Five years into the war, business is still booming for the producers of cheesy Iraq souvenirs. In addition to kiosks on US bases or at the Baghdad airport, dozens of Web sites have sprung up to hawk Iraqi kitsch.

It should be noted that few Iraqis actually buy the stuff; customers are mainly private security contractors, U.S. soldiers, American government employees and foreign journalists or aid workers.

You can still buy those played-out "Who's your Baghdaddy?" T-shirts or a cheap watch emblazoned with Saddam Hussein's mustachioed face. The "I (heart) Sadr City" bumper stickers are newer. There are also beach towels printed with the English-Arabic message typically found on the back end of a security convoy: "Caution! Stay 100 m back or you will be shot!"

Non-regulation sew-on patches come with all kinds of slogans: "American League Infidel Death Angel," "Al Qaeda Hunting Club," "Holy war? Holy Sh--!" and, of course, "Mission Accomplished." Maybe for Christmas, I'll present my editors with the patch featuring the South Park character Kyle looking glum under the words, "You sent me to Iraq you bastards!" (Dear editors: only joking.)

You can golf in polo shirts from the mythical "Baghdad Country Club" or fight the sun with a baseball cap printed with the insignia of the Iraqi Railroad. On mild autumn days, you can sport a long-sleeve T-shirt that describes the Green Zone as "the ultimate gated community."

In March, the AP published a story about a cardboard shrine dedicated to Chuck Norris at a base in Anbar Province. The makeshift shrine reportedly describes the Hollywood action star as "the only WMD in Iraq" and says Norris "puts the 'laughter' in manslaughter." Countless troops have snapped photos of themselves posing by the shrine. There must be T-shirts out there somewhere as well.

Today, I was standing in line to be searched to enter the Green Zone when the Filipino contractor ahead of me turned around. He was wearing a black T-shirt with the words, "You stay classy, Iraq!" next to the face of Ron Burgundy, the insufferable-yet-endearing anchorman played by Will Ferrell.

I'd never seen that particular design, so when I got back to the hotel, I did a quick online search to see what else was new in the war souvenir industry. The Ron Burgundy T-shirt (with several variations) appeared to be popular. I grabbed the photo above from the blog of an Iraq veteran; I confess I've never personally seen Ron Burgundy stenciled on the side of a Humvee.

One Web site sells a "You stay classy, Iraq" shirt for $18, but with Saddam Hussein's face instead of Will Ferrell's. Here's how the vendor touts it: "This t-shirt reminds us all that this brutal minority dictator may have had a few Shi'ite days, but his final message urged everyone to look on the Sunni side of life."

If my day in Baghdad were described through Facebook status updates:

Hannah Allam is...

...wondering why the U.S. military isn't commenting on the Karbala raid. 16 hours ago

...proud of Iraqi staffers for scrambling on raid story, despite no military comment. 14 hours ago

...dreaming of grocery shopping without having to switch cars to foil kidnappers. 6 hours ago

...thinking even hell isn't this hot. 12m ago

...ecstatic that, for once, Abu Sajjad didn't make lamb for lunch. 6 hours ago

...swimming with her Iraqi colleagues, hijabs and all. 3 hours ago

...ticked off that Iraqi officials don't keep their phone interview appointments. 15m ago

...talking to a military spokesman who says there is "no information to release" on raid. 3m ago

...suspecting Special Forces were involved in the raid, hence no military comment. 2m ago

...loving this new split-unit air conditioner! 3 hours ago

...watching Season Two of House M.D. about an hour ago

...fast-forwarding to where she was in the House episode when the electricity went off. 30m ago

...in an online forum for gun enthusiasts to determine difference between a PKC and a BKC. 2m ago

...diappointed to see that the hours-long gas lines are back. 52m ago

...happy we saw that six-vehicle private security convoy in time. 10 hours ago

...sickened that a 25-corpse mass grave was unearthed today. 4 hours ago

...sad for the family in Pago Pago, Samoa, that lost Lt. Col. Max Galeai, KIA in Anbar. 5 hours ago   

...hoping this sandstorm doesn't shut down the airport. 5m ago

...glad she isn't bureau chief and wishes Leila were here. 2 hours ago

...receiving angry text messages about not checking in with her family. 15m ago

...wishing she had even an ounce of the resilience of Iraqis. about a minute ago 

Some behind-the-scenes anecdotes from this week in Iraq:

If Iraqis could vote...
Obama is popular among our Iraqi staff members, many of whom now forgo high-fives for the Barack-Michelle knuckle knock. However, Arabic-language channels made a big deal out of the Obama campaign asking two Muslim supporters not to sit behind the presidential candidate so their headscarves wouldn't appear on TV. There's also been lots of footage here of Obama reassuring AIPAC that all of Jerusalem belongs to Israel, which didn't go over so well, either.

Our drivers feel betrayed. The other day we were chatting after lunch and one of them asked me whether it was true Obama was Muslim. No, I told him, he's a Christian but has some Muslim forefathers. Another asked me why he moved the Muslim women, and I explained that campaign workers were behind the gaffe and that Obama had apologized for the incident. Abu Zahraa said he still supports Obama, reasoning that his Muslim ancestry might make him more sympathetic to the plight of Iraqis and Palestinians. Abu Feisal said the AIPAC speech had turned him off Obama, but that he would still vote for Obama over McCain because: "I just like his black face. It's close to us. He is not so different."

