Subcontractor = subhuman?

A few days ago, I was amusing myself by mentally picturing how funny it would be if we went to war with Romania. There are a number of Romanians still "fighting" in Iraq (the quotes are due to my belief that they really don't attack much other than the chow hall). Now, I definitely respect their resolve to continue helping with the mission here. However, I just cannot help but to smirk to myself every time I see them. "Rag-tag outfit" would certainly be a fitting euphemism. Several weeks ago, I was working in their camp, "Dracula" (a name which I find hilarious, and if you need this explained, you should read a geography and history book). One of the units at Camp Dracula was preparing to head home and attempting to practice for their homecoming parade. Apparently the parade would require them to perform some pretty highly-skilled and technically-advanced maneuvers, such as MARCHING. Watching these characters "march" was the equivalent of watching a flock of blind sheep wander through a field, with perhaps only a hint of purpose. The ability to perform close-order drill, or march in unison, is one of the fundamental necessities of a military unit in that it builds unit cohesion and reinforces the concept of fighters and leaders. I am not trying to make fun of these guys, only to describe how funny they appeared to me. It was the combination of their complete inability to march fluidly and in anything that remotely resembles unison, their out of shape, portly bodies, and the fact that none of them seem to be carrying the same type of weapon (it's as if they each brought the family shotgun from home), that made the thought of America going to war with them so entertaining to me. However.......
One of my Nepali workers has been complaining of a toothache for some time now. There really isn't anything I can do for him, as subcontractors are obviously subhuman and don't require square meals nor proper medical care. I watched his condition quickly grow worse- and I mean "watched". Over the course of only a few days, his condition grew from "Mr, much pain, much pain" to him looking like he was holding a couple of ping pong balls in his right cheek. I frequently asked him about the treatment he was receiving at his subcontractor compound, and I was constantly told that he was given ibuprofen. Ibuprofen, for swelling bigger than a ping pong ball. Now, it doesn't take a dentist to know that he probably had an abscess and that he needed something more than a non-steroidal anti-imflammatory drug. An abscess, besides being obviously painful, can become very dangerous, very quickly. It is caused by something- baceteria. Ibuprofen only relieves symptoms- this is common knowledge-it doesn't kill bacteria. After watching this for a few days, I was absolutely furious. I had no other choice than to break the rules and take him to get help. I mean seriously- how can people be so indifferent, so apathetic, when other peple are in obvious pain? If I didn't do something, he would either die from choking or septic shock. The only dentist I know of who would be willing to help someone out, discreetly, was the Romanian dentist. And she did. She cared that this person, not this subcontractor, was in pain and needed help. The drive back from the Romanian camp was absolutely crazy. About 10 seconds after we climbed into the van, the incoming sirens began screaming. I knew what that meant: rockets. Sure enough, rockets began raining down on the base. So I'm driving like a bat out of hell with a Nepali dude in my front seat, his mouth filled with cotton, dodging mortars and rockets, thinking "What a way to go out...I'm going to take a rocket dead center in this van and they're going to find the charred remains of me and some random Nepali worker. They'll think I was trying to smuggle him off base or something. Alas, we made it back to my camp unharmed and my Nepali friend slipped back into his work crew without notice.
 I really can't say enough good things about the Romanians now, though I still think my imaginary war would be funny. Maybe we could use paintballs.
In proofreading this, I see that it could appear that I'm trying to make myself out to be a "saint" for helping this guy out. I am not. I'm just really, really pissed off at how these subcontractors, these "third country nationals", are treated. They are underfed and malnourished (rice for every meal, occasionally chicken with rice), underpaid, and treated worse than the garbage they pick up and sort. They are not treated like human beings and that is an understatement. It really, really pisses me off- and they do the actual work around here.

Candy, Camels, and Bedouins

These pictures portray local camel herders; bedouins. Since patroling Khaladiyah and Abu Ghraib with the Marines, I have always enjoyed handing out candy to little kids (though not for the same reason my good friend, Matt Haley, likes to....). A lot of the kids don't have much of anything, and it's always nice to see them light up at something as seemingly small as some candy or a bottle of fresh water.

Though I don't get these opportunity as much anymore, I do enjoy them when they're presented.

My fans

I believe in taking care of myself; a balanced diet, a rigorous exercise routine. During the day when there's a lull in the workload, I sometimes like to hit golf balls into the vastness of the desert. On this particular day, my golf game was so unbelievably good that some of my Indian workers felt compelled to fashion scoring cards and rate each of my hits! Needless to say, I was quite impressive.

(click on the picture to view in necessary detail)

