My Christmas

This is me and my friend Rodan, my favorite Iraqi worker. He hails from the town of Nasiriyah and has been working here for 4 years. We get along very well, as we share similar senses of humor, both have the same work ethic, and a fondness for European football (soccer). We also go to the same barber, though I have a slightly better haircut.

For my Christmas dinner, Rodan was kind enough to bring me a plate of "Ganam", which is the arabic word for sheep (I may have misspelled it), for dinner. His mother prepared it, along with potatoes...that was a week ago, and I thus far have no symptoms of worms. That was the highlight of my holiday, as it was work from 6am-7pm as usual. I didn't make an attempt at the chow hall, as thanksgiving proved to be bad enough....too crowded, among a few other things I have previously written about.

My Christmas Day went as follows, which as I said, was the same as any other day- woke up at 0455. Breakfast carryout from the chow hall, eaten on the way to the office. Worked from 6am until noon, supervising Iraqis and Indians emptying dumpers throughout the base. I then worked out at the Air Force gym from noon until 1300, as it's much more tolerable to work out there than at the army gym, due to my disdain for the national guard operating here. I then worked from 1300-1800, heading back to the office to finish my paperwork until 1900. For lunch I usually grab a sandwich from the chow hall and carry it with me as to save time so I can get a good workout in. I generally don't eat dinner, as I'm asleep by 2100 anyway.

I will soon be leaving Rodan and Hamza and working with a new group of Iraqis and Injuns; building fences, roads, and any other general labor task that needs completed. I'm happy about this, though I'll miss Rodan and the Red Baron. Merry Christmas.

Camels and Jolly Ranchers

• I find myself consuming Jolly Ranchers at a truly alarming rate.


• My definition of "clean" differs significantly than that of my laborers, in relation to personal hygiene.


• Sunsets in Iraq are the most vivid I have seen, as anyone who has been here can certainly attest to.


• Whilst getting mortared and rocketed, I prefer the relative safety of Hesco barriers to T-walls.


• Extremists aside, people are basically the same. Everywhere.


• I find myself longing to be with those inside the black, armored SUV's. Perhaps in another life.


• What is it with guys named "Al" trying to steal elections?
• To those not familiar with the english language, "too much" can be used to describe virtually anything. Such as when I pointed out a young, army female to one of my Iraqi workers....he emphatically shook his head, declaring "No, me no like this woman. She.... too much man". He was assuming that she, being one of the few females here, has enjoyed the company of many soldiers.
• I prefer to be uncomfortably hot than uncomfortably cold.
• In Iraq, the phrase, "same same, feeky feeky" can be used to quench most disagreements, with both parties erupting in laughter....or at least when I use it.
• Should you ever be inclined for "discreet, M4M, no-strings-attached fun" you need only inspect the interior walls of any one of the many portable restrooms in the army's living areas for detailed contact info.

A result of Groundhog Day....

Click on the picture before reading......note the gentleman's headgear.....

This picture is of me and my friend, Hamza. This is not Hamza's first war, by any means. Nay, he has a long and rich history of honorable service. In the American Civil War, he commanded a battalion of confederate troops; Union leaders giving him the epithet, "Mustache of Death". I don't know what that means, I just report what I hear. In WWI, he was an Ace fighter pilot, flying his biplane in over 40 combat missions; twice being shot down by the Red Baron (the pilot, not the pizza) over northern Germany. Deciding he had cheated death one too many times, he returned to his homeland of India, where he realized his calling of bringing American football to the far east. The main character from the movie "Leatherheads" is loosely based on this man.

Too Fast, Too Furious....

This picture is as insightful and illuminating into the mentality of the Army National Guard as anything I have seen.
Now that the US Marines and Army infantry are succeeding in their mission of bringing security and stability to Iraq, the army national guard, in keeping with their decades-old tradition of "troop welfare before mission accomplishment", has begun to replace those large, cumbersome, "no fun" MRAPs with vehicles more suited to their preferred lifestyle of rest, relaxation, and good old-fashioned fun. No more of that pesky armor-plating to block their views of local high school girl hangouts and hookah shops, these new trucks are much more conducive to a carefree drive along the Tigris or cruising the slums of Habbaniyah for women of ill-repute, filling many of these soldiers with a sense of nostalgia that helps them feel right back home. The stylish flames painstakingly painted on the hood are reminiscent of many a prized, 1987 Chevy S-10 sitting in gravel driveways, awaiting glorious returns back home. The smiley faces stretched across the roll bar boast "Hey! I didn't come here to fight! I just signed up for the college money!" So kudos to you, Armies of Fun, I mean One, you are true personifications of the old credo, "true leaders lead from the front". (of the chow hall line)

*Disclaimer- If you are an officer in the national guard and do not knowingly cut ahead of the troops in your charge at the chow hall on Thanksgivng Day, you are exempt from this satirical post.
**Disclaimer- If you are an enlisted soldier and refuse to throw down your weapon in the face of direct enemy contact, you too are exempt from this post.