I then conducted a little poll: "If you could vote in U.S. elections, who would you pick for president?"
Our office manager's answer had us all laughing: "If I was an American, I would vote for Obama. But if I was Iraqi and could vote in U.S. elections, I would vote for McCain....because maybe he'll finish the s--- they started here!" But the zinger came from our British security adviser, who was also in the lunchroom: "If I were American, eh? I'd emigrate to England!"

"The biggest agent in the world"
One of my female Iraqi colleagues, the office sweetheart, is always asking for more adventurous assignments than polling parliament members about the status of forces agreement. The US military invited McClatchy on a day trip to Taji yesterday and I thought it might be nice to take along my Iraqi colleague for her very first helicopter ride. You have to understand: Iraqis seen associating with the US military, even (and sometimes especially) in a media capacity, can be marked for death by militants who view them as traitors and collaborators. Iraqis who work with Americans take great pains to shield their identities and jobs, which is why my colleague's name isn't mentioned here.

So, we set off for the helicopter landing pad in the Green Zone. It's next to a parking lot filled with dozens and dozens of the huge, menacing SUVs used by security contractors such as Blackwater. My Iraqi colleague's eyes grew big: "I've never seen them still like this. Only moving so, so fast in the streets!" We boarded the helicopter (after a brief struggle to put in her ear plugs under her hijab) and were strapped in. The rotors kicked dust in our faces, but we were too giddy to notice. This was her first helo ride, and probably my last for a long time.

We rose above Baghdad and my colleague had a big smile plastered on her face as she absorbed her first aerial view of her hometown's mosques, mazes of sand-colored villas, impossibly green palm groves, tidy squares of farmland and -- best of all -- the sparkling Tigris. We touched down in Taji, peeled off our body armor and toured a mechanics' workshop where laborers were refurbishing old U.S. Humvees for Iraqi use. I snapped a couple of pics of my colleague posing near the Humvees. ("It's the first time I've ever touched one!" she said.) Then we settled in for a joint US-Iraqi military ceremony in which we were seated directly behind Gen. David Petraeus, the commander of US forces in Iraq. I snapped a couple more souvenir pics, then we mostly baked in the 104-degree sun and interviewed some Iraqi and US officers.

At one point, my colleague and I flipped through the photos on my camera from earlier that day. There she was: striking a pose in her body armor, smiling in a US military helicopter, peeking through the bulletproof window of a Humvee, looking poised behind the top American general in Iraq. She gasped. "Just send them directly to the Sadr office!" she said, jokingly. "My God, I am the biggest agent in the world!"

Move over, South Beach Diet
McClatchy has another visiting American reporter here, a veteran California-based journalist named Buck Tharp, who proudly wears a T-shirt that reads, "Old Guys Rock," and is wildly popular among the Iraqi staff. Buck has been on a military embed in Kirkuk for several days. He's had to make treks in the midday sun, go without laundry service and endure many other less-than-fun aspects of embedded life.

Today, he emailed me an update that said he lost 4 kilos walking around remote bases in the sweltering heat. In typical Buck fashion, he added: "Dig it!" I wrote back that I'd lost 2 kilos in Taji alone and suggested we quit journalism and market the Iraq Extreme Diet. His reply pointed out the unfortunate acronym that probably would doom our fledgling diet business: IED.

Back to the drawing board...   

Yesterday afternoon I was interviewing a young Iraqi man for a story when he disclosed that he'd worked for Blackwater, the notorious U.S. private security firm that protects diplomats and senior officials in Iraq and other conflict zones. Blackwater has come under scrutiny for its involvement in a string of high-profile shooting deaths of Iraqi civilians.

I'd never met an Iraqi mercenary who worked for Blackwater, so we veered off-topic and I asked him about what it was like to work for a firm that is so widely despised by Iraqis. He agreed to describe his experiences as long as I didn't use his real name or give the exact dates of his employment. He didn't fear retribution from the company -- he just thought it might hurt his chances if he ever decided to seek employment with Blackwater again.

I have no way of verifying certain details of his account, but here's what he had to say:

"As a person who worked for Blackwater, I can tell you that these teams are different from the last teams. Maybe the new teams are not being told how to deal with the people. After the problems in Nisour Square, managers said this team must be changed. They brought in the new team and the new team ran over at least two people in a car. Or maybe it was four, I can't remember. Yes, I think it was four. They just ran over them on the street. Have you seen how big their vehicles are? They gave the families compensation. No media ever reported on this incident.

"I was on the best team, Mamba Team. Do you know mamba? The snake, black mamba. We had no problems with our team. We were on the cowboys team! (Laughs.) But we never went on special missions. They would never take an Iraqi on special mission, that was for the US embassy team.

"It was not only Americans at Blackwater. There was one Australian, one South African. There were also some from Chile and Colombia, but they weren't allowed on the teams -- they were guards. In Baghdad, there were three teams: the US embassy team, Mamba and the Airport Team. The US embassy team was the biggest. Blackwater was also out of Baghdad, in Basra, Najaf, Erbil and Hillah. In Erbil, they were protecting IRI (International Republican Institute). The IRI manager was named Rich, a very nice guy.

"Sometimes, people from Blackwater were killed. There was a Mexican, he got killed on airport road. His contract had finished and he just wanted to go home to his family. He was a very good man. He was never afraid to clash with terrorists. When the terrorists attacked them on airport road, he remained with the last car to cover for the others. He told them, 'Go, go.' He fought alone and he was killed. He could carry a PKC in one hand! He was so strong. Blackwater had a (memorial service) for him. It was sad. And you know Blackwater, they had to drink. You know, they aren't afraid of anything, of any terrorist. They see themselves as tough guys.

