War Story

A few thoughts...

The other day I visited a school in Baghdad. Given the security situation here, I rarely go out. So I've gotten only glimpses of Iraq really. I've been to the Green Zone multiple times. Been to several military bases. But I don't think I've gotten a real idea of what life in this country is all about. I know how it feels like to live in a war zone (albeit I've got a security guy I report to and a fortified compound I stay in). But I don't have a clue what the essence of Iraq is. Iraq as a country apart from the war. Pure Iraq, if there is any such thing that exists anymore.

As I walked toward the school I took in the neighborhood around me. The barrage of honking cars. The dusty, unrefined roads. The little kids playing with sticks and abandoned tires. The fruit stalls on the corner. The dilapidated buildings. A distinct smoky smell that I've only smelled in a few other countries before. And for a split second, I think I felt a bit of it. What Iraq used to be before the war. Of course we stayed in the school for barely a half hour, and scurried to our car (chase car following) and were whisked away. But I'd like to think there's a bit of that pre-war Iraq still here.

I leave the day after tomorrow. It's been both a slow and fast ride, my 6 weeks here. I'm excited to see my friends and my family (can't wait to hug my mom and eat her yummy food!) But it feels a bit odd to be leaving...when most everyone else is staying. There are so many stories to tell. And I won't be telling those stories anymore. But from what I've heard from talking to other journalists, this country has a way of bringing you back. Hmm...

But for now, goodbye. And wish me well on my travels back home.

Dogs

So I've had a few mishaps while being here. No near-death experiences, but a few minor...injuries of a sort. Nothing related to being in a war zone. One occurred on a Marine base up in western Iraq where I visited a military working dog kennel. (Gosh darn those are strong dogs!) But I got a great story out of it.

About these dogs: my story goes into how important these animals are to the military operations here. I mean, we as humans don't have the olfactory senses to sniff out a bomb. But these dogs do.

These dogs have a lot of rights. You shoot a military working dog, it's like shooting an American soldier. Some Iraqis take offense to the rights of these animals...rights they say they aren't granted. One Iraqi woman told me locals have got a nickname for these dogs. They call them "Mr. Dog."

I'm a dog lover myself and feel all animals should be protected and given rights. But there is definitely something wrong if the people of this country (this is THEIR country after all) don't feel they have rights as citizens of this land.

Good Times in the Green Zone...

Heading into the Green Zone, the fortified U.S. and Iraqi-government space, is a taxing, frustrating, test of your patience (that phrase was the understatement of the year...you'd understand if you have ever ventured into the Green Zone). There are countless checkpoints, and sitting in a car in the hot Baghdad sun, while Peruvian guards are milling about you, ain't fun. It's worse than a traffic jam on the NJ Turnpike - I'm telling you. Like a million times worse. And for some reason, every time I head into the Green Zone, the whole process of getting through checkpoints seems to take longer.

There are good points to heading into the Green Zone...when I think really really hard about it. Oh yes! The little tents where they pat women down (it's culturally taboo for men to search females here...thank God!) are usually air conditioned. And the women doing the searches are typically very nice. Today, while we were waiting on these wooden benches while dogs sniffed and searched the cars for clearance, a jubilant little boy (you know that age when little boys and girls sort of just skip around, like they're on a cloud, completely oblivious to those around them? Well that was this little boy) came into the checkpoint with his family. The boy, about age 6, was carrying a juice box and looking around like he wanted something to play with. I then noticed a stern-looking Iraqi man look at the little boy, walk up to him, then smack him on the head lightly and rush off (the man was playing that little game where you pretend you didn't do what you just did). But the boy was whip smart and looked right at the man. The man chuckled. I chuckled too (don't you love moments that you aren't a part of but you are an observer so you sort of are a part of the moment?) The man was a complete stranger, but noticed this little boy like I had. He talked to the boy a bit, then both he and another man affectionately patted the boy on his head and walked off.

Aww...