Mortars and Red Bull

I had a bit of a close call this morning, as you might suspect from the attached picture. One of my current duties as a labor foreman is to escort foreign (though I guess we're all foreign) and Iraqi laborers around the base as they empty dumpsters. Before each dumpster is emptied, however, I am required to visually check inside for any sort of weapon, UXO (unexploded ordnance), IED, etc. Should anything be found, I radio in to the proper authorities (out here, 'radio' can be used as an action verb). Fortunately, this little guy (81mm mortar) happened to be near the top of the dumpster, for had it been crushed inside the compactor, the results would have been ugly. As to why it was inside the dumpster, the investigation is ongoing. I cleared the area of all personnel, called in the MP's (who called in EOD-explosive ordnance disposal), filled out my sworn statements, and went on my merry way. I just thank God for watching over me, yet again, as 2004 had enough close calls with mortars for me.

2 fish and 5 loaves of bread

I absolutely love trying out new foods; the more exotic the better. With this in mind, you can imagine how excited I was when one of my Iraqi workers showed up with a gift: a home-cooked meal prepared by his mother, just for me. The two fish were caught in the Euphrates, by their father, and the flat bread was baked in their stone hearth. They were delicious (though a bit bland). I couldn't eat all 5 loaves of bread and both fish (sounds strangely familiar), so I shared it with some of the Indian workers who eat mainly rice. As to why I was given such a thoughtful gift? Well, the Iraqi Christmas was two days ago and I knew that my Iraqi workers would have to miss a large portion of the holiday due to the 13-hour workday we put in, here. So, realizing how I would feel if I were in their shoes, I decided to forgo my lunch break and work straight through, all-the-while helping them out with their duties (as opposed to strictly supervising, as I'm supposed to only be doing) so that we could finish early. I'm not boasting, I actually had fun doing something besides countless pages of mind-numbing paperwork and supervising mundane labor. We were able to finish about 3 hours early, much to the delight of those living in Nasiriyah.

I love supervising foreign laborers

Today was an amazing day! One of my Indian laborers found what appears to be an artifact from the time of Abraham....some sort of ancient war club, perhaps. This glorious specimen was found inside a dumpster, of all places! What an incredible find; truly amazing. 

Now, I would like to apologize for the graphic nature of this post. This blog was started as a means for me to report my daily observations to those back home, and alas, I cannot control the content or subject matter- I simply write what I see. When Mofon, one of my 30 subcontract workers, shouted "Sir, look!", I was appalled. I asked myself, "why would someone discard of a truly anomalous piece of history?" That's actually not true, either. As soon as I saw this magnificent piece of artwork, I knew I would be reporting on it tonight. I thought 'long and hard' (I'm sorry, I couldn't help that one) about giving a funny, yet plausible, explanation for this prize found inside the refuse. Here are just a couple of them, and I'll let you, the reader, decide for yourself just what exactly this object could be....and moreover, why is said object on a nearly all-male military base? (or you could just click to enlarge the picture)

Explanation #1- A martial arts training move that went horribly wrong.

#2- A rocket attack that resulted in obvious tragedy. (the bright side being certain pieces are still intact)

#3- A strange, chocolate, Easter treat left from last spring.

#4- Judging by the delicate yet prideful way it is being held, perhaps this contracting company has switched from certificates to trophies for achievement awards.

You clean! You clean!

As I've written, I was hired by the Department of Defense as a labor foreman- supervising foreign workers as they complete tasks ranging from base cleanup to the building of perimeter fences or reinforced buildings.

I'd like to write a quick note to emphasize just how much, in my current assignment, I am enjoying supervising my Indian worker, Gen Sherman, and Roden, the 20-year-old Iraqi. Now, I speak limited Arabic from my time here as a Marine, and Roden speaks some English. Together, we are able to communicate rather well. Neither of us, however, speak a word of Indian (Hindi). Whenever Gen Sherman gets upset about something and goes off on a rant of what I assume are Indian curse words, Roden and I just turn to each other, trying not to laugh because neither of us have a clue what's being shouted- and usually the rant is directed at us. I have mentioned the strong, "natural" scent of Gen. Sherman and the fact that I understand this is a cultural norm. However, Roden is not so refrained with his opinions of the man's hygiene habits. When Roden is upset with Gen Sherman, he shouts "No Hamza! You go clean! You go clean!" (instructing him to go bathe) It really doesn't seem to matter what the issue is, that's his response towards Gen Sherman. Whenever Roden finds a bar of soap in the trash, he grabs it, his face glowing with pride at the zinger he's about to deliver, and says "Hamza, you take soap! You clean, you clean! Every day! You clean, every day!" Hamza just smiles, knowing what is being implied despite the language barrier, only replying with "I am very clean! Every week I clean!"