I don't understand idiots

I try not to use this blog as a platform to pontificate, rather to only share my daily observations and perhaps a humorous anecdote. However, there are a few things that have irritated me to the point where I need to share. Thanksgiving Dinner was one, and the self-proclaimed "anti-war protestor" is the other.
My duties enable me to have one of the few vehicles in my department, and for that I am fortunate. It also gives me the obligation to chauffer those who don't have vehicles, which I don't mind at all. One of these individuals is a 50-something-year-old man from Michigan. He is not smart. I thought I was absent-minded, but this guy takes the term to entirely new levels. Not only forgetful, he seems to lack that little voice inside his head that says "hey, maybe this isn't such a good idea", etc. For example.....I have been driving him from work to the chow hall, and then across camp to his hooch, despite it being 20 minutes out of the way for me. I do this because I can sympathize with being the new guy- I missed a few meals when I first arrived here because I didnt know where places were and how to get there. I don't mind at all. However, a few nights ago, I couldnt take him...so, he hitched a ride with someone else, who wasn't willing to wait for him to eat and then drive him to his camp. So, he decided to just go into the chow hall, eat, and walk back....this would have been fine, save that he carries a man-purse everywhere he goes. Bags are not allowed inside the chow hall. Apparently not eating wasn't an option for him, so the great idea that he came up with was to stow the bag outside the chow hall while he went inside to eat. He found a KBR truck and placed the bag on the ground next to the truck. This is not a good idea. Mu Sien, as Iraqis would say. It doesn't take a seasoned vet to understand that while in a war zone, unattended bags tend be taken as threats by MP's and the like. IED's, you know? So after he finishes his fit of gluttony, he exits the chow hall only to be greeted by a group of fans, known as EOD (explosive ordnance disposal) and the friendly neighborhood Military Police. No explanation can justify this level of ignorance.
I felt kind of bad for him, knowing that he had never served in the military, and things can seem a bit overwhelming while first arriving in-country. So the next day as I was driving him across base to work, I tried to make some friendly conversation with him. "So, do you ever regret not being in the military?" I asked this because he said he had gotten a deferment while attending college during Vietnam, and maybe deep down he felt he had missed out on the experience. I wasn't trying to pry, only to be friendly. "Oh hell no! I hate the damn military! I hate everything they stand for. Big corporation, killing innocent people, doing whatever they want. It was a tough struggle for me just to come here, knowing I'd have to work around these people. I was a damn war protestor in college." he said, in total seriousness.
"These people...." I kept thinking to myself. He honestly said "the military". Not "the war". I was appalled. My mind kept switching from feeling even more sorry for him for being so ignorant as to all of the positive things the military has done, to hoping that a 120mm rained onto his hooch later that night as he climbed into the soft bed that the military provided for him. You know that scene in "True Lies" where Arnold is test driving a used sports car while Bill Paxton, as the sleazy dealer, is giving Arnold graphic details about the hot new broad he's banging? Arnold says not a word, only knocks him out with one quick blow to the face. This is what I was picturing.
I said nothing.
The next day, as he climbed into my truck, I asked him how his day had gone. He mentioned something about "just another day in the military industrial complex that Truman warned us about.
"Eisenhower", I corrected him, saying nothing more.
As we drove along, he mentioned how his Iraqi driver had asked him for a pint of milk that he hadn't drank at lunch. He told me, "Hell no! I ain't givin him my food, I might drink it later."
That got me to thinking.....why is he a war protestor? Why does he loathe us military so much? My first instinct was that maybe he just cared about other people so much that he hates the idea of war, because war inevitably contains civilian deaths. I can understand this...I think there are times where war is a necessity, but I can respect his respect for life being so strong that he hates fighting. But, judging by his adamant refusal to share food with his Iraqi worker, who makes a fraction of what we make, this cannot be the case.
When I was at Abu Ghraib, we Marines went out of our way to help the local people. I bought 3 kids bikes. Andre, Haley and I snuck food out of the chow hall every night to give to a local Iraqi boy, Malach, who's parents had been killed in tribal fighting. We didn't gain anything from these actions other than knowing that we were helping out people less fortunate than us. I sneak food for my workers every single day, simply because I feel bad for them for not getting the portions or quality of food that I have. My point in all of this is that I care. Marines care, and a lot of soldiers care. We understand the ugliness of war, and as someone wiser than me once stated, "nobody hates war more than those who have seen it".
I am still confused as to why someone would hate the military. If you hate war so much, instead of a futile demonstration, why don't you do something about it? Something constructive. Start by trying to learn arabic (he refuses) to build a relationship with the local populace. Small tokens go a long way. Who knows, maybe one of the kids who has a new bike will become Prime Minister someday, and remember a dashing Marine who spent his own money on a nice new bike.

1/3 of my life is complete

Yesterday was my 30th birthday. I appreciate the multitude of Facebook birthday wishings. Unfortunately I cannot reply to anyone on Facebook at this time due to my laptop dying yesterday. I am now only able to use the community computers, contained in dusty tents with long lines of soldiers and contractors waiting to log into what seems like IBM computers using Prodigy dialup. Perhaps its Compuserve....nonetheless, they and the service are prehistoric. I had been paying a small, monthly fee to have internet in my hooch, but can obviously not utilize that until my laptop is fixed. I have since turned my dead laptop into an Iraqi man from Nasiriyah, who has a small repair shop in the local hadji-mart. He has a good reputation and his price, along with diagnosis, seem fair. Until then, no facebook and no pictures attached to these posts. (facebook is not allowed on government computers due to the amount of bandwidth used)
30 is a landmark. I don't like it much, but then I don't have much of a choice. I am glad I quit drinking while still in my 20's, as you're much more prone to being labeled a "drunk" if you're seen overly-imbibing while past 29....at least in my opinion, anyway. Why not just not have more than one beer, you may ask? Why quit? Well, if you must ask this, then you don't know me well.....beer drinking was the olympics, and I was a gold medalist- enough said. It's like the Tim McGraw song, "My Next 30 Years"- 'drink a little lemonade and not so many beers....maybe I'll remember, my next thirty years'.
I share my birthday with Elvis Presley (with whom I share sex appeal and good looks), Stephen Hawking (who shares my intellect and ability to hit a golf ball), Charles Osgood (whom I believe says "and now, the REST of the story-I could be wrong), and David Bowie (whom I fortunately share only a birthday with).
I did nothing on my birthday other than overload on "Airborn" drink mix to thwart a headcold, and continually remove/replace/push power button/pray in futile efforts to get the computer to work. I did eat a piece of apple-like pie, which was decent after drowning it in a large dose of ice cream.
I shall write again soon......