"Another time, two Blackwater vehicles were under siege in Tikrit for maybe two weeks before they could get out. They had huge Lincolns full of ammunition. They were fighting and fighting and when they came back from Tikrit...(starts to laugh)...they had paint on their faces like they were Special Forces!

"Now, the teams have changed, though. You understand? I mean, for better, not worse."

Never thought it would actually happen, but I was able to visit one of my dearest friends, J, on her base in Baghdad today. J is my old college roommate who has allowed me to reprint her letters home on this blog to show the evolution of a military mom on her first deployment as a medic in Iraq. (The latest installments -- 10, 11, 12 -- are at the bottom of this entry, making for a much longer post than normal.)

My drivers dropped me off at the FOB (forward operating base) at 1 p.m. The FOBs I'm used to are sprawling, air-conditioned American villages with commissaries that look like miniature Wal-Marts, except with an inordinate supply of chewing tobacco and beef jerky. J's FOB, however, is a dusty little outpost sandwiched by forbidding Iraqi installations. Can't say much more about the location, I'm afraid, because my visit was not sanctioned by the military's media coordinators.

My escort truck pulled up with a white South African driver and a uniformed U.S. soldier with sunglasses on in the passenger seat. It took me a moment to realize that the soldier was female. Another moment to recognize her as J, a woman I know better in boot-cut jeans and cute tops that show off her dolphin tattoo. I wanted to leap at her, to pull her close and give thanks for this firsthand proof that she was safe. But I could not. There were too many Iraqi police of uncertain loyalties around, and it would have been dangerous for me (and my drivers) if they saw me embrace "an occupier."

I got a visitor's badge and J showed me to her room, a concrete square with chipped paint on the walls and a huge mass of body armor on the floor. Pictures of J's beautiful 2-year-old daughter hung on a metal locker. Starburst candy and Big Red gum were on top of a file cabinet. Her journal was open on a desk; it's where she writes the letters that eventually end up here.

Alone, we hugged for an eternity, then laughed at how freakin' surreal this whole encounter was. I asked her where we both went wrong in life to end up together in this sun-baked war zone, seemingly a million miles from everything familiar. There was no good answer.

Lounging on her cot, we were just girlfriends again, each of us in our uniforms -- hers camouflage, mine the long skirt and modest blouse I wear in an attempt to "blend in" among Iraqis. We sounded so strange and grown-up, discussing how the Mahdi Army had infiltrated the security forces or sharing stories about Sadr City. She said she wanted so badly to forge friendships with her Iraqi comrades, but there was always an insurmountable barrier of mistrust on both sides.

We talked a lot about her marvelous husband, who is doing yeoman's work in the struggle to hold it all together back home, the workaday drudge coupled with round-the-clock, single-parent care of their daughter. I've seen on countless occasions the way this war has ripped apart Iraqi families. When J's eyes grew watery as she described how much she misses her loved ones, I saw for the first time the mirror effect on the families of American troops.

Iraq was new and exciting for her, she said, and the novelty helps the time pass. But what clock is her husband on? How slowly and painfully his days must unfold. J's military stint is almost up and she faces the momentous decision of whether to re-up. The Army is dangling a bonus of $15,000 -- tax-free -- if she renews her contract. J and her husband could use the money, but their daughter could use a mother even more.

We lightened things up by heading over to the chow hall. A kind manager allowed me in even though I was violating the dress code by wearing open-toed shoes. Taco salad! Pecan pie! Sweetened ice tea! Then a walking tour of the base: the latrine where one stall is reserved for Iraqis, the recreation center with an old-timey popcorn machine and a foosball table, barracks where a tongue-in-cheek list was taped to a door under the title "What We're Fighting For." The list included McDonald's, Starbucks, Valium, Republicans, Democrats...

And, finally, with the clock running down too quickly, we returned to her room for one last heart-to-heart. The previous occupants had painted a grinning skull on the door, but J's fellow troops decided the old decor wasn't exactly appropriate for a medic. Someone in her unit had dug up a vintage poster of a wartime nurse and stuck it on her door. The caption is: The Comforter.

              ---------------

Below are the latest of J's letters home, which cover everything from good-natured fun with the lonely Iraqi police who approach her with fake stomachaches to J dealing with her rage and fear as she conducts a physical on a suspected insurgent before his interrogation. You can see her trying to make sense of this foreign culture, viewing it through all-American eyes.

I found some of her writings in this installment disturbing, particularly when it comes to torture as an interrogation practice. Doesn't sound like the J I know who volunteered in Haiti. I wonder if this war already has hardened her. But then, in the next sentence, she'll be talking about watching Iraqi children play, or how she wishes she could spend just one day in an Iraqi marketplace. Stereotypes are busted through dialogue and the mingling of peoples. But there's so little of that in this city of fiefdoms divided by nationality or sect.

As usual, only identifying details have been changed. Thanks for your patience with the looong Sunday read.

Ch10- Differences                                                                             May 26, 2008

Hello All,

     I know I’m still like a month behind in my writings, but hopefully this week I can get caught up.