Bad Dreams

Pardon the delay. It's taken me a few days to adjust from my 10 day embed. All that waiting around for military aircraft can really do a number on you.

There's something I noticed early in my rotation here: it's really difficult to get a good night's rest. There are the late deadlines (we send our stories to D.C. around 3 p.m. their time, 10 p.m. Baghdad time...waiting for an editor to edit your stories can leave you awake into the wee hours of the morning) and the adrenaline pumping through your veins. But then when you are actually getting some shut-eye, it's not the reprieve it should be. I had two dreams before I arrived here that I was getting shot at. But I haven't had any of those while actually being here. My second week, I had a dream (nightmare really) that a black rodent entered my room. It was so real, so vivid, that I woke up screaming (much to my  chagrin a colleague heard my wails and calmed me down). I'm not one to react to dreams in such a way. I had a similar experience when I was taking the anti-malaria drug Larium in South Africa. A huge spider descended upon me and I ran out of my dorm room in a panic. My sweet friend (one of my bestest to this day) was in the room across from mine and saved me.

But I'm not on any meds here. Save for a few vitamins. So last night, I had another one of those obnoxious vivid dreams. This time a tapir entered my room. It's a snouty/piggy sort of creature. I've never seen one in real life. They reside in South America. I've never seen one here so I haven't a clue why it appeared in my dream.

I've got a wonderfully plush bed in my apartment on South Upper Street in Lexington. But after all this, I'm thinking the best rest I'll get is at my mom and pop's.  I'll get there - inshallah - on June 4.

Until then: wish me sweet dreams ya'll.

Coming Home

I never thought I'd be so happy to be back in Baghdad. But after countless hours in military airports, walking around military bases and minimal contact with Iraqis - I'm glad to be back. I was supposed to arrive three days ago. But that didn't happen. There's an oft-used phrase around here in the military: hurry up and wait. You'll know what I'm talking about if you've flown military aircraft in Iraq.

I spent nearly a week in al Asad, a Marine Corps air base in the western province of Anbar and a few days at the al Taqqadum Marine base. I was hoping to catch up with some Kentucky Marines working out in Waleed, near the Syrian border. Alas, that didn't happen due to weather problems (sand storms make nothin' happen here) and other variables. Welcome to Iraq. But, it gave me a chance to hang out with several Marine units and really get the low-down on the differences between Marines and Army soldiers.

First off: Army soldiers are outfitted in an aqua-bluish hued uniform. Marine uniforms are more like an olive-brown. Both branches also wear different physical training outfits. I also noticed after being on an Army base for a day, that officers are saluted. On Marine bases I didn't see that, so I asked why. In war zones, Marines do not salute officers. That's so the enemy doesn't spot officers so easily. It makes sense, but if you're on a U.S.-fortified military base, chances are, the enemy aren't going to be milling around nearby. I do get the idea though.

Next: this one could get a bit saucy. I noticed that Army soldiers and Marines took some jabs at one another. "Watch out for those Marines!" I was told, before heading out on my trip. "Those darn Army guys!" Marines said in my midst. One Army guy (who should and will remain nameless here) told me that because the Marines are more specialized than the Army, they tend to be...narrow-minded. I'd like to think of them as focused. The Marines are considered the "tip of the spear" meaning, they are the guys that go in and kick in doors and clean house - basically they launch the initial offensive in a war zone. In my understanding then, it's the Army that maintains the stability. Okay, I think I've said enough about this...I'll change the subject now.

Yesterday I went to a memorial service for a fallen Army soldier. This was my first time attending this type of ceremony. His name was Sgt. Joseph Andrew Ford. He was 23. Just married. A history buff. He died after being ejected from a military vehicle May 10. I couldn't stop staring at his picture. He looked so young, goofy, happy, focused and without a care in the world. He was all those things. And he had a future worth living, as we all do, but he died anyway. I thought about his family, his brother and sister and parents and wife. They shoulda been there for it. The hardest part of the ceremony was the final roll call. His 1st Sgt. called out some soldiers' names. They all responded. Then he called out: "Sgt. Ford!" Silence. "Sgt. Joseph Ford!" More silence. "Sgt. Joseph Andrew Ford!" The silence filled the room.

