. And when he came back by, a few hours later, the same look and the same laugh! He laughed, I laughed, a jolly good guffaw was had by all! And that is all...

Bitter Irony

So Iraq is blessed/cursed with the 2nd largest proven oil reserves in the world, right? And oil does make the world go round and round, right? And the US does use like 20 million barrels of the black every single day, right? And other western countries and many developing countries use roughly the same amount, right? Well, that's all good, right? Right. Sure. So what's the title about? The bitter irony is, why, if this country is positively floating on oil, do the people here have to wait in mile long gas lines every morning to buy fuel from a gas station that's open only 4 or 5 hours a day? I mean, every night, around 10 pm, the people start lining up at the gas station that is closed. The guy is there, watching TV on a mat in his parking lot, but the gate stays shut. But they line up there, so at 9am, when that gate opens, they will be the first to pump the stuff that runs this world. But by 7 or 8am, there is a line stretching a mile down the street and they come at it from both sides. It's a full on traffic jam by 10. There is much yelling, jockeying and bartering going on and the lucky ones get some juice. It's like Mad Max over here. OPEN THE GATES!! There seems to be some method to the madness: if you come on foot or on a motorcycle, you can jump to the front, the logic being (i think) that you won't take as much. But woe is you if you come in your car or, heaven forbid, in a cargo truck! You'll wait and wait...and wait. So many times you'll see some poor sap pushing his Yugo or his Lada into the line and then have to inch it up every time the line creeps forward. Define irony? Something is remarkable for a reason other than what you would expect it to be. Define bitter irony? Waiting all morning for gas in Iraq. One must laugh out loud to maintain one's sense of normalcy.

Just The Facts, Mam.

OK, so we've traveled from Ft Hood, to Bangor then to Ireland and then on in to Kuwait. We stayed in Kuwait for a week or so, just eating, sleeping and getting acclimatized to the environment. Then we took a C130 on in to Tallil Air Base near Nasiriyah. There we stayed for about 10 days, eating in the nice Air Conditioned Dining Facility and doing a detail here and there. But mostly, we just relaxed. It was real quiet there, with KBR houses for us to live in. We were 4 guys in a 2 man room. But it was dark and cool in there and the Chow Hall had everything you could imagine. We ate and drank and there was much rejoicing. Finally, the weather cleared and we got on some Blackhawks and cruised 30 minutes east over to a base near Amarah. And here we are. At first, we were in a tent on an Iraqi base, just living. I was one of the "lucky" ones to go to the desert. We lived in a hole out there. It's a bunker, really, next to an airfield. It looked like a rape room, because in both rooms in the bunker there is a hook screwed into the ceiling. We were told the hook was to hang lights and such. Yeah, right. This hook could support a heavy dude. No one around for miles... So, we settled into a routine of manning the mortar gun and pulling 50cal guard. We were 8 people, working 24-7. Each guy slept about 5 hours a day and it was hot. There was no way to beat the heat at all. After your shift you'd go down into the bunker and just sit or try to sleep. You could sleep, but you were sweating profusely. So after 1 hour or so, you'd wake, 5 lbs lighter and totally drenched. It's rough out there. But now, I'm in the city, guarding a fledgling base. We have internet, obviously, phones, AC and showers. It's Heaven, yeah! We'll all be going back out there soon enough, when this gig ends. But for now, I'm totally taking advantage. Our position out there has been invaded a few times...by camels and sand storms. It's really cool to wake up and see a thousand camels just silently moving past your position on their way to...somewhere. In both places, morale is high and people are smiling. Also, in both places, it's been very, very quiet. Almost, too quiet. Who knows what the future brings, and really, who cares. We're gonna be here in this country for a while. The Iraqis seem neutral about our presence. No one waves but no one flips us off, either. So, neutral is good, right? The city is very dirty and there is the ever-present smell of burning garbage, air pollution and burning poop. It's quite a smell, let me tell you. If you've ever been to Beijing or Seoul, it's like that, only 10x worse. It's crazy. But, the money is good, the food is bad and the streets are ugly. All in all, one helluva an experience. I'll update more when I can and put photos if possible. You should see the spiders here! As big as your hand, and they scream at you! The other night, on guard duty, 3am, I smelled...Mexican food! My mind and stomach went crazy! So, I went for the next best thing: an MRE. It means, Meal Ready to Eat. It was packaged 2 years ago and tasted OK. It's like Astronaut food, I guess. Not bad, full of calories and makes for a solid stool. Too much info, I'm sure. But I just report the facts. These are the facts and they are undisputed!

Over There

Just found out that we are leaving tomorrow night. We were supposed to leave on the 14th but a handful of us have been pushed up. That's great, tho. I'm ready to go. We've been sitting around here for awhile and now, no more sitting. It's gonna be a long, hot summer and a very full year. Bu this is what we do. I'll be adding pictures and videos and detailed posts asap. Probably won't be for awhile, tho. Our conditions are gonna be pretty spartan, at least initially. Talk to yall on the flip...