     It’s starting to really get warm here, but I know it’s not even close to what it will get to in july and august.  I did another traffic circle mission on may 22^nd but this time I stayed in the vehicle for all of but maybe 1 ½ hours of a 12 hour mission.  I passed out some stuffed animals today and some candy.  What amazed me most today is how young the little boys here start womanizing.  Boys that seemed only about 9 yrs old would give you a little flirtatious smirk and stare into your eyes until you looked away.  They would also smile and give a quick raise of their eyebrows which seems to be quite the popular gesture of flirting here for men and boys of all ages.  I know boys start getting interested in females around that age or so, but in America they are not that openly flirtatious so young.  I couldn’t help but laugh.  You will also get the “I’m undressing you with my eyes right now” look by most of the men that pass by and it’s a little creepy.  You feel like you are up for sale at a market or something.  One of the Iraqi Army guys even asked one of the guys I was with if he wanted to take me up stairs and do “freaky-freaky”, but he wanted to watch.  He also asked how much for me and 10 of his guys.  I mean seriously!!!  They offered up 4 camels for another female in a different platoon of ours.  The blond hair blue eyes are worth a little more here.  So anyway, that was a little disturbing. 

     I visited with my little shop owner friend (Abu Wissam) and we talked about the differences in our cultures… here, if necessary, a son may live in his parent’s home along with his wife and children, forever.  The daughter will move out with her new husband.  He also found it odd that women work outside the home in America and that sometimes the men stay at home.  He gasped at this and said here, that would be a total disgrace of a man to stay home with the children. 

     He also said that Baghdad used to be a very beautiful place to live.  But now you can’t go out at night because it is too dangerous.  He said when Saddam ran things you didn’t have a voice, but it was safe and you could go to the casinos at night or out to eat.  Now you have a voice, but it’s too dangerous with all the militia, criminals, etc.  Men here can have up to 4 wives, but he said that it is difficult to have that many unless you have a lot of money.  He also asked where I was from and I explained to him our type of weather.  He said this weather right now (100-105) was spring to him, but july and august are almost intolerable.  If the locals can’t even stand it, how are we supposed to?

     Next, he asked if there are Indians where I live, like the ones he’s seen in the movies with big feathers and stuff.  And he said, “You know, the ones that go “hiyah, hiyah” (and he put his hand up to his mouth).  I thought that was so cute.  But I had to break it to him that they don’t live in teepees anymore.  I told him that they live in regular houses, dress like us and drive cars.  He looked very intrigued by this and almost disappointed.  I tried to explain that I was part Indian, but I don’t think he grasped it. 

     May25th-We had a mass casualty drill today on the FOB.  This is where they simulate a mortar coming in or something like that and have a bunch of pretend injuries.  So when the sirens went off, all of the medical personnel ran to the aid station and started “working” on patients and evacuating them by helicopter.  It was a good experience and things get really hectic and loud when you have 30 patients at one time show up.  I can only imagine how much worse it would be if it was real.  We did actually have 2 real life injuries though.  A ceiling fan flew off and hit a girl in the head (cutting it open) and a guy right under the nose (he had to have stitches and there was blood everywhere).  That added a little excitement to the night.

     The other day while one of my medics was on mission, a convoy stopped and a sergeant major walked over to where they were standing.  This particular medic doesn’t like to follow many rules and so he was not wearing his gloves or eye protection.  He is also Korean.  So, the SGM walks up looks at him and then goes over to our other guys and asks if that guy, V, is our interpreter.  They said no, he’s part of our company.  Then the SGM walks over to him and ask why the hell he isn’t wearing all of his gear.  Sooooo, V, being offended and being the smart ass he is says “Me no speaka English”.  Too freakin hillarious!!!  Needless to say he got his ass chewed, but I still have to give him credit for being so ballzy. 

     Gotta cruise for now, sorry this one is kind of short.

Love and miss you all,

J

Ch 11- Congratulations, it’s a girl!!                                                May 26, 2008

     Today was my first time out to an Iraqi police station.  Most of our squads are in charge of certain police stations and go out everyday to make sure they are doing their job, show them how to do certain things, and fix any problems they might have.  Some police stations are better than others, of course, and some of them are mostly infiltrated by the militia so you really can’t trust anyone here.

     The Iraqi General of this station likes to have his blood pressure checked everyday and also his blood sugar (likes it’s going to make a difference, they don’t do anything about it anyway), but anyway we do this to appease them.  Win their hearts and minds.  That’s what the slogan for the war is now.  I am the first female to be at this station, so of course I get the stare down and all the eyebrow raises I could want.  No one knew I was the medic, because once they know that, it would be all over for me. 

     It was fairly nice in there.  Nice and air-conditioned, we were able to sit on nice comfortable faux leather couches, and were served tea.  All tea over here, no matter what the flavor, is called chai.  So I just sat there and watched TV while the squad leaders did their normal routine of finding out if there’s been any crime in the last 24 hours, if everyone is showing up for work, if the vehicles are getting fixed, if the weapons work, if they are wearing their uniforms, etc. (again just babysitting them).  So after an hour or so we went upstairs to the general’s office.  The squad leaders did their thing and then they told him I was there to do his BP and blood sugar.  I did what I had to do, we had some more tea, and then were supposed to go home.  Just as we were leaving they received info that 2 different people could be served warrants today for possibly being involved with aiding an escapee from a hospital that was wanted for murder.  So we went out with the IP squad and snuck up on two different houses and got the people we needed.  Almost everyone stayed in their vehicles, only a few dismounted.  I unfortunately couldn’t even see anything because they put the medic in the safest vehicle (ASV) and you are way in the back with a window about 8x3inches.  I had to count on the gunner to give me a play by play.  So anyway, we took the 2 detainees back to the station and then headed back home. 