I'll never forget his name.

Pack Light!

So, if all goes according to plan (that's a catchphrase here) I will be embedded with the 4th Marine Logistics Group in Anbar beginning tonight. Not sure what to expect.

I'm hauling around two backpacks, one full of all my tech gear - computer, satellite phone, digital recorders, digital camera and all the gadgets that go with all those pieces - and another backpack. I'm going to be gone for a week and I'm not one to pack light. My friends and family would always crack jokes about my reputation for packing a huge suitcase full of what I considered necessities for three or four-day long trips. Yeah, I hardly used the useless stuff I'd pack but I liked having the option of using those useless items. But this time, I had no choice. I will be carrying all this luggage around myself (no baggage check-in) and I'll be flying on a Blackhawk helicopter to and fro. So luggage is limited. I've also got my Kevlar hemlet and body armor I've got to carry. I packed several changes of underwear, a pair of pants, some toiletries, a towel, two shirts, batteries, notebooks, pens and a pair of flip-flops. If there's the off chance I get to a shower, not going to do that with bare feet.

I'm leaving today and should be back in my Baghdad hotel by May 12. Wish me luck folks, and I'll check in with you from time to time.

Let Your Hair Down

Sorry guys. I was stuck on a U.S. military base and had no access to my blog. I'm back until I fly out to Anbar and embed with some Marines. Don't know when that will happen and I hope that when it does, I can somehow finagle my way onto my blog to keep you all (cos I know you care so much!) apprised of my comings and goings.

So it's been exactly 20 days that I've been here. It's been both slow and fast. Slow on the days I'm stuck in the compound, fast on the days I've got the opportunity to experience something I've never experienced before. Yesterday was one of those days. I covered a Kentucky Derby event the KY National Guard organized yesterday at the Camp Liberty military base. It was an awesome assignment and the first time I've had my own pictures - that I've shot with a camera - in the paper, so that's exciting. Usually I've got a photographer by my side, dashing around while I mull about with paper and pen scribbling notes. So yesterday was both challenging and fun - I've got a newfound respect for photographers. I always knew capturing a good shot was hard - and yesterday made that even more clear to me.

Going back to the base: it was my first time on a military base of any kind. And I'm sure this base is not comparable to any other due to the fact that it is Saddam Hussein's old palace and estate. So the feel is (probably) just a little bit different from others. I took my first shower in a military base trailer (females only) and ate at my first DFAC (these folks have got acronyms for everything, it just stands for dining facility). The problem with being in Iraq, on a military base, is if you are a civilian, you've got to be babysat. I'm sure it's that way on all bases, but maybe not to this extent. Because of security concerns, someone's got to escort you everywhere, or you have to get these documents (ITOs) that allow you to frequent some areas by yourself - but not many. It was a frustrating feeling. But being on a base here was interesting nonetheless.

So, one of the things you realize when you are over here - even if you are a hyphenated American like me - is that you are American. You just are. I'm not one to hang out at Walmart or anything (OK, fine I admit it: Target is a guilty pleasure) but there is a certain something that happens when you are over here. You crave some of those simple American things that you always took for granted. It's the simple things that make you happy. Like the ability to pick up a box of Crunch 'n Munch. I'm not a Crunch 'n Munch kinda gal, I'm really not, but today, I got to go into my very first PX - and it was overwhelming. A PX is a U.S. Army base retail store. And it's got a little bit of everything. I picked up a little brown towel (for my upcoming embed) and some M & M's and Hershey's miniatures for the staff, as well as a bottle of that cold Star Bucks drink that comes in a glass bottle. Don't know what you call those, but I got the vanilla flavored one with the mild coffee taste. I don't think I've drank more than four of those kinds of drinks in my life. But today: had to have it. The PX is described as a mini-Walmart - and it is. It's crazy what they sell in there...from skin toner to fashion magazines to protein shakes and double-chocolate Rice Krispies treats (can you even get those at a grocery store in the States?) You're really not at want for anything here...anything material that is. They've even got a Pizza Hut, Burger King and Taco Bell on the base.