Turning Blue

When you're in the Infantry, to Turn Blue is a big deal. Turning Blue happens at the end of Basic Training, when you're just about to be released. The last thing that happens is you get to pin on your blue cord, which goes around your shoulder and under your arm. This blue cord is a big deal in the Army cuz ONLY the Infantry get to wear it. And of course, the Infantry is the best job in the army. Hell, as far as Infantrymen are concerned, it's the ONLY job in the army. Well, I turned blue at the end of basic training, along with every other Infantryman who went thru the Ft. Benning school for boys. And I'm proud of it. Well, let me tell you another story about "turning blue." At JRTC, on Ft. Polk, there aren't any bathrooms. Only porta-poopers. Well, just as a rule, I try to avoid them, but when you're out there for a month, eventually you must make a visit. Well, one morning, I made such a visit. And it was a good visit. Very productive. Then, 2 hours later, I made another visit. But this visit was different. Why? Well, it was windy that day, my friends. And as I stepped inside, and began to, ahem, prepare myself, I noticed the wind picked up dramatically. Before I knew what was happening, the whole bank of porta-poopers was tipping over. As I was tipping over, the thought went thru my head: the man that cleans these things usually comes around 9am. It's now 11am. I hope to god this man has done his job...Cuz I knew that just 2 hours before, I had been in here using the facility and there were many other such, ahem, depositors as well. It was full at 9am. Had the man come and done his job? I was about to find out. So, as I and the porta-poopers were tipping over, I looked at the hole into which one makes one's deposits, and there, coming out of the hole, was a blue gush of liquid, just like in the hallway scene in the movie, The Shining, when all the blood is rushing down the hallway at the little boy. Remember that one? Well, that's what this was like: blue cleaning antiseptic liquid with chunks of this and that, gushing out the hole and rushing towards me, the little boy! Then, we finished tipping and actually landed, and then the gushing really started in earnest! And I was stuck! I was on my back and my leg had slipped out the door and the pooper landed on the door with my leg stuck outside! I was trapped and could get no leverage and there I lay, as the blue gushed and ran over me and around me, engulfing me in its scented, bluish antiseptic filthiness. Indeed, the man who cleans those poopers had come and had done his job, but a handful of soldiers had come behind him and wiped away his progress in the subsequent 2 hours. And I, your humble narrator, was the recipient of that largesse. I turned blue, for the second time. And, needless to say, I also turned a little brown and yellow. Disgusting, I know. Such is life in the Infantry. My buddy, RB from Ohio, who also went to the poopers with me, was still smoking a cig and had not entered the pooperbank yet. I called out to him and by a Herculean effort, he lifted the bank of poopers and allowed me to escape, soiled and sullied, but unbowed. As I emerged from the muck and came out of the pooper, some other soldiers were driving by and when they saw me, they stopped the Humvee, put it in park and fell OUT OF THE CAR Laughing. Their. Asses. Off! They were pointing and laughing and taking pictures. I became something of a celebrity that day. I turned a little red at that point. For the next 5 days, people were calling me Papa Smurf, The Blue Man Group, Mr. Infantry...The list goes on. Yes, sometimes, turning blue can mean any number of things. HOOAH!

Integrity: Is there such a thing as too much?

The short answer, is no. For most of March, we were at JRTC on Ft. Polk in Louisiana. It's a training base where you do lots of, well, training, designed to get you ready for your deployment. In our case, Iraq. We were there a month, not sleeping, going on patrols, doing mortar drills, eating bad food, and playing chess. Well, one night, my friend VT, from Buffalo, NY, goes outside to have a smoke and before I knew it, he had run back in the tent and then come back out, this time, with his weapon. (side note: while deployed, even in training, your weapon goes EVERYWHERE with you. EVERYWHERE.) He asked me, cuz I outrank him, how many push-ups does he owe. I said, how about 50? So he knocks out 50. Then we move on...But for 15 minutes, I notice he's agitated, so I ask him what's wrong. Oh, nothing. We go back inside. Then 5 minutes later, he comes to me and says, get your stuff, let's go outside! Ok...So we go outside and he asks me to smoke him. Smoke you? Like, smoke you? Yes, Specialist, smoke me! I forgot my weapon and I need to be punished! Are you serious? And he yelled at me, yes! I'm serious! Smoke the shit out of me! So I did. For the next 20 minutes, his life was pushups, bearcrawls, ironmikes, leglifts, rifle PT and whatever else I could come up with. He was thoroughly sweating and was exclaiming loudly, upon being asked, that he would NEVER forget his weapon again. Are you sure? Yes, Specialist, I'll never forget it again! OK, then, position of attention...MOVE! Fall out...I hugged him and was touched by his integrity. No one would have known he screwed up. No one except him...Like my father has told me a million times, the true measure of a man's character and integrity can be measured by what he would do if he knew he wouldn't be caught. VT has character and integrity enough for many men. Hats off you...

WASSUP!!

yeah, yeah, it's been awhile...i know. so, here's Dec, Jan and some of Feb, in a few sentences: Dec, i hurt my leg. real effin bad! Dec and Jan, i recovered and learned how to walk again. Jan, i finally was walking properly and lo and behold, actually running! my run time actually got better. cool, huh? Feb, we did several live fires: mortars, 50 cal and 240's. we spent many days out in the field. it was cold, and beautiful. we got a new CO. and it's not the like the Who song about meet the new boss or something. he is the new boss, but he ain't like the old boss! and that's good. we also got the word about where and when: early Jun, south Iraq. near nasiriyah, doing convoy escort and such. should be 15 months, or so. i wanna do SF, but that's gonna have to wait til later. probably a good thing, cuz upon returning from iraq, i'll know FOR SURE whether or not i wanna stay in the army. met a couple ladies lately. and that's good! one just wanted to be friends...and the other definitely wants to be friends! being friends is perfect with me. i got some new jeans today.