     The next day we went back to the same station.  We sat there, drank tea, chit-chatted (this totally beats sitting in the humvee all cramped up by the way) and then I did the usual on the general.  My commander then had me look at a little boy (kids can come to work with their parents sometimes) that was complaining of pain below the knee, worse in the morning and got better throughout the day.  There was no swelling or injury associated with it so I’m assuming it was Osgood Schlotters, but couldn’t be sure so just gave them some children’s aspirin and told them he would probably outgrow it, but to see a doc if it gets worse.  At this point the word started to spread that I was a medic,   although here they just call you doctor.    

     Turns out the woman that was detained yesterday was breast feeding so she had to bring her baby with her to jail.  Interesting.  There was also another woman in there along with her husband.  Her father had them arrested because they got married without his approval of the man.  She was going to be released later that day because I guess they worked things out.  What a crappy way of life for a woman over here.  I’m so thankful for all of the women in the past that worked so hard to get equality for women. 

     I then was asked to look at a detainee who was stabbed and had stitches.  While doing this, all the other detainees gathered around and stared at me like I was a zoo animal.  A little weird at first, but then I got used to it.  It looked fine, but possibly getting a little infected on one edge so I just gave him some ointment and rewrapped it for him.  However, before doing this, I thought I might have a little fun with them.  So I told the class clown IP of the station to tell him in Arabic that it’s not good, we’re going to have to cut it off.  The IP tried not to smile, so he must have known I was joking, he told the guy (whose eyes got really big) and then the IP said to me, “ you are just joking right”   I said yes, and then he told him truth and they all started to laugh and the detainee looked very relieved.  I know, a little evil, but fun.  At this point I knew there was no turning back.  They all knew now for sure I was the medic, so I knew it was only a matter of time before the fake sicknesses began.

      Well, sure enough, about 10 minutes later the one IP came and got me because I need to look at capt. Mohammed.  I was told he is not feeling well (even though I saw him perfectly fine just awhile ago).  So I walk in to the room (which is filled with about 6 other IP’s watching) and he is lying on his bed, holding his stomach, and is trying to look like he is in great pain.  He is a horrible actor by the way.  So I humored him and did a quick set of vitals and an overall assessment.  He said he had stomach pains and diarrhea.  I told the terp (interpreter) to tell him that I think he is pregnant.  The terp said “do you really want me to tell him that”, and I said ofcourse!  So he told him in Arabic that he was going to have a baby and the room erupted in laughter.  Than N (the goofball of the bunch who can also speak English very well) shouted, “Congratulations! It’s a girl!”  The IP’s got a kick out of this too and everyone was laughing.  I then gave mohammed some Rolaids just to settle his stomach if he really was having issues and N chimes in again and says “I know what those are for.  Those are for his period.”  At this point capt mohammed was not living this episode down and everyone was stopping in to see what the laughter was all about.  It was a good time.  It was great to see that they have a sense of humor just like us and that we are all not so different from one another. 

     Before I left the room one of the younger IP’s stopped me and said, with a smile on his face, “We are all sick here”.  “I’m sure you are”, I replied.  I really enjoyed going to this station.  It’s way better than being out on a traffic control point where you don’t really get to interact with very many people.  Also, its nice because this particular station is really clean compared to most, that’s what they tell me anyway.  Even the detainee cell (which I was expecting to look like a Mexican prison cell or my first room) was clean and the detainees even looked unusually upbeat for being in jail.  I saw a few women walk by and asked about them.  I was told that they now hire a few female police to search and also take care of the female detainees. 

     For lunch we ate some Iraqi bread called samun and had a cheese spread with it called jibbin.  It was sooo good.  It’s a good thing I don’t come here everyday because the warm fresh bread and cheese on top could really do some damage to all the running I’ve been doing.  Well, I think  I think I’ve rambled on enough for now.  Much love to you all.

Love,

J

Ch 12-  Deep Into the Eyes of the Enemy                                         may 29^th, 2008

     On May 29^th I got a call on my radio saying I needed to come to the main office ASAP.  I immediately did an overview trying to think of what I had and had not done that day and the days prior that might have gotten me in trouble.  I couldn’t think of anything, but sometimes in this unit it doesn’t matter.

     So, with my heart racing, I hurry to the office to find my platoon sergeant standing there with a warrant officer that I did not know. I walk up and my sgt. says “you need to grab your medic bag right away and go with him.”  The relief of knowing I wasn’t in trouble was replaced with the curiosity of what was happening.  I was told they would explain on the way.   

     I returned with my medic bag, threw it in the back of a truck and hopped in with 4 other males.  They finally tell me that we are going to a nearby prison because one of the prisoners is going to be interrogated.  It is military procedure to medically assess the prisoner before and after interrogation to make sure that there has been no torture involved.  The man we were going to see was captured in November for connection in transporting 2 US soldiers that have yet to be found.  At the point of arrest he admitted that he was the driver, he went to prison and from then on they have been trying to get info on where he took them.  Since then he has tried to change his story saying he was not involved at all and knows nothing.  However, a fellow inmate said that this guy has been bragging about knowing something, so they were going to try one last time to get the story out of him.  My immediate thought after hearing this was who in the hell cares if he’s tortured.  Shit I’ll do it!!