Here are a couple more pictures from the Ziggurat and royal tombs. To realize that I am walking exactly where Genesis speaks of, is amazing. Genesis 11:3 describes men building the tower of babel out of mud bricks and "bitumen". Bitumen is basically natural tar, used as mortar. All of the mortar holding the bricks of the royal tombs is black; the same substance. Genesis 11:31 tells of Abram and his wife leaving "Ur of the Chaldeans"- this is Ur of the Chaldeans.

I believe I am the only person on this base to remember what today is- Pearl Harbor Day. God bless America.

Ziggurat of Ur

Yesterday, I took the day off. We are allowed one paid holiday for Thanksgiving, within a 2-week window of said day. Being an avid fan of history, especially biblical history, I have really been looking forward to taking a tour of the Ziggurat of Ur, which is only several hundred meters away from my hooch. The ziggurat is over 4,000 years old, surrounded by royal tombs, and only 150 meters from the house in which Abraham was born. So, fortunately I was able to link up with a small group of soldiers who were getting a tour from an Iraqi man whose grandfather was one of the original excavators of the ziggurat, almost 100 years ago. This man gave an amazing tour; very knowledgeable  We walked through royal tombs that tunneled underground, through Abraham's house (he wasn't home), and up and around the ziggurat. Click here to read a quick history of the ziggurat http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ziggurat_of_Ur. I have to stress, however, just how surreal it was to be walking around ruins that were so old and such an important part of the world's history. I understand I'm stating the obvious here, but this was the Abraham of the Old Testament! It was just an incredible experience; one I am sure anyone who's been to an ancient site can attest to. I'm attaching photos, but pictures do not do justice to this experience. The grounds, I mean EVERYWHERE, are covered in broken shards of pottery about 3-4 inches long, all of which are also 4,000 years old. I may, or may not have, taken full advantage of the cargo pants I happen to be wearing that day. If I end up dying an untimely, bizarre death (think King Tut curse), you may, or may not, know the reason why. If you click on the photo to enlarge it, you can see a caravan of camels on the road behind me....and yes, I am standing atop the ziggurat, praying the wind stays calm.

Making the best of things

Sometimes, often times, we get stuck having to do things we'd rather not be doing. As cliche as it is, it usually pays to just bear with it and make the best of it, any way that you can. Currently, as a labor foreman, I am assigned to supervise foreign workers as they perform various tasks around the base. Soon, however, I will be supervising the pouring/finishing of concrete and the construction of reinforced office buildings.
Today, I had to escort two gentlemen whose job it was to empty 109 of the dumpsters throughout this beautiful, paradise of a camp. I sat in between them while riding around in the large garbage truck, supervising and providing security. Riding in between 2 full-grown men in a garbage truck with a raised, center floor board, is not comfortable. The driver was a 40-something Indian man with a mustache resembling that of a civil war colonel. The guy on my right was a 20-year-old guy from Nasiriyah, the city just outside the walls of our base (also where Jessica Lynch was captured during the initial invasion). Now, obviously, this was not a comfortable spot to be in. I was not happy. General Sherman (that's what I'll call him, as to not use his real name), as nice as he was and as much as I liked him, was not exactly emitting what I could call a "pleasant aroma". I understand this is a cultural difference (the lack of antiperspirants) and it was this understanding that prevented me from stopping by the base exchange to purchase a can of Right Guard as a gift for my new friend. The young Iraqi was a very nice guy, extremely hard working, and I had a lot of fun remembering the Arabic I learned from the kids around Abu Ghraib during my tour as a Marine...."shaku maku!" "Makushe!" "Ardenufsek!" He, likewise, seemed pretty happy to meet an American who was actually excited to be speaking his native language. We took turns on the radio stations- one hour of Freedom Radio, the military's top-40 station in Iraq, and "All Allah, All Day" radio (I actually have no idea if that's what his station's theme was, I just made that up because I couldn't understand a word of it). And, though I'm not supposed to be helping them with their work, I helped him hook the dumpster to the truck several times to try to make things go smoother. This helped him with his job, and also helped me fulfill a childhood dream of mine....I got to ride on the back of a garbage truck. If you are a man, and that wasn't a dream of yours as a child, then you were wrong. It should have been.
At one point, I asked the Iraqi what he had for dinner the night before.
"Cheese."
"Goat cheese?"
"Yes."
"Mmmm, goat cheese, sien!" (I was humoring him- "sien" means "good" in Arabic)
This reminded me of being a Marine at Al Taqaddum 4 years earlier, where I purchased an "American pizza" from one of the haji (our nickname for Iraqis) vendors on base. I ordered a supreme, which consisted of goat cheese on unleven bread, olives which still contained the pits (which I discovered too late), sliced hot dog, and a ketchup sauce. Delicious.