One of the female soldiers I met today had such an interesting urge: to just be able to walk around with her hair down. She's got waist-length hair, and the 6 months she's been here on her tour, she's had to twist it up into a bun, like all females in the Army do. Keep it up, away from your face, confined. "I just wish I could walk around - for one day - with my hair down," she said wistfully. "As soon as I get home, that's what I'm going to do first."

The things that make us happy.

Three Hour Tour

I haven't told my parents about this blog. And there's a reason for that.

Today I spent 8 hours outside of the hotel. I was really excited, woke up early, met up with Jinan (my lovely Iraqi colleague) and off we went. We were driven to the compound of Iraqi politician Ahmad Chalabi and waited for a convoy to take us on a tour of an area in east Baghdad where al Qaida had once been prominent. We waited about a half hour inside the compound. The Iraqi tea was placed before us and the tea was taken away, not a sip tasted. We made our way outside to the convoy (a bunch of armed Iraqi military and security guards wearing bullet-proof vests, standing near armored SUVs).Then finally, just when we thought the convoy was ready, we waited in line for another half hour or so. We were given bags with snacks – an orange soda, chocolate cake and some fruit – and waited a little bit more. Then we started moving. Great. But that lasted only a few minutes. You see, something started igniting. I swear it wasn’t my fault (I messed with the air conditioner when the driver wasn’t looking). It was a problem with the AC short-circuiting or something. I pretty much pushed the guy sitting next to me out of the vehicle – he seriously wasn’t moving fast enough. A smoking car in Baghdad? Best it not be a bomb. I didn’t want to take chances. I nearly stumbled onto the sidewalk in my haste to get out.

So now, we were in the street. There was no bomb, in fact it was a problem with the AC. But because the convoy had a place to go, the line of vehicles quickly zipped away from us. Apparently they didn’t have a back-up plan to transport the four lone journalists now stuck on the side of the road. So we – myself, Jinan and two Iraqi journalists – decided to walk back to the compound and call our drivers to head back our offices. There would be no story today, oh well. Wasted about two hours. Happens in Iraq. We shrugged and started walking. It was a lovely walk actually, I got to see more palm trees and Iraqis just chilling out in their neighborhood.

We were almost there when suddenly a windowless vehicle with two Iraqi soldiers pulled up to us. They spoke some rapid-fire Arabic (I know only about five Arabic words, one of which is “cow”…useless) and off we went. I’ve never been more scared in a vehicle. In my American petrified mind I had two great fears: A) the threat of bombs as we zipped around/through/between/above traffic  B) the threat of driving with Iraqi soldiers that took no precautions on the road. I’ve driven with crazy drivers in India and South Africa but those experiences weren't this maddening. This driver continually went against the flow of traffic (which actually is quite common here, I’ve got to get used to that) but he took it to a BRAND NEW level. He also honked until vehicles moved out of the way, but at times it seemed we were going to RUN.RIGHT.INTO.THEM. I closed my eyes and laid my head on Jinan’s shoulder. No sense in freaking out.

We eventually were delivered (in one piece) to our destination, the office of the politician we were meeting. The whole assignment took a good 8 hours – I thought 3 hours, tops. But that's another thing in Iraq. Everything - absolutely everything - takes more time here.

I’m back at the office, alive to tell the tale. But I can’t shake the feeling of that frenetic drive. Never again? I don’t know if I can say that if I continue to stay here. 

ps: Strangely, all of these surahs (Arabic prayers) that I learned when I was young came back to me. Verses just popped right back into my head. It was the only thing that made me feel better today. My mom would be proud.