     I’m kind of getting a little nervous at this point.  Everyone in the truck was so quiet.  I suppose they were getting in the mind set they needed to be in in order to do their job.  We get to the prison and are escorted to a small room with two tables, two chairs and a locker.  They had me take off my name tags and rank so he couldn’t tell who I was and then I set up my things that I needed.  I was to do vitals, overall assessment, check his body for any markings and ask him if he is being treated well (again, who cares!).  It would be just me, the terp, and the prisoner in the room. FREAKY!!  They showed me pictures of the man and then told me he is also a member of al Qaida, EXTRA FREAKY!!

     OK, now my heart is really about ready to pound out of my chest.  I was preparing myself for this horrible monster to walk through the door with a look of hatred and eyes that said, “I want to kill you.”  Through the window I saw him get out of the vehicle.  He was smaller than I expected and was of coursed hand cuffed and was wearing goggles that had been covered with duct tape as to block his vision.  They led him into the room, uncuffed him and then (scary movie music goes here)…. his goggles were taken off (music stops).  What I saw instead was a decent looking middle aged man whose eyes looked tired and almost pitiful and surprisingly warm. 

     We said our hellos in Arabic and then I started my exam.  I took his blood pressure, temp, etc. and while stooping down in front of him I was thinking he could, if well trained, reach over and just snap my neck in an instant and there would be nothing the terp could do.  We were allowed no weapons in the room, so all the defense we had really, was ourselves.  Ok, now I know I learned some new moves in Ft Dix, but let’s get serious here, man vs. woman, I am the weakest link! 

     I had him take off his top to look for any bruises, etc. and asked him if he was feeling well.  For a moment you are focused medically, wanting to see if there is anything wrong and then wanting to fix whatever is wrong.  When I did his eye exam we looked directly into each others eyes.  This is what threw me back into reality and it hit me that I was staring into the eyes of someone who had killed my fellow comrades or at the very least played a part in their death and probably several innocent civilians.

     He said he had a toothache and a headache and that he help been telling the guard for a few days.  I wanted to say something to him so bad, but I didn’t know what.  Like I would have made the difference in him seeing that we are not bad people.  How dare he think we are good enough to help his aches and pains, but yet his group he follows kills Americans.  He said thank you when I left and it seemed actually sincere.  When I walked out I told the interrogators that I did not take his pants down so if they had some type of anal torture they used, we should be good there. 

     I came back hours later to do the final assessment.  He was fine and seemed as calm and pitiful as before.  He said thank you again, they cuffed him up, put the goggles on and walked him to the vehicle.  I found out on the ride back to the FOB that the interrogation was unsuccessful.  He gave no information or at least anything that was useful.  They must not have taken my advice. 

Love you,

J

    

 

Today is World Refugee Day, and the UN has released a report with the latest, typically grim figures on the exodus of Iraqis from their war-ravaged country. Below is just one of more than 3 million stories from Iraqis who've been forced to flee their homeland and scatter around the globe.

A week or so ago, I received a jubilant text message from my mother in Oklahoma, who since April 2004 has looked after Ban Adil, the woman who was my very first translator in Iraq.

The good news was that, after four years in legal limbo, Ban had received her green card, allowing her to stay in her southwestern U.S. sanctuary indefinitely. She had been admitted to the United States after her husband, 5-year-old daughter and mother-in-law were gunned down in their car in March 2004. Both Ban and her husband had worked with American journalists.

Ban arrived at my family's home in Oklahoma with not much more than the clothes on her back and her only surviving child, a son who was an infant at the time of the slayings. For the first year or so, a glimpse of frilly little dresses was enough to make Ban burst into sobs in busy department stores. The last time Ban saw her daughter, Nadia had asked her for "a princess dress."

Now her son, Fadi, is more Okie than Iraqi, the centerpiece of our family portraits, a little boy who adores my mom, Beverly, as the only grandmother he's ever known. He's 5 and calls her "Mister Mama B" because somehow he'd decided that saying "mister" means you're showing love and respect. It's so adorable that my mother has forbidden any of us from correcting him.

Ban, one of the strongest and most inspiring souls I've ever encountered, seems amused by her all-American child who loves tractor rides, McDonald's Happy Meals and video games. But she is still surrounded by an aura of sadness, as if she's always wondering whether her son will ever see the Tigris River, the Rasheed Hotel where his parents were married, the Iraqi grandparents, aunts and uncles with whom he can't even communicate by phone because he speaks no Arabic. He does, however, say "y'all."

On my last trip home, Ban picked me up in her cute little SUV for our usual ritual: stopping at Sonic for slushy drinks before driving around Oklahoma City listening to Arabic pop songs at full blast. Not long into the drive, Ban, her hands shaking, reached for a battered cassette tape and popped it into the car stereo. I instantly recognized it -- it was a compilation of our all-time favorites. We'd custom-recorded in the summer of 2003 at Ghost Music, a landmark music store in Baghdad where you could order anything from the Red Hot Chili Peppers to the ballads of the Egyptian diva Umm Kulthum.

We sang along, but the tape sounded warped, as if it had been dunked in water or left too long in the sun. At one point, it became so garbled that we couldn't even make out the words to our Baghdad anthem, an upbeat love tune by a famous Tunisian singer. I waited for Ban to take out the cassette, but she let it play on. Finally, I told her it didn't make sense to listen any longer because we couldn't even hear the catchy refrain: "My darling, don't ever go too far away from me."

