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.