Outing

Since I'm an education writer back home, I'm interested in schools here. Particularly because Baghdad's been through a pretty rough patch recently with all the bombings and gun battles. How are students learning? What are the facilities like? For the schools that have been shut down due to violence, how are those students being taught? I was to go to two schools - one not so affected by the violence in Baghdad, and another that has been traumatized. I was told to dress conservatively - no bright colors, long button-up shirt, nothing flashy or revealing. Not a problem. I did as was told. Then I was instructed to throw on an abaya, which is a long shapeless robe, and a head scarf. They wanted to make sure I blended in as much as possible.

I don't have an issue covering here. In fact I feel more protected. It was the first time I've had to don such attire since arriving here two weeks ago. The times I walk down the street, I do so with my hair uncovered, wearing whatever clothes I'm wearing. Of course I do not open my mouth, or walk with that air of entitlement Americans tend to exude.

So here I was, all covered up, heading to the school. Excited cos - let's be honest, I'm always excited here when I'm able to leave the compound, even for a few minutes. So we get to the school and one of the drivers recognized a teacher from the school. We stopped the car to chat with her. And this is the interesting part: This teacher was dressed nothing like me. She was in a bright red top and jean skirt. Her gently wavy hair was streaked blond. Hmmm. I thought they wanted me to blend in?

We ended up only being at the school for a few minutes. We needed a permit from the ministry of education to be there. I hope to go back later on this week. And...I'm really not sure what to wear now.

Palm Trees

Now that things have considerably settled down in Baghdad, I’m able to more clearly focus on my surroundings – and I noticed yet another thing I didn’t pay attention to before. Palm trees. Yes, Iraq’s got palm trees. When I pointed out the peculiarity of this to my colleague Hamad, he told me that Iraq was once known for its bountiful trove of palm trees. Not anymore though, he said. The war changed all that. He said he grew up reveling in all the palm trees around him. I couldn't believe it. Yet another interesting fact about this enigma of a country.

There’s another sand storm today. These storms are the bane of our existence. For me (with my allergies) my breathing becomes labored. If you ever venture out in a sand storm, even a mild one, you’ll notice immediately that your skin will feel gritty. I stared in the mirror one day after being outside in a sand storm and noticed my face looked liked it was caked with foundation. No, it was just a layer of sand. Nice. What is kinda cool about sand storms is the gentle orange haze it forms around windows. Sort of like you are living on Mars. What’s not so cool is the weird fog indoors – how the heck does this sand get inside? Sand storms also interfere with air travel. So if you are planning on arriving in Iraq or leaving Iraq on the day of a sand storm – forget about it. Not gonna happen.

There are few things that distract me from the fact that I’m living and working in a war zone. The lovely tub of Turkish ice cream doesn’t do it. Neither does the canister of salt and vinegar Pringles. The other day though, while nursing an injured foot, I passed part of the day by watching a movie. “The Squid and the Whale” (highly recommended) was a welcome reprieve. I felt like I’d stumbled upon a wonderful secret: If only for an hour-and-a-half, I found a way to transport myself out of here. (Not that I don’t want to be here, I’m actually enjoying myself, but sometimes all the blood and death and war and suffering really does get to you). So after watching the movie, I felt reinvigorated, bolstered by this newfound escape. So I tried it again. This time I invited my colleague’s daughter to join me. I slipped in  “The Break-Up” a funny/sappy/romantic comedy that I’d already seen, but was in the mood to see again (and so was she). For the first 45 minutes it was great, Baghdad was a distant memory. Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn couldn’t have been funnier. Ha-ha…yeah! It was great. Then…the electricity went out, and we were cloaked in darkness. Because the infrastructure here is so shabby, the electricity goes out at least (no joke) 20 times a day. The hotel I’m at is equipped with generators, so it’s not too bad…but still.

Oh well. In another few weeks I won’t have to worry about the electricity going out. And I can watch a movie without it suddenly turning off on me. But by that time, I'm thinking, I will want to be in Baghdad - not escape it. Funny how life works.