She hit the eject button and handed the cassette to me. Both the plastic casing and the coils of tape were covered with dark-brown splotches, the cause of the muddled sound. In a quiet voice, Ban told me the spots were the blood of her husband and daughter. The tape had been on top of a pile of cassettes in the car the night gunmen ambushed the family as they returned from a relative's home in Baghdad. She couldn't bear to throw it away.

My mom's text message a few days ago was good news indeed. It meant that, armed with shiny new permanent U.S. residency cards, Ban and Fadi were safe and free to stay in Oklahoma as long as they wished. It meant she could quit the back-breaking odd jobs she worked for cash and find a better, legitimate job, perhaps one commensurate with her master's degree in English literature. (She loves the plays of Samuel Beckett and always jokes that Iraq is "waiting for Godot.")

Yes, it's good news that Ban, unlike so many thousands of Iraqi refugees crammed 10 to a room in dismal cold-water apartments in Damascus, now has a coveted tool to carve out a future for herself and her son. But it's a bitter victory because -- as Ban knows -- no matter how far-flung the exile, the pain always follows.

 

I've just returned to Iraq for my final two weeks of reporting before taking a year-long leave. I'm just getting my bearings, trying to figure out the political and security developments and plan to report and blog during this bittersweet trip to Baghdad.

In the meantime, here are a couple of links that caught my eye this week:

Egypt: Muslim Brotherhood
The International Crisis Group has just released this in-depth report on Hosni Mubarak's renewed crackdown on the Muslim Brotherhood, the powerful Islamist opposition force that inspired generations of militant movements. ICG urges integration rather than confrontation, arguing that "the ruling National Democratic Party’s (NDP) refusal to loosen its grip risks exacerbating tensions at a time of both political uncertainty surrounding the presidential succession and serious socio-economic unrest. Though this likely will be a prolonged, gradual process, the regime should take preliminary steps to normalise the Muslim Brothers’ participation in political life." The link above takes you to the executive summary and directs readers to the full, 24-page report.

Obama and the Muslims
Two Muslim women who turned up to support Barack Obama at a rally in Detroit on Monday were told they couldn't sit behind the podium because campaign volunteers didn't want the women's headscarves to appear in photographs or on television with the candidate. Link here. Although the campaign has apologized to the women, this certainly wasn't the first time Arabs/Muslims felt slighted by the "unity" candidate. There was the AIPAC speech, Obama's deliberate distancing of himself from Arab supporters and the widely praised speech on domestic race relations that somehow shoehorned in a reference to Islamist radicals overseas (I wrote a little bit about that here.)

When your most famous construction project is called "The World," what do you do next?

Explore outer space, of course.

Leaders in the United Arab Emirates, home to oil-rich Abu Dhabi and luxury-drenched Dubai, are in talks with Virgin Galactic to launch flights into space from the UAE, according to a report in the latest issue of Arabian Business magazine. Government and civil aviation authorities are discussing a UAE-based spaceport, Virgin Galactic President Will Whitehorn told the magazine. Full story here.

Whitehorn said in the interview that the terrain and weather conditions in the UAE would make it an ideal base for space flights.

"There's good weather to operate all the year round, you get a spectacular view of both land, sea, sand, desert and mountains -- which is quite a nice combination," Whitehorn said.

He also told Arabian Business that there was high demand for the intergalactic flights from customers in the Middle East. More than 250 Virgin Galactic tickets have been sold worldwide, with another $36 million in deposits to reserve tickets.

“You’ve obviously got a lot of people in that part of the world (the Middle East) who’d love to go to space," Whitehorn said.

Virgin Galactic's main operating base is in New Mexico, but talks are under way for a space port in Sweden, along with the one proposed for the UAE. There is still no firm launch date for Virgin's space tourism plan. Virgin founder Richard Branson, who has been involved with several Dubai-based projects, is slated to be the first passenger.

Just received another update from J, my friend and college roommmate who was recently deployed to Iraq as a medic with the National Guard. She's agreed to let me post her letters home to chronicle the transformation of a mother serving in a war zone.

The last batch of letters I posted from her described her first glimpse of Baghdad from a helicopter, moving into dismal barracks, and learning the Iraqi dialect of Arabic. Identifying details have been removed; there was no other editing.

May 16, 2008

Hello All,

     Ok, I could tell by the numerous emails of harassment, that I am due for a few updates. 

     So if any of you have been watching the news, you know that Sadr City is not the place to be right now.  There was supposed to be this big attack happening there, but obviously Mr. Sadr caught wind of it and is now trying to call a cease fire.  Civilians are leaving the area because they have been told that unless they are prepared to fight, it would be safer for them to leave.  We had safety points set up for them at some of the local stadiums, but not many people came to them. The US wound up not doing as massive as a strike as we thought we were going to have to do.  A lot of the militia surrendered without much of a fight, but with roughly 30,000 militia men, that still leaves thousands left.  They are expecting this big push to remove the bad guys to take a couple of months.  Things have been a little quieter, but if the news tells you that Sadr’s men are obeying the cease fire, they are not. 

     Mother’s Day was a kind of a bummer for me.  However, the chow hall had everything decorated with things about mothers, 2 giant cakes, and they handed out a flower to each female, so that was kind of nice. Weather has been nice here, mid 90’s.

     May 12: Our mechanics in the motor pool called in what they thought to be morse code coming from the Ministry of Interior (MOI) building.  So everyone was all riled up and went to check it out.  It turned out to be a fluorescent light that was flickering because it was almost burnt out.  We all got a good laugh at that and the guys didn’t live that one down for a few days.  The MOI is a really tall big building that is only a few hundred meters from us.  It is known to be infiltrated with JAM members (militia bad guys).  So you never know if they are watching you from there or calling in positions for mortars.  FUN FACT:  The MOI building was originally built by Saddam to be utilized as a luxury hotel when he thought the Olympics would be held in Iraq. 

     May 13^th: A mortar hit about 100 meters from our FOB today and that’s the closest they have hit in a really long time.  So we had to run and put all our gear on.  Then about an hour later we heard a huge boom which shook our buildings.  We get a call from the mortar pool that a mortar landed in the FOB about 75 meters from our mechanics.  Luckily no one was standing close enough to get injured, but still felt shrapnel hit them.  It hit a cement barrier so that took most of the impact.  A truck that was close had shrapnel holes all the way into the engine block.  We were all a little shook up after that because a round has never landed in the FOB for years.  So maybe it was morse code after all!! It wasn’t, but it’s obvious that people in the MOI building could have easily directed it where to go.

     May 16^th: Went on my first mission today.  I was pretty nervous.  There was a big dust storm so that kept the heat down.  We were at a traffic control point where the Iraqi Army (IA) is supposed to be searching vehicles going into Sadr City to insure no weapons are being taken in.  I’m supposed to just stay in the vehicle, but you get really sore just sitting there for 8 hours so I stayed in for about an hour and then decided to stay out for the rest of the time since it wasn’t too hot out.  We are just supposed to be watching to make sure the IA’s do there job, but like me, most of the guys were getting a little stir crazy so they were out there searching too.  We had search dogs with us, so that was a little more reassuring and also interesting to see them work.  It was fun getting to wave at people passing by.  Almost all were receptive to us and smiled and waved back, or initiated the greeting themselves.  The little kids are great, such big smiles and so happy to get a wave back.  If the cars we pulled over had children in them, we would pass out candy.  This of course was a big hit.  There was a group of boys (roughly 6-13 yrs) over by the apartment building next to us.  They saw we had candy so came to see if they could get some too.  They also asked for “pepsi cola” and “balls”.  It was fun to interact with them even though we really couldn’t understand each other.  There was one boy in particular that wanted to be upfront and try talking the most.  He even said in English “tell me stories”, which I thought was funny because he wouldn’t be able to understand what I told him.  But I wonder where he learned that phrase.  They were also helping me to learn how to count in Arabic.  They thought that was quite amusing.  Some would call me “mister” and I had to explain to them that the men were misters and that I was miss or madam.  They asked my name and then a few kept saying “I love you” It was so cute.  What little charmers they were. 

     The children are so beautiful here with their big dark brown eyes, dark hair and skin, and long thick black eyelashes that most women would die for.  What made the eyelashes stand out even more that day was the dust storm.  All of their eyelashes were highlighted with light brown dust.  It’s like back home in the winter when the ice starts forming on your eyelashes. 

     Another thing that was great to see was how the women acted when they saw a female soldier.  Women and men in this country are not supposed to look at or talk to eachother unless they are related or married, so most women riding by would quickly glance our way and then look away or give what looked like a death stare.  It took them a few seconds to realize that I was a female, but then their icy glares turned into bright eyes and smiles.  I would see them saying something to the female beside them or nudging them and then that female would look and smile and wave, too.  I’m sure they don’t see many female soldiers in this area because it is mostly ran by infantry and military police.  Very few females accompany those types of units. 

     What happened next was an amazing finish to a very rewarding day.  We were getting ready to pack up because our shift was almost done and I was standing up on the sidewalk which put me eye level with most of the bigger vehicles and buses.  Traffic stopped momentarily and it just so happened that the bus that stopped right by me had several women and children in it.  Closest to me was a little girl around 3 or 4 whose eyes lit up and whose smile brightened the area.  She looked at me, waved and then kissed the window.  All the women in the bus got a chuckle out of that.  My heart felt so good at that moment.  For a few brief seconds, I was taken away from the war zone in which I stood.  I blew her a kiss back and the bus drove off.  We got back into our armored vehicles, fully geared, constantly scanning, weapons loaded, our gunner ready to shoot when needed, and snapped back into reality.

Love

j

Exactly two weeks ago was the first anniversary of Middle East Diary. I had planned to do a special entry commemorating the date and thanking all the wonderful readers and contributors and commentators for helping to create this forum. However, the date slipped by and I forgot all about it in the scramble to pack up, head to Iraq and then take off for a year-long leave in the States.

I'll be on a fellowship all of next year -- studying Farsi, sectarianism within Islam and other topics related to the region -- and I'm not sure what's going to happen with the blog, or the bureau for that matter. I'll keep you posted. There's no immediate danger of the bureau being shuttered, though I probably won't be able to maintain a blog called "Middle East Diary" from the verdant oasis of Cambridge, Mass.

In the meantime, I'm scheduled to make one last trip to Baghdad before the fellowship begins. I plan to blog through those final weeks on the job and then khallas, as we say in Arabic. Finished.

Please stay tuned for the last Baghdad postings. And a year or so from now, inshallah, look for Middle East Diary 2.0!

Thanks for all your support and feedback this past year. I'll miss you.

